She wore leopard like a second skin, never left the Ritz without her gloves and pearls, and refused to reveal her true age—because mystery, darling, was part of the look.
Before she became the fashion world’s most elusive muse, Mitzah Bricard was a cabaret dancer with a taste for elegance and a determination to live on her own terms. While many have forgotten her name, her legacy is woven into every inch of the House of Dior.
Born Germaine Louise Neustadt in 1900, she buried that name like a bad first marriage—which, incidentally, she also had (to a Romanian diplomat found mysteriously dead in a Bucharest hotel, but let’s not spoil the mood). By the time she became Mitzah—a name stolen from a Kabbalah text or a dead courtesan, depending on who’s lying—she’d perfected the art of vanishing in plain sight.
From Cabaret Spotlight to Parisian Society
Mitzah Bricard grew up in the south of France. Her heritage was partly Austrian and partly English, and her upbringing was far from the polished image she later projected.
In her early years, she reinvented herself—first as a cabaret dancer in the bohemian Montmartre nightlife of 1920s Paris. There, under stage lights and cigarette smoke, Mitzah developed her aura: dramatic hats, flawless posture, and an almost feline presence. She may have started in fishnets, but she had her sights set on something much grander.
Mitzah married twice—her second husband was reportedly very wealthy, and the marriage gave her access to a new world of luxury. She famously took up residence at the Ritz, turning the legendary hotel into her private stage. Staff knew her favorite champagne. Her gloves were custom. Her room always smelled of roses and Guerlain.
But even amid that splendor, she remained aloof—always perfectly styled, always just out of reach.
Enter Dior: A Meeting That Changed Fashion Forever
The year was 1946. Christian Dior, still smelling of banker’s ink and desperation, entered the salon like a man walking to his own execution. Then—the laugh. That throaty, Gauloise-ravaged cackle cutting through the perfume cloud. He turned to see a woman draped in what appeared to be the pelt of an assassinated zoo animal, casually informing a viscountess that her hat “looked like a dead swan fucking a wedding cake.”
Mitzah instantly recognized something in Dior—a sensibility that mirrored her own. He, in turn, was captivated by her poise, her instinct for elegance, and her uncanny ability to sense what would be timeless. Their connection wasn’t romantic. It was something deeper: an aesthetic alliance.
When Dior finally opened his house in that same year, Mitzah Bricard became part of its soul.
Officially, she worked in the accessories and hat department, crafting details that would define Dior’s “New Look.”
But unofficially? She was his muse, his style compass, and a keeper of refinement.
Leopard Print & Long Gloves: The Mitzah Aesthetic
In a world where fashion was rapidly evolving after World War II, Dior’s “New Look” brought back luxury and structure. But the elegance it promised wasn’t just sewn into the skirts—it was embodied by Mitzah herself.
She became the symbol of Dior’s ideal woman: strong yet delicate, disciplined yet decadent. Her signature accessories—leopard-print scarves, dramatic hats, and impeccable gloves—began to influence not only Dior’s collections but the house’s entire brand DNA.
In fact, Mitzah’s signature leopard pattern became such a part of Dior’s identity that it continues to be a recurring motif in the brand’s modern collections—even inspiring the “Mitzah” scarf and the Dior Mitzah leopard eyeshadow palette.
She once said,
Elegance is refusal.
And she lived it. No excess. No chaos. Everything precise, everything intentional.
The Ritz Woman: Glamour With a Locked Diary
While she worked closely with Dior, Mitzah kept her private life impenetrable. She was known as “The Woman at the Ritz,” a nickname whispered by those in fashion and society circles alike.
She never dined in the public hotel restaurant—everything was room service, everything was curated. She didn’t attend the parties. She was the party.
Even Dior himself spoke about her mystique with reverence. He once said:
She personified a style of elegance that was both romantic and strict.
Though she had no children and left few personal records, those around her always felt they were in the presence of a woman who had seen everything, lost nothing, and revealed little.
Her Role in Dior’s Circle
Inside the Maison, Mitzah wasn’t just a stylist or an advisor—she was a guardian of Dior’s vision. When others questioned design risks or suggested trends, Mitzah held firm to what she called “true taste.”
She became Dior’s unofficial gatekeeper of elegance, often sitting in fittings, critiquing hat angles or glove lengths with a single arched brow. Dior trusted her eye so much that many of his key accessory choices were left to her discretion.
She wasn’t always easy. But she was always right.
After Dior
When Christian Dior passed away in 1957, Mitzah was devastated. She stayed involved with the House during the early days of Yves Saint Laurent’s takeover, but she slowly began to retreat from the spotlight.
She passed away in 1980, still cloaked in mystery and elegance. But Dior never forgot her.
In fact, under John Galliano and later Maria Grazia Chiuri, Mitzah’s legacy was revived through leopard prints, scarf collections, and an ongoing reverence for her role in defining Dior’s elegance.
In 1997, an intern discovered a locked drawer containing 300 sketches by Christian Dior… each stamped with three damning words: “APPROVED BY MITZAH.”
