Authors: Brad Goreski
Meanwhile, I spent most of the shoot in a side room with Taylor, eating hors d’oeuvres, pot stickers, spring rolls, and sliders from the catering table. It was the antithesis of anything Grace Coddington preached. I worried that I was like that guy in the Dickies pants whom Grace yelled at for treating catering like a horse trough.
This turned out to be the calm before the storm.
W
e started filming the first season of
The Rachel Zoe Project
only one week after I arrived, and none of us had a clue how it would work. I showed up in the morning and a production assistant slapped a microphone on me, and then I went about my day pretending there wasn’t a camera in my face or incredibly bright lighting overhead. The producers hung out in the studio for hours just waiting for something—anything, really—to happen. Taylor, God love her, was a pain in the ass to the crew from the very beginning. On camera, she taunted the producers, saying ridiculous things like “This is the most boring show ever. Nobody is going to watch this.”
As for me, I was more concerned with learning the job than with the cameras. Unfortunately, my responsibilities were never clearly defined. This was a real job for me but nobody was telling me what to do. I felt lost more often than not. I styled Kate Beckinsale for some press she was doing for an indie called
Snow Angels
. And when I came home at night to Gary, I locked myself in the home office and cried. I was seventeen again. It was sink or swim, and I was worried that Taylor might let me sink. Our personalities didn’t mesh. She liked to get the job done and get home. I was the opposite. I wanted to stay and hang out with Rachel and ask questions and be chatty and get to know her and find out how things worked there. This was the extent of what I knew: Rachel had an enviable client list, and Taylor and I were each to run point on certain accounts. Taylor worked closely with Jennifer Garner, Eva Mendes, and Cameron Diaz. And I was to work with Kate Beckinsale and Joy Bryant. (Later, when Anne Hathaway came aboard, I’d work with her, too.)
“I was seventeen again. It was sink or swim, and I was worried that Taylor might let me sink.”
I had been working for Rachel for three weeks when we flew to New York for Fashion Week. My eyes were beyond wide. I’d never done a proper Fashion Week, only crashed events when I could beg my way in. Now I was staying at a gorgeous hotel and had a packet of tickets with my name on them. I thought I’d be standing in the back, at best, but at most of these shows I was seated directly behind Rachel. The
Rachel Zoe Project
crew was following us around, and it was madness. The Waverly Inn was the restaurant of the season. We ate there three or four times that week. Francisco Costa from Calvin Klein was at one table. Oscar de la Renta and Valentino were at another table. I was getting whiplash looking around the room. Rachel introduced me to Valentino and the only thought in my head was, I’m so glad I didn’t eat today. Because I’m so nervous I could throw up right now. We had dinner with Brian Atwood and Nate Berkus, and I ordered the chicken pot pie and the biscuits and the berry crumble. Thom Browne was at the next table and I was speechless.
“I was about to be handed my first major international assignment, and the stakes were stiletto-high.”
When I thought the insanity couldn’t get any more intense, a phone call came and my itinerary changed wildly. While I couldn’t be trusted to change the toner in the office copy machine, I was about to be handed my first major international assignment, and the stakes were stiletto-high. This trip would determine my standing with the top celebrity stylist in the country, and perhaps my future in fashion.
My phone pinged at two in the morning with a text: “911.” I thought it was a joke. But Rachel said: “We need to get an entire fitting together today for an international press tour for Kate Hudson.”
Fashion Week is all about scouting dresses for the upcoming awards season, but now Kate Hudson had dropped a fashion emergency in our laps. The in-demand actress was about to leave town for the BAFTA Awards in London when she had a last-minute crisis of faith. She wanted to change her look, and that meant changing her stylist and bringing Team Zoe in. Kate was scheduled to depart for Europe in less than forty-eight hours and she needed a dress for the awards ceremony, plus looks for the Elle Style Awards in the UK and for a round of interviews with the media. Could we pull a fitting together on a moment’s notice? Oh, and could I go to London with her?
“I never realized how much energy and hustle it took to pull something like this together…. I lived for the stress because I was so fresh.”
Though I was in runway shows with Rachel all day on the lookout for Oscar dresses, I threw up the fashion equivalent of the Bat Signal, asking publicists to send over anything that might work for Kate. Taylor had already gone home to L.A., and this was one of the first jobs I was really handling on my own. From my seat in the shows, I was e-mailing publicists at the different fashion houses requesting looks for Kate to wear in London. I was in the car e-mailing. I was on the toilet e-mailing. I was running from show to show, praying that when I got back to the hotel for that night’s fitting, the right clothing would be there waiting for me. I thought back on my time at
W
magazine and how stressed Marina had been. Finally, I got it. I never realized how much energy and hustle it took to pull something like this together. I wasn’t scared of Rachel. I was just afraid of disappointing her. She set the expectations high and pushed you to be a better assistant, to work at a certain level. I lived for the stress because I was so fresh.
Garment bags started arriving around noon and continued through the evening. It was all on the line for me, and I had planned for every possible contingency. Kate showed up that night and was thankfully happy with the looks. I’d pulled off a last-minute fitting at the height of Fashion Week. I was out to prove that I was more than just the guy in the bow tie who is fun to have around. That I could do this job. That I could be trusted with an A-list client. Because if I couldn’t cut it, there were a million girls waiting to take my place. Which is just one of the many ways the fashion world is like
Showgirls.
Like the poster says, “Leave your inhibitions at the door.”
“I was out to prove that I was more than just the guy in the bow tie who is fun to have around. That I could do this job. That I could be trusted with an A-list client.”
Suddenly I was in London, surrounded by racks of clothing and a minibar stocked with Toblerone up to my arms. It was a terrible time to come down with the flu, but that is exactly what happened. After a thirty-six-hour incubation period, a tickle in the back of my throat had blossomed into a head-to-toe fever, and I was unable to lift my head off the pillow. While I tried to kill the bug by sleeping it off, there are some things even six-hundred-thread-count sheets can’t fix. I woke up in a puddle of my own sweat, at which point three thoughts went through my head, not necessarily in this order:
1. If I don’t get out of bed, I’m going to get fired from my dream job before it even begins.
2. Do hotels still have doctors on call?
3. I really wish
The Devil Wears Prada
was on TV.
Also, a fourth question: How exactly did I get here?
I asked myself that question all the time. Our schedules changed that often and without warning. Three days ago I had been asleep in New York at another boutique hotel. Now I was plagued by something resembling the Black Death, and I had to force myself to put on a brave face as I readied Kate for the awards ceremony. In the end, it wasn’t the flu that threatened to sink my styling career. It was the zipper on a taffeta Valentino gown.
“As a stylist, you can have the best eye in the world, but that eye will only get you so far. What you need to be is a good salesperson.”
I learned an invaluable lesson on this trip—and it isn’t that London hotels no longer have doctors on call (though that is also good to know). As a stylist, you can have the best eye in the world, but that eye will only get you so far. What you need to be is a good salesperson. In New York, Kate had chosen a strapless, red Valentino gown, tight to mid-calf. But after two hours of hair and makeup in London, she slid into this perfect dress only to see the zipper go off the track. Full-blown panic, right? Not a chance. It was time to put on my salesman hat. We got her out of the Valentino and I started pushing Dress B—a gold, sequined Dior gown with a low back. It was very art deco looking, and it went perfectly with a pair of diamond-and-emerald Bulgari shower earrings we’d picked out.
This broken zipper was a happy accident, I told her. And I believed that: In a way, the best dress really did win in the end. And she looked gorgeous. The fashion blogs went crazy for the look—and then flipped again a few nights later for her look at the Elle Style Awards. Kate looked gorgeous in a white keyhole Derek Lam—with a 1970s door knocker vintage Van Cleef necklace for a Studio 54 moment. That was a double victory: On top of looking stunning, wearing Derek Lam allowed her to endorse a fashion-world rising star. When a major Hollywood star chooses to wear an up-and-coming New York designer to a big international fashion event she’s making a statement. This was a chance for Kate to use her voice. She is a fashion icon, and she is rewarded for taking risks.
In the end, the Valentino zipper was repaired in New York. Kate was happy. As for me, I nursed a fever on a thirteen-hour flight to Los Angeles, fighting off the chills. But I was proud of myself and felt like I was making real progress with Rachel. That I’d established myself as a reliable second assistant. Or so I thought.
Power Up!
HOW TO KEEP YOUR ENERGY HIGH WHEN YOU’RE ON THE GO
1. Get to bed! Trust me, I have my fair share of sleepless nights or nights when I arrive home from a party at four
A.M
. It’s important to get at least six hours of sleep. No excuses.
2. If you are tired, don’t talk about how tired you are. I believe that manifests more exhaustion. Be extra kind to yourself and the world on these days.
3. Drink lots of water. Caffeine is delicious and will keep you up, but staying hydrated is more important.
4. Exercise is key—even when you’re tired. Push yourself.
5. Eat a real meal. Eating on the go is necessary at times, but sit for fifteen minutes, put down your iPhone, and enjoy your meal. Carry some snacks with you, too. I get so crazy when my blood sugar is too low. Keep a nutrition bar or some nuts on hand to help you get through to your next meal. Or stop to get a juice or a smoothie—my favorite fix when I feel my energy lagging.
Let me start here: From the outset, Rachel and I were best girlfriends. We’d go through look books together. We’d talk about our favorite models. We loved to see the clothing in real life—that was the real thrill of this job. To touch the clothing. We discussed what we were going to wear to the office every day, and she quickly became my first call of the day and my last text at night. On national television, Taylor would accuse me of being “up Rachel’s ass.” And I kinda was.
Rachel was like a Barbie doll come to life. She looked like Barbie. She had a never-ending closet of amazing clothing. I’d get to dress her up just like I’d done with my dolls. It was like a childhood fantasy come to life. More than that, we had a fashion mind-meld. We were in synch. At runway shows, I’d sit behind her furiously trading e-mails. I’d be e-mailing the head of Chanel PR from the third row as looks were coming down the runway. When the look books came out, Rachel and I had the same thoughts. She’d say, “Did you see look number forty-three? That’s so Cameron.” And because I’d felt the same way, I’d already e-mailed the publicist to request the look. It was one big fashion game. How many looks could I call in that Rachel wanted?
Bringing Sexy Back
OR WHAT YOU CAN LEARN FROM MARILYN MONROE
One of the first things I noticed in Los Angeles was a confusion among people about what is sexy. A minidress and platform heels and tons of makeup and hair—I’m all for that moment. But there’s something to be said for how sexy a bit of subtle sophistication can be. It’s important to remember: Don’t give it all away. Rely on the element of surprise. There’s a great power in undressing and revealing what’s been hidden.
There’s a little bit of the burlesque dancer in me, and it comes out in styling. I like to reveal things slowly. Madonna pushed boundaries and got everything right. But that doesn’t mean everyone should wear a cone bra. A semi-sheer blouse with a great bra and a pencil skirt can be more effective. There’s a way of showing off your body without giving it all away that can be much more appealing. In styling Jessica Alba, I channel Maria Callas, Sophia Loren. For the CFDA Awards, I took inspiration from a 1970s yacht in Saint-Tropez. It’s about characters and imagination.
This very much extends to men. There’s nothing worse than a man in a skintight T-shirt with a waxed chest and embroidered pockets on his jeans and a horrible square-toed Italian shoe. Men in Italy don’t dress this way. Have you been to Rome? What they do so well there is the perfectly tailored suit with a crisp white shirt open to reveal a little bit of chest. That’s sexy. And there are a thousand men like that in Rome walking out their doors every morning.
You don’t need to spend a lot of money, either, if you know your shape. You can buy a suit for $200, as long as you take it to a tailor and spend an extra $75 to have it fit your body. You don’t need fifty suits in your closet. You need six: charcoal, navy, and khaki in winter and summer weights. Have the bases covered.