Bruce Oldfield on designing Queen Camillas coronation dress

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No leek on the palate! laughs Bruce Oldfield from a corner table at Claridges, his eyes dancing as the lunchtime crowd politely sips their tea. It’s only 48 hours since the 72-year-old British designers’ greatest design to date, Queen Camilla’s coronation gown unfurled out of the carriage and down the aisle of Westminster Abbey, seen by the 2,000 guests gathered and tens of millions more watching from home.

A dress of this magnitude required a healthy dose of symbolism, starting with the emblems of the four nations of the United Kingdom. On a dull brilliance couture silk known as Silk skin, Oldfield embroidered a rose for England, a thistle for Scotland and a shamrock for Northern Ireland. But he drew the line at a leek for Wales. I refused, Oldfield recalls, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head, No, no, no. Norman Hartnell, the famous British fashion designer who made Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation robe in 1953, was asked by the Garter King of Arms to incorporate the vegetable into the design. In perhaps a small sign of the changing times, Oldfield was allowed to use the daffodil instead, the national flower of Wales.

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Oldfield is in good spirits when we meet, delighted that his Instagram following has grown by 1,500 since Saturday to 11,000. most recent post, a close-up of dress embroidery, garnered over 2,300 likes and over 400 comments, a flood of congratulations and cheering emojis. It got crazy, he said.

When he delivered the dress last Thursday, Oldfield remained on hand for a final fitting and found himself holding the Queen Marys crown, containing some 2,000 diamonds, which Camilla chose to wear again for her coronation. Arms outstretched, hands cupped, he holds his face steady to recreate the moment before bursting into a full-faced grin: I thought that was really cool. King Charles III was there too, with his crown and the keeper of the crowns. Am I Really here? Am I Really In doing so? Is it Really my destiny? Oldfield remembers thinking. Because who would have thought?

Oldfield was born in London to a Jamaican father and half-Irish mother, and was cared for by Barnardos, now the UK’s largest children’s charity. He was placed in foster care until the age of 13 in the North East of England, raised by Violet Masters. , a seamstress who introduced her to the world of sewing. He then graduated from the Central St. Martins School of Art, then moved to New York to work for Henri Bendel. He admired what American fashion offered at this time, a kind of pared-down simplicity that felt totally different from the over-the-top offerings of London designers. (Nothing Oldfield does now is off-the-shelf, as the Brits call ready-to-wear. His bespoke pieces cost 8,000 and more for a suit and 12,000-18,000 for a long dress. , more if embellished or embroidered.)

Oldfield and the Duchess of Cornwall in 2017.
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As the chicken pot pie we ordered for lunch arrives, the conversation turns to Oldfield’s work with Charles’ first wife, Diana, Princess of Wales. The designer had returned to London and launched an eponymous line in 1975. His association a few years later with Diana markedly raised his profile, while his fashions helped transform her from a shy country girl into a glamorous princess. Diana’s role as President of Barnardos cemented their friendship. But after almost a decade of working together, as Oldfield says, Diana dumped me. The princess, faced with a crumbling marriage, was stepping back from royal duties and no longer needed the kind of dresses Oldfield designed, he says.

Some two decades later, he met Camilla, then Duchess of Cornwall. She had taken the presidency from Barnardos and Oldfield was now vice-president. While they were chatting, she told him, I think it’s time we made some dresses.

Oldfields’ first design for her came in 2013, a long pale blue dress she wore at the investiture of King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands. The dress features a two-layered skirt, with the bulkier outer layer coming from below the bust. I always like to have fluidity in clothing. You rarely see a straight column from me, he said. He prefers a flick at the hem for the movement it gives a garment, even if the wearer is stationary.

Queen Camilla’s career-defining invitation arrived six months ago, almost as an aside. During one of their fittings, she called him from another room (here he raises his voice a little to channel his voice): Oh, yes, Bruce, I want you to do the coronation dress. He reproduced his answer for me too, almost in a whisper: Sorry, ma’am, what was that? A week later, he presented her with three sketches. She pointed at one decisively. Really, ma’am? That’s it? It’s this one? he asked, again in a low voice. Oldfield then taps his index finger firmly on the table twice and returns to his Camilla voice, saying with certainty, Yes, that’s the one.

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He says it was clear from the start that he wanted this dress to remain light, rather than formal. Camilla is the queen consort, after all, a supporting role for the sovereign and not the star of the show. It doesn’t have to be as blatant as the deceased queen’s coronation robe, he says. We could have a little fun. The silk was made by Stephen Walters in Suffolk, England, while the embroidery was done in Mumbai, the distance manageable through Zoom and WhatsApp.

I wanted the embroidery to be all over, but loose, like a design, he says. Chains of wildflowers that appear to cascade from the shoulders were inspired by Charles and Camilla’s shared love of the countryside. The flowers were intertwined with delicate buntings, a staple of British celebrations.

But what made the most headlines were the personal touches Oldfield put into the design. Along the hem, flanking the Queen’s majestic figure, were her two rescue dogs, Bluebell and Beth. Surrounding the puppies, Oldfield embroidered the names of Camilla’s children and grandchildren, and on the train, Oldfield added something else close to the hearts of the queens: books.

They were silver, so they were pretty hard to find, but they were there, he said. It was the first thing Her Majesty was looking for. He slips again into the pitch of the newly crowned queen: Oh! They are there! I asked whose idea it was to include these very personal details in the design, to which Oldfield replied with a raised eyebrow: I didn’t suggest any. He describes their work together as a collaboration. Throughout our lunch, Oldfield is mostly hesitant when I ask what Camilla looks like, offering small treats including that she’s outspoken and very confident.

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He hadn’t heard from her although, to be fair, it had been quite a busy weekend for the Queen, but he did hear from her hairdresser who said Camilla was so happy. Oldfield is happy too. This dress was technically tricky, says Oldfield, due to all the seating involved in a crowning, increasing the risk of creases and creases. But the person on her team who helped undress the Queen at the end of the day said it looked like the dress hadn’t been worn except for a bit of dirt on the train. It really, really, really worked, he says.