ALL THE RAGE

reports from Milan on the style wars

IT IS nettled ego time in the fashion palazzos of Milan. Already

unnerved by the wild highs and lows of international currency, Italy's

designer kings have become more possessive than ever of their pampered

clienteles.

Just about a year ago the trade war between the big guns of style

intensified when the musician Eric Clapton defected from Versace to

Armani, claiming that he had outgrown Gianni's exuberant look. ''I

appreciate what he does, but I think his clothes are more for the

Southern Italian male or Sylvester Stallone,'' Clapton remarked to the

New York fashion press.

With that explanation out in the open Armani did not need to say a

word, but Versace -- who has practically cornered the rock star market

by kitting out Sting, Elton John and David Bowie -- retorted that

dressed by Giorgio, Clapton now ''looked like an accountant''. This

week, as the latest bout of Italian ready to wear collections

progresses, not even the fragrant vapours that drift around these events

can disguise the underlying whiff of furious rivalry.

The fact is the recession is badly bruising la moda, just as it is

inflicting nasty blows on fashion everywhere else. Some of those

retailers and manufacturers who so conspicuously stayed away from last

week's London shows have at least made it to Milan, but up to now the

buying has been sluggish and overall numbers are down. In effect this

means that too many designers are chasing too little business. Not even

the rich can be entirely trusted to spoil themselves with purchases

these days.

But if fashion is a barometer of the European economy then it is going

to require something far more creative than the present passion for

flea-market quaintness to set factory looms working overtime again. So,

even at the highest level naked aggression lies beneath the most

influential clothes. Some of the feuds, of course, have been going on

for years. It has long been noticed, for instance, that when the Versace

and Armani squads accidentally find themselves sharing a Milanese

restaurant, the atmosphere becomes laced with hostile unease.

The problem is Versace and Armani are polar opposites in temperament

and style, yet each sees himself as the emperor of Italian fashion. In

Armani's book anything that is exaggerated is a travesty of glamour, and

in the past when he has railed against those who turn fashion into ''a

porno show'' of bondage garments, no one in the business has been

confused about his target.

For Armani the art of seduction thrives on subtlety, a look which is

chaste without being prim, mannish without being masculine. But for

Gianni Versace, the fiery Calabrian, sensuality is often a matter of

brilliant bedlam and flagrant lust. He describes Armani as a sad,

unhappy figure, a ''beige'' individual who makes women look like men.

Nevertheless he is anxious to play down the tantrum factor, describing

it now as the bore of the year, and insisting that: ''It is so passe to

feel threatened.''

That's as maybe. Later this month, when Hollywood assembles for the

Oscars ceremony, designers will once again quiver with agitation over

who dresses the most Academy Awards. Look what happened last year when

Elizabeth Taylor wore a Valentino tunic to the occasion. Versace

allegedly remarked that the star appeared like Poppaea Nero's wife,

adding that when Taylor wore his jeans and jacket at the homage to

Freddy Mercury she ''looked much cuter''.

Blood up, Giancarlo Giammetti, Valentino's spokesman, revelled in

counter-attack: ''Ms Taylor is not easy to dress,'' he told reporters

ignobly, adding: ''But she looks better as a woman than a cowboy.''

Although it continues every season the unseemly hustle for celebrities

is often self-defeating. Even if a star looks breathtaking in a

particular designer's outfit, the focus tends to be on her, not on the

clothes.

SO IN the end a dazzling name is a distraction from design. Giammetti

considers that Dolce and Gabbana were foolish to invite Madonna to a

previous show and even more mistaken when they threw a party in her

honour on the night the Emporio Armani collection hit the catwalk. As a

result all the publicity centred on the blonde with the upstart bosom.

Gianfranco Ferre stands apart from all this stramash, a man whose

physical appearance seems pleasantly at odds with the edgy universe he

inhabits: Ferre possesses that benign corpulence which is more the

hallmark of a great chef than a great couturier.

Just occasionally, however, his simmering irritation with his Milanese

brothers goes on the boil: ''These rows are debilitating for Italian

fashion,'' he says, ''leaving the impression that one designer is

ridiculously afraid of the other's power.''

But in the end it may just be the same old petulant trick of feigning

rage to seek attention. And, of course, it never fails because within

fashion's profligate domain there is little that thrills the acolytes

quite so much as spinning rumour and gossip about the opposition;

planting perfumed mischief in the ear of a world gone whacko over

clothes.