Chapter Two #4
‘Amber,’ she said, then swallowed, snapping me back into the room.
‘We’re onto outfit three.’ She fixed me with a stare.
I wondered whether she and Jose had pre-planned the scenarios or if she was making them up on the spot.
‘Let’s say I’m doing some editorial for a luxury fashion magazine, and they want to shoot me on Necker.
How would you style me for the front cover? ’
I paused. Necker. She didn’t mean the sugary fluid inside a flower, it had to be Necker Island – the idyllic private paradise owned by Sir Richard Branson. I’d read about it before.
‘Presumably we’re talking resort wear, if you mean Necker Island?’ I asked to double check.
For a moment she looked indifferent. ‘You tell me, you’re the stylist.’
‘Resort wear it is,’ I muttered and walked back into the closet. I felt so much more comfortable surrounded by clothes than people.
‘Two minutes. Go!’ Jose called after me.
I paused.
‘Would you mind if we stop the timing element, please?’ I asked. ‘It’s just that I’m feeling quite flustered by the added pressure.’
I stopped. Has that really just come out of my mouth?
They both looked stunned. What would Vicky do now?
I took a deep breath and continued, ‘I mean, I know that none of us have all day to be doing this, it’s just that, in the real world, I’d always ensure we aren’t scrambling for an outfit in a short space of time.
I need to give the clothes, and the wearer, an opportunity to speak to me. ’
‘Clothes speak to you?’ Jimi asked, the corners of his mouth turning up.
‘It’s just a turn of phrase,’ I replied, determined not to let my nerves show.
‘I believe the best styling is a marriage of personality as much as picking out a nice-looking outfit. I want to give Mandy the best choice, based on her needs for the event in question, and I do this most effectively when I don’t feel flustered.
’ I smiled at the end, an attempt to lighten the mood.
‘You feel flustered?’ Jimi folded his arms across his chest.
‘She just told you she did,’ Mandy responded, whacking his knee.
She then turned and gave me an encouraging wink, saying without words that not many people had the courage to stand up to Jose like I just had. To be fair, I was on the seventh day of my menstrual cycle, which helped. I got the impression she was warming to me.
‘Fair enough, Amber Green. Forget the timer, let’s see what the clothes have to say. Take your time,’ Jose said. He glanced at Mandy, who was looking at the side of his face.
Jimi couldn’t resist another wry smile, but it was clear I was now in the driving seat.
‘You’re welcome, and thank you,’ I replied.
My mother had installed a politeness in me that kicked in when it needed to.
Once more my fingers began running over the garments on view.
It was much easier to let my actions take the lead, as I sifted through a symphony of kaftans, my fingers moving like a conductor artfully guiding an orchestra of fabrics.
I held up a few bikini top and bottom combinations, before settling instinctively on a Missoni swimsuit, the distinctive multicoloured zig-zag design and deep, plunging neckline making it an iconic, timeless piece.
This style had a stark black trim, giving it a modern edge that would add some drama to a tropical backdrop.
‘This will create an enviable silhouette for a magazine cover,’ I said, holding it up for Mandy’s approval. ‘How do you feel about this one?’
‘It’s brand new,’ Mandy replied. ‘I saw it on Mytheresa yesterday and had it shipped. I love it.’
‘You have an excellent eye.’ I smiled. ‘I’d team it with the matching maxi dress, they do one that you can have buttoned or open, to show off your curves.
I could call it in from their press office for the shoot.
I know the girls there. Your hair would look great pulled back into a slick bun for this, add some gold hoops, a glossy lip, kick back in a hammock and you’ll rock the front cover.
Bare-foot fashion at its best. Or killer heels on a jetty – the outfit would work either way. ’
‘Sold!’ Mandy shrieked. ‘I love the sound of this! In fact, I wonder if they have the maxi in stock now – we’re off to the Maldives tomorrow to film some content.’
I took this as my cue to go one step beyond.
‘Let me see if the PR team will arrange a loan for you. I’m sure I can make it happen.’ I had no idea in that moment if I could actually make it happen, but I was sure as hell going to try if it might get me this job, whatever this job, actually was.
I fumbled to find my phone in my bag on the floor. A missed call from Rob, which would have to wait. I noticed it was already gone eleven, the last hour had flown past.
Trying to look as cool and calm as possible I began scrolling through the contacts on my phone – I knew I still had many of my styling contacts in there and believe me, when I was working for Mona, I needed everyone on speed dial.
Missoni.
Missoni.
Missoni.
Nothing was coming up.
Perhaps sensing my panic, Mandy came over and placed a hand gently on my back.
‘No problem,’ she purred. ‘It can wait.’
I sat back and placed the phone back in my bag, relieved.
‘Sure. Well, if you’d like me to follow up, just say the word.’ I wasn’t going to press the issue.
I stood up and hung up the Missoni swimsuit and gold hoops next to the other two looks, and we both stood back to admire the three outfits together.
‘I like the way you’ve curated these, it’s different,’ she remarked. ‘It feels fresh.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ I replied. ‘In fact I think we could push things even further, if you’re game. I think we could really put you on the map as a fashion-forward personality.’
‘You’re right. Beachwear is one thing,’ Mandy said, pulling a strand of hair that had stuck to her peachy lip gloss, ‘but I need to know if this leopard can change her spots.’ She glanced sideways at Jose.
I had a strong suspicion that they were silently weighing up whether to tell me something.
‘Imagine, for a moment, that we’re moving to the UK,’ she continued, her eyes widening.
‘How would you suggest I evolve my style of dressing?’
‘Well, I mean, wow, that would be exciting, of course. I—’ I began to reply, but Jose interjected, perhaps he was annoyed she’d said too much.
‘Which brings us neatly onto the fourth outfit,’ he stated. ‘It’s London Fashion Week, the weather is god-awful British rain, Mandy’s got four shows back to back. What does she wear?’
I paused for a moment. My experience of one particular fashion week came back to haunt me and I felt my palms become tacky again.
I’d attended New York Fashion Week in a Manhattan heatwave, and the Michael Kors show was the scene of a career-defining moment, when I inadvertently exposed the super-stylist Lola Jones’s alopecia.
The episode taught me a lot about social media and the power of one ill-advised post – how it could go viral in a split second.
I was very, very lucky that this particular post was an innocent mistake – I had no idea that the top of Lola’s head was in the photo, let alone that she was struggling with a hair loss condition.
I would never have posted a photo with her in it if I had.
Within minutes, some trolls had spotted it and before you could say ‘stop the world I want to jump off’ my image went viral.
Fortunately, something positive came out of it in the end because this went on to become one of the trending fashion week news stories for all the right reasons.
Instead of hiding away, Lola chose this moment to speak about her condition with a view to supporting other alopecia sufferers and made the news agenda globally.
Plus, I gained thousands of new Instagram followers in the process. Phew.
For Mandy’s next imagined styling assignment, I was ready. You’re not fooling me. No way, Jose!
‘Is this a trick question?’ I smiled.
They both stared at me, puzzled.
‘Dressing for London Fashion Week,’ I said confidently. ‘Well, it all depends on which shows you’ll be attending. I mean, are we talking Burberry or Harris Reed, perhaps Roksanda, David Koma, or Julien Macdonald?’
Mandy shrugged. ‘All of them?’
She clearly wasn’t wise to London Fashion Week etiquette, where celebrities showed their fierce allegiance to one or two fashion houses, rather than appearing beside every catwalk, along with the fashion press.
‘Whoever you want to see – and we would work together on who aligns best with your brand – the etiquette is you wear that designer. If I was your stylist, you could trust in me for that. I would arrange with the fashion designer’s team that you sit front row at the show, and we would borrow a current look from the collection.
If for any reason they won’t lend, we would work to build a relationship. All this takes time and a strategy.’
‘A fashion strategy. I love the sound of that, darling,’ Mandy cooed. Her face lit up as she looked across at Jose in an I told you so way.
I loved the sound of it too. I just hoped I could come up with one.
Although Mandy didn’t strike me as a natural fit at London Fashion Week, I instinctively felt she would be fun to work with, and there were bubbles of excitement in my stomach – a sensation which had been absent in my working life for a while.
I took this as my podium moment – the chance to leave her with something powerful, in the form of a few choice words that would hang in the air long after I had left the room, in a bid to win me this job.
Think Best Actress Oscars speech, Amber. Move over, Emma Stone, I’ve got this.