PHOENIX -- When I read that the Phoenix Arts Museum would have an exhibit of the late Rudi Gernreich's contributions to the fashion world, I knew I had to see it.
First of all, I was there covering New York fashion when he popped onto the scene in the early '60s.
He shook us up. Did he ever.
The general public blushed and was outraged, but imagine fashion writers sitting in a large room at Delmonico's Hotel, weary and barely awake after a day of ho-hum shows, designer after designer.
Then comes another one, Rudi Gernreich. Hurry up, I thought. I'm hungry.
History was made that day.
We were among the first to see "see-through" on braless models, a "shocking" style Rudi felt would create a new freedom of the body.
He exaggerated this new freedom even more in order to ensure we "got it" by creating the topless swimsuit in 1964.
I wish I had saved my notes taken that day we first saw see-through and no bras. They were probably illegible, I was writing so fast.
He had removed the inner structure from swimsuits as early as 1954. He then raised hemlines when we didn't even know how to spell miniskirt. He banished girdles and yes, bras, all to allow body freedom.
He wouldn't be with us long. He died in 1985 at age 63.
The topless bathing suit is the most memorable of all of Gernreich's contributions. I can't remember how many actually sold, but when you look at the attire, or lack of it, in some of today's swimwear, Rudi was a forerunner among designers granting permission for women to relax, to feel free.
Did he do a good thing? It depends whom you ask.
We know one thing: He was the forerunner of what was to come.
I was amused as I climbed the stairway to the exhibit and saw the headless bust displaying his "no-bra bra," a boneless sheer garment created to provide at least minimal support for women who needed help and weren't prepared to go "all the way" by banning the wearing of a bra.
Actually, even saying "bra" was done in a whisper back then.
Somebody had to be the first. It happened to be Rudi Gernreich, a former dancer who knew how important easy clothes were for unbridled movement.
We should thank him for liberating us.
I thought of this because I was at ease that day at the museum, and I was perfectly respectable, wearing my unstructured, de-boned bra. Outside, it was 105 degrees.
Thank you, Rudi.
My own reaction, even as one of the younger fashion editors in that room almost 40 years ago, when Rudi's muse/model Peggy Moffitt and her look-alikes paraded see-through blouses, remains with me.
Ultimately, as journalists, we were awakened and excited to have something new to tell our readers. Say what you will, Gernreich gave us much to write about: androgynous clothing, psychedelic colors, body clothes based on leotards and tights, zippers and dog-leash clasps as decoration.
We still see many of these today.
He also believed in moderate prices, even though he was considered couture. And he spearheaded what we call "the total look," where hose and shoes would match an outfit.
As I walked through the exhibit, I began to realize how many "firsts" he was responsible for: knitted tube dresses, use of vinyl and plastic, designer jeans, thong swimsuits (I forgive him) and men's underwear for women. His seven-minute video, "Basic Black," made in 1967, is considered the forerunner of fashion videos used today.
Inventive and futuristic, he was also a free spirit.
For all that he did, it is the topless suit, the "monokini," with which his name will be linked. The exhibit opened my eyes to much more.
Everything wasn't wacky, even if it was often photographed that way. With extreme makeup and accessories, he, along with Moffitt, caught our attention.
His white satin pantsuit, dubbed "Dietrich," was rejected by the Coty Awards in 1964 because it "looked lesbian." He designed his "George Raft" pantsuit in 1967 and another classic tweed pantsuit in 1968, inspired by the Duke of Windsor.
He was influenced by everything from Japanese schoolchildren's uniforms to East Indian and Asian styles.
In 1971, more controversy: He went military, inspired by the previous year's Kent State shootings. He called it his "Back to School" line and had models wear dog tags.
A black polyester -- yes, polyester -- one-shoulder gown with a curve of aluminum over the one shoulder is far from wacky. It is timeless.
Gernreich almost always wore black slacks and a T-shirt or pants and a black Nehru-style jacket with zippered side closure and zippered pockets designed for him by Pierre Cardin.
Accused of being too Space Age-oriented, Gernreich would have loved the "Matrix" movies.
Peggy Moffitt, now 65, and her husband, William Claxton, the photographer who began shooting Gernreich's collections in 1956 and whose exquisite fashion shots are a major part of the exhibit, attended the opening in Phoenix.
In the photo used in the Arizona Republic, the former model looked the same, with her short haircut, the early '60s version credited to Jacques at Vidal Sassoon. She wore a black, very classic, clinging black dress with no shock value.
The couple collaborated on "The Rudi Gernreich Book," which, unfortunately, the museum did not have in stock. But I had the 1978 book, "The Fashion Makers," in which to find some of the background I have forgotten.
As I looked at the large black and white print of Moffitt in the monokini, possibly her most famous photo, I saw an almost perfect body and, some 40 years later, I was not shocked, but in awe. I saw the beauty.
I guess Gernreich gave some of us more than body freedom. Our minds were set free as well.
I even whipped out my camera and took a picture of the famous image of Moffitt before a security guard could say "No pictures." He did not, however, confiscate my film.
When I had the film developed, I warned the developer, whom I have come to know, she would see a woman in a bathing suit revealing her breasts.
She said, "Honey, that's nothing these days."
She's too young to remember Gernreich or his controversial swimsuit, but it was the perfect ending to becoming reacquainted with the designer.
It's nothing these days, but it was the beginning of many things.
"Fashion isn't just making a dress, which is a bore," said Gernreich. "It's a symbol of what people feel and think."
Barbara Cloud can be reached at bcloud@post-gazette.com.
E-mail this story 
