One primetime ad from the early 80s particularly exemplified the atmosphere of surly self-love that Klein promoted; as the designer himself described it to Playboy:

“[There’s a] guy with an incredible body, and he was shot from the boots up, the camera slowly panning up his naked back; then the model turned around and said, ‘A body is only a good-looking place to keep your brain warm.’ We dubbed the voice, of course, because he couldn't speak.”

That commercial, with its wholesale objectification of the male body, was entirely new at the time: In fact, Klein pioneered this particular marketing strategy. Massive billboards depicting bare-chested young Adonises clad in nothing but Klein's eponymous briefs -- photographed by gay icon Bruce Weber -- outraged, titillated, and drove Americans to spend.

But with the advent of AIDS, Klein suddenly changed course, both personally and professionally. It had long been rumored that Klein was gay - unsurprising, given the houses he owned in Key West and Fire Island, not to mention the black leather bedspread that famously adorned his Manhattan townhouse. But now, thanks to the homophobic panic the disease engendered, rumors that Klein had AIDS began to simmer, and would not be quelled. An Italian radio station even announced his death from the disease.

In response, Klein sold the homes he owned in both gay meccas and promptly married his assistant, a woman over 20 years his junior. Though they maintained separate apartments (naturally), the pair was suddenly ubiquitous: There they were, sailing for Vogue. There they were, gamboling at their house in East Hampton, for Vanity Fair. There they were, feeding each other, profile against perfect profile, for WWD.

And there was also Klein’s new perfume, named Eternity, after the wedding band he’d purchased for his new bride.

The commercials featured no nudity; only a beautiful woman whispering "Always. Forever,” as she cavorted with her equally gorgeous family. In the words of Advertising Age, “Nobody exhibited any vice beyond excessive bonding.”

Which is, perhaps, why the Calvin Klein brand survived the 1980s; it was eventually acquired by Philips Van Heusen (PVH) for nearly half a billion dollars, thereby providing a perfect illustration of the Eighties' queasy shuttling from profligacy to caution - and back again.