Authors: Brad Goreski
As an intern at
W
magazine, I couldn’t help but pose with this $50,000 magenta Birkin bag. There was a massive waiting list for the Birkin back then–there still is–and I had to hold it.
It’s not just practical skills I took from Marina. I learned the importance of photo shoot etiquette. One day, I was assisting at a shoot for Swarovski that Marina was styling. Guinevere van Seenus was the model—which made me laugh, because I knew Guinevere. Not from New York fashion parties, not from the fashion world at all, but because she sat in front of me in French class at Santa Monica College. We greeted each other like old friends, and during lunch, we caught up. Craig McDean, a world-class photographer, was shooting that day’s Swarovski story, and he joined us for lunch. The three of us were talking about who knows what when Marina appeared out of nowhere, leaned in, and whispered in my ear, “Can I talk to you for a second?” Uh-oh.
“I was caught off guard by her question. This dragon lady, this woman I’d been terrified of, had that much faith in me?”
I excused myself from the table, never to return. Marina explained that when a photographer sits down with his subject, the assistants are meant to disappear. The photographer needs that time to establish a rapport with the talent. Everyone else—even if you are old college friends—is simply in the way. Lesson learned.
Marina was nearing the end of her stint with Alex White—there is a natural time for every assistant to move on—and she was looking for a replacement. Even though I was only a junior in college, Marina asked if I might be interested in the job. She had been interviewing people and giving people trial runs, but no one had really worked out. But she saw something in me, she said. She asked if I would stay on, shadow her when Alex returned, and see if it was a good fit.
I was caught off guard by her question. This dragon lady, this woman I’d been terrified of, had that much faith in me? Over the summer, she’d welcomed me into the fold, and this introduction meant more to me than she could ever have known. I discussed the potential opportunity with Gary and we even talked to an immigration lawyer, who advised me to stay in school instead and get my degree. It was not an easy decision. This was the first time in my life that I felt almost on the inside. But I took the lawyer’s advice and went back to school, as hard as that was.
Take Care (of Your Clothing)
HOW TO MAKE WHAT’S IN YOUR CLOSET LAST
1. Don’t over-dry-clean things. I wear my suits a few times before I send them to the dry cleaners. Instead of protecting your clothes, the chemicals in dry cleaning can actually start wearing the fabric down. Unless you have a stain or unwanted scent, I suggest wearing it a few times.
2. Moths: Invest in cedar disks for the tops of your hangers to keep the moths away.
3. If you’re going to spend $600 on a pair of shoes—and I have a weakness for expensive shoes—invest in shoe trees to preserve them. I love patent leather, which can tend to get wrinkly, but a shoe tree will help the shoe keep its shape and prevent creases in the leather.
4. Use a furniture spray like Endust to shine your patent leather.
5. Give your clothes room to breathe. Do not keep them all jammed together. It’s hard to find things and not good for the longevity of your clothes. If this is happening, it’s time to consider editing your closet.
6. Keep very fragile or expensive items of clothing in garment bags and/or plastic. This is a no-brainer.
I worried: What if I give up this job at
W,
and an opportunity like it never comes again? I convinced myself this fear was irrational; I had to. I needed to believe the work would come. This would not be my only chance at bat. It helped that Tracy Doyle, who hired me for the
Life
magazine shoot, sent another job my way. I styled a shoot for
Time Out New York
celebrating the top ten bars in the five boroughs. A male and female model posed as a couple in each bar, and I dressed them for a series of first dates. It was a more complicated shoot than it sounds. Each image was set in a different period. For a 1970s mai tai photograph, I dressed the female model in a Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. For the eighties, it was a vintage Lacroix moment. For the 1990s, it was Gaultier. I pulled everything myself from (among other places) a vintage supplier in SoHo, What Goes Around Comes Around. I had no assistant, no budget. It was just me running around the city with garbage bags full of clothes. Still, it was a credit. It was a notch on my studded Gucci belt.
You Better
Work
HOW TO GET A SUMMER INTERNSHIP IN FASHION
1. Identify the job.
As Fraulein Maria says in
The Sound of Music,
let’s start at the very beginning. Where do you want to work? Dream big. Don’t worry about who you know or don’t know. Just make the list. And know what you’re going after.
2. Be resourceful.
When I started looking for internships, I barely had my own e-mail address. But it’s a whole new world now. Be resourceful. If you want to work at a fashion magazine, open up the book and find the masthead. E-mail someone whose work you admire. Or better yet, e-mail their assistant. Go on Facebook. Go on Twitter. Also: Don’t forget the original, classic route. Pick up the phone and call the human resources department. Condé Nast has a formal internship program. So does Hearst. Find the application online, and find it early.
3. Dress up.
You’ll need a stroke of luck to land a job. I get that. But you need to be prepared when that luck strikes. And that means being presentable when you walk through the door. I tend to think it’s better to overdress for an interview. In fashion especially, no one wants to hire a slob. Be well dressed—whatever that means to you. When I interviewed with Anna Wintour at
Vogue,
I wore a wool Gucci suit even though it was the dead of summer. I kept my shit together. Wear something that shows you can dress yourself.
4. Do your homework.
Internships are so competitive these days, you need to show that you really want it. The best way to do that is to study up on the company. Know the magazine. Know the photographers who shoot for the magazine. Know the writers and editors by name, so you can reference their work. Internships lay the foundation for your future success. This homework is an investment. Also, know what to expect from the job. Know that you’re not going to be hanging out with the boss, sipping cocktails on a summer afternoon in the Hamptons. Understand that you’ll be doing grunt work, and be excited to learn from that work.
5. Send a handwritten thank-you note.
Preferably on personalized stationery, which everyone should have. If not, go to a stationery store and buy a set of nice cards. Crane makes beautiful ones for $10. Spend a little extra. They’ll notice the paper stock. And your stock will rise.
“She was soaking wet, wearing nothing but a string bikini. I realize this is a male fantasy. But not
this
male’s fantasy.”
There were more milestones, more victories—personally and professionally. There was always farther to go. My path was wide open. I stayed in Los Angeles the next summer, interning with Cristina Ehrlich and Estee Stanley, two well-known celebrity stylists who worked with Penélope Cruz and Reese Witherspoon, among others. I was thrown into the deep end. Their assistant was eight months pregnant and she trained me for a week before disappearing. I helped Cristina and Estee with their fashion line, Miss Davenport. I did a fitting at Jessica Biel’s house. Biel was promoting
The Illusionist,
a prestige film she made with Edward Norton. She did a British accent in the film, and the well-reviewed piece would help establish Biel as much more than the girl from
7th Heaven
with the perfect body. Though she was that, too, which I found out on our first meeting. I’d come to her house for the fitting. I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I knocked again and heard her yell from the back of the house, “I’m coming.” And then Jessica Biel, Hollywood bombshell, opened the front door to her house coming fresh from the pool. She was soaking wet, wearing nothing but a string bikini. I realize this is a male fantasy. But not
this
male’s fantasy.
“Where can I set up?” I said, itching to drop the garment bags that were weighing down my hands.
I
was five years sober when I called Nick. It was time to make amends. I flew to Toronto and we met on Yonge Street at Le Marche, a restaurant where we used to go on weekends. It was hard to face him. When I looked back on the relationship, I realized how much I’d pointed my finger and blamed him for my falling off the wagon, for us not working out. That was the hardest part for me to deal with. To see the damage I’d done from his perspective. He’d welcomed me into his home and I’d bulldozed through like a storm, running through the house tearing stuff up. Our relationship got bad because I made it bad. There were times when he acted out, yes. But it was a manifestation of the world I’d created. Sitting there at the café five years later, he looked older but still handsome. What I’ll always remember is the look of relief that came across his face. That I acknowledged my part. But also that I was not just on my feet but happy. The relief came from me, as well. I’d been struggling for years with how I’d apologize. This was keeping me back from moving forward. The five-year mark was a perfect time to let that go. And to allow Nick to let go.
I graduated from USC in 2008 with a degree in art history. I was twenty-five years old. And I needed an entry-level job. I had an idea of what this job would be: I wanted to work for Rachel Zoe. The only problem was, we hadn’t met yet.
“I had an idea of what this job would be: I wanted to work for Rachel Zoe. The only problem was, we hadn’t met yet.”
I
had been trying to track down Rachel Zoe for months. If you aspire to be a celebrity stylist in Los Angeles, then you dream of training under Rachel. She was the first stylist to be in French
Vogue
—in her own feature, not styling someone else. She dressed Keira Knightley for the 2006 Academy Awards in a burgundy Vera Wang gown (which, rumor has it, Rachel had a hand in designing herself). Either way, the dress was perfection. The truth is, no one knew what a stylist
was
until Rachel came along. She made it a legitimate career. If I was going to dedicate myself to someone for three years, about the length of time for a job like that—and I didn’t want to be some tragic thirty-eight-year-old stylist assistant—I wanted to do it with Rachel.
But I needed a personal introduction. I couldn’t find anyone who knew her, and believe me, I was relentless in my pursuit. Neither of her assistants was on Facebook. Twitter didn’t exist yet. I dropped her name every chance I got, hoping that by putting it out into the universe, the universe would send back a sign. Which is sort of what happened. In the end, it was the spirit of Coco Chanel that would bring us together.
I was at the Kasdan mansion on November 7, 2006, at a dinner in Beverly Hills celebrating the launch of Chanel’s fine jewelry collection. It was a sensible party for 250 people. So sensible, in fact, that there was a miniature train set winding through the backyard. There were several Picassos in the house as well, and a burly security guard standing watch. How did I come to be at this dinner? I certainly wasn’t invited on my own, at least not by the House of Chanel. Yes, I’d styled Eva Longoria for the yoga issue of
Life
magazine, but that wasn’t opening these guilded doors. What happened was a lot less glamorous: Gary’s agent’s wife needed a date and for Chanel, I would make myself available. My date’s name was Candie. And so I wore Gary’s chocolate-brown Dolce & Gabbana three-piece suit.
“Gary’s agent’s wife needed a date and for Chanel, I would make myself available.”
I’d like to pause to say how strange the universe is: Candie could have taken anyone to this party. This was a major fashion event in Beverly Hills, and Candie was über-stylish. She was a big wearer of head-to-toe Chanel. She’d wear thigh-high Chanel boots with perfect hair and crazy jewelry. She was super-high-fashion. When Gary and I first got together, before I ever had my own career going, I always looked forward to seeing Candie at parties, especially at her house. While the other wives were downstairs, Candie and I would be in her closet looking through the Chanel. She was one of the few people I knew in L.A. who was really into fashion. And the fact that she invited me to this party touched me. She could have taken one of her husband’s famous clients. She could have taken anyone, really. But she chose to take me—a client’s boyfriend who was in school at USC but who she knew would truly appreciate it. And I did.
At the dinner, Candie introduced me to Elizabeth Stewart, a stylist for the
New York Times
Magazine
. I told her that I’d just finished an internship with Cristina and Estee (that’s how they’re known in the industry) and that I had a premonition that I was going to work for Rachel Zoe. If only I could meet her.
“I know Rachel Zoe!” Elizabeth said. “She’s coming tonight. I’ll introduce you.”
“Really?” I said.
“Of course!”
Moments later, as if on cue, Rachel walked in with Nicole Richie. Rachel was dressed in a black, long-sleeved chiffon maxi dress. But the first thing I noticed was her eyes and how big they were. She was straying from her tan boho thing, and this new look was working for her. She looks like Barbie, I thought. Like a real Barbie. I was in awe.