The reason nobody knows what he did is not a reflection on his genius, but a powerful commentary on the transitory nature of fashion. Unlike the arts, clothes design is about dressing a moment. When that moment has gone, the fashion it inspired becomes meaningless. The best might eventually come back as costume, studied for what it tells us about the period. Most does not.

Balenciaga died in 1972, two years after Mark Rothko, and three before Dmitri Shostakovich. Yet, while their work attracts even more interest today than when it was created, Balenciaga is forgotten by all but the most enthusiastic fashion supporters.

Now, a new exhibition of Balenciaga’s clothes has opened in Paris, giving us a valuable opportunity to decide whether the considerable prestige that his name commands is actually justified. My view is that the modernity and originality of his ideas, although now more than 40 years old, will amaze fashion followers today as much as ever. They reflect a man who was the epitome of cool. When a gushing journalist asked him what he would present new in his next collection, he looked at her in amazement and said, “New? Madam, I never do anything new.”

A remark, in my book, worthy of Rothko or Shostakovich.

Balenciaga Paris, Musée de la Mode et du Textile, Paris, until January 28, 2007. The accompanying book, edited by Pamela Golbin with art direction by Fabien Baron, is published on July 31 (Thames and Hudson £48)

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