PETER PICKS THE PRAIRIE ROSES

Peter Rogers, who has developed many glamorous ad campaigns, has scored again with La Prairie. JOHN DUKA reports on how the unapproachable were approached

When the advertisements first appeared last September, they were (except to that tiny segment of the populace that knows the riptides of Hobe Sound as intimately as it does the cosmetics counter of Neiman-Marcus), quite frankly, a mystery. They were meant to be. The two-page black-and-white ads showed attractive, though far from archetypally beautiful (and far from young), women staring calmly outward, each with a look that seemed to ask, "Are you sure your name was on the guest list?" Discreetly lowercase type read: "beauty is not only skin deep." Still-smaller type informed the puzzled reader that the eminent photographer Horst had snapped the portraits for La Prairie skin care; that the women had such names as Mrs. Samuel Parkman Peabody, Mrs. Oscar S. Wyatt, Jr., and Mrs. Gordon Getty; that these women held such positions as board member of the San Francisco Opera Association or the Hospice Guild of Palm Beach; and that we could call an 800 number for more information.

The message read by women between the ages of thirty-five and fifty-four (a sisterhood that will have grown, it is predicted, by 56 percent in the year 2000) was that as the graying of America accelerates you no longer have to be young, or physically perfect, to be beautiful. The message read by media watchers was that La Prairie (at ninety dollars an ounce the most expensive wrinkle cream on the market) had adopted a new kind of prestige product and marketing strategy, both designed to go right over the head of those who swear by Oil of Olay. A "segmented market" is advertising's euphemism for customers distinguished by class: in this case that market is women who know that Mrs. Gordon Getty is married to one of the wealthiest men in America and that she is one of the social tigresses of San Francisco.

All of this bears the imprint of Peter Rogers, the fifty-oneyear-old adman who developed the "What Becomes a Legend Most?" series of ladies wearing black ranch mink. "La Prairie wanted a Blackglama campaign," says Rogers. "I told them that I never wanted to meet another legend as long as I lived and that the legends were dying fast. I said, 'Why don't we go after the social ladies who have never done anything vastly public, the ones who are involved in charity work and who would never pose for anything? And if we get the ladies to sign, they have to throw a party when the ad breaks; La Prairie will give $50,000 to their favorite work, and the name of their charity will appear in the ad.' On the way back to my office after that breakfast meeting, I came up with 'beauty is not only skin deep.' "

La Prairie's general manager at the time, Aileen Rowland, who had come up through the ranks of American Cyanamid, which owns Jacqueline Cochran, which oversees La Prairie, bit. "1 knew that Peter was the epitome of the upscale-advertising man," she says. "For La Prairie, I wanted a campaign that would set itself apart from traditional ad campaigns-Cos-

metics is a billion-billion-dollar industry, the high end of it dominated by Estee Lauder, but the highest growth potential is now in what we call the prestige, Europe-based lines. The plan was to stay with the Neiman-Marcuses of the world, to stay within our own upscale pond. But not necessarily with older women so much as real women. My theory is, know who you are, know what you do well, and go for it. Period."

So, Rogers and La Prairie went for it and hired Budd Calisch, one of the most socially trusted public-relations men in New York, to round up the ladies. It wasn't easy. "At first, none of the ladies would do it," Calisch says. "Jackie said no. So did Jacqueline de Ribes. For three weeks, I worked on the list. The key and the coup was Judy Peabody. She was the first to agree, and when she said yes, Ann Getty said yes, and then Lynn Wyatt. I took a month to convince her. Her husband, Sam, whose sister is Marietta Tree, you know, the Peabody Boston tribe, offered Judy $60,000 not to do it. But when Judy saw the layouts and realized it would help Arthur Mitchell's Dance Theatre of Harlem, she couldn't refuse. ' '

Snaring Peabody was crucial for the campaign. Her name invariably evokes words of genuine affection around tables at Le Cirque, the restaurant where the women of La Prairie are apt to be found after a round or two with the Cellular Refining Lotion. The party she gave for La Prairie on a stormy autumn night was packed with every boldfaced name that ever filled a column. In the middle of it all, Peabody stood smiling, saying, "I'll get used to this, er, fame. It's important to give as much as one can to life. ' '

Indeed, a common factor among all the women who finally signed on is their devotion to service work. Ann Getty's money, for example, went to the San Francisco Opera. "I thought Gordon would hate the whole idea," she says, "and that everyone would think I was doing it for the publicity. He loved it, and said, 'Take the check.' You know, I think giving the money to charity is very nice, but I've never thought that people are terribly aware of who's in society. I don't think the faces are recognizable to people, so I can't measure the success of the ad. I like to look at makeup ads for makeup tips."

"I would have done it for five dollars," says Abra Prentice Anderson of Chicago, the fortytwo-year-old great-granddaughter of John D. Rockefeller. ''Fifty thousand is a lot of money, but I also did it for the ego. I loved the idea of Horst. They did it right, too, from pink champagne to limos. At the shooting, all these people were flying around and this wonderful creature arrived on a motorcycle to do my hair and told all these wonderfully bitchy stories about Lynn Wyatt bringing her own hair-and-makeup person. I didn't use the product, though, until after. You need a map to figure out how to use it. It's very expensive, but very good, and very rich."

And very successful. In 1984, the first year affected by the campaign, La Prairie sold $25 million worth of unguents—an astronomical 60 percent over 1983. The products (Cellular Cycle Ampoules, for example, cost $195 for seven) are based on the cellular-therapy research of Dr. Paul Niehans at the La Prairie clinic, in Montreux, Switzerland. Dr. Niehans developed the process of injecting fresh embryonic cells from fetal lambs into his patients to retard aging. Dietrich, Sinatra, Picasso, and Pope Pius XII are among those said to have had the famous injections.

Meanwhile, the La Prairie team is on to greener pastures. Recently, for example, they photographed Princess Stephanie of Monaco for the campaign. ''Isn't she eighteen or something?" asks Ann Getty. Another coup is Princess Yasmin Aga Khan, the daughter of Aly Khan and Rita Hayworth. "It was very difficult for Yasmin," Budd Calisch says solicitously. "She was the last holdout. There were very personal reasons. Because of her family, she has to take into consideration that she is a holy woman. A very holy thirty-twoyear-old lady."