Hollywood’s New Crisis Managers
On a nondescript winter afternoon, fashion stylist Jessica Paster raced across town in her black Jeep, preparing to get “Frasier” star Jane Leeves ready for the American Music Awards. This day, like many during the six-month award season, started before dawn, when Paster and her tailor finalized the last tucks and nips needed on two Richard Tyler creations. Leeves, a presenter at the awards, would choose one.
Outfitted in Jack Purcells, denim overalls and the requisite nylon Prada bag, Paster picked up the dresses from the tailor and carefully placed them in the back of the car, already stuffed with garment bags from Armani, stacks of scrumptious pastel-colored cashmere sweater sets and a case of Calvin Klein sunglasses, all for other clients. Receipts for Manolo Blahnik spike heels and Galliano clothing were scattered on the Jeep’s floor. At 3:30 p.m., still two stops and 20 minutes away from the “Frasier” set at Paramount studios, Paster was more than an hour late to deliver the gowns.
The world of celebrity fashion is a chaotic mix of ardent whimsy and tortured calculation. As the stars sashay down the carpet or up the steps at the Academy Awards, the Grammys or the Emmys, they look poised and perfect. But in the wings, a collective sigh of relief echoes throughout the harried ranks of fashion stylists. The months of preparation--the agony about the shoes, the purse, the jewels and, of course, the dress--are over. They quiver because millions are watching the line of the skirt, the cut of the neckline. The paparazzi flash and call, and everyone wants to know just one thing: “Demi, Jodie, Anjelica: What are you wearing?”
That’s why smart celebrities call a stylist when their closets fail to inspire. Often, such a call signals an urgent SOS, such as the one Linda Medvene received from Ellen DeGeneres three days before the Emmys last year. The sitcom star had a problem: She didn’t have a thing to wear and neither did her date, Anne Heche. Medvene, who had made DeGeneres look thin and elegant when she put her in a white custom-tailored Gucci suit for the 1996 Grammys, bolted into action. She drove to DeGeneres’ house with a swatch of mahogany fabric covered in a delicate black brocade, which she thought DeGeneres would like. She did.
That was only the beginning. The next day Medvene flew to New York to the studio of her friend and collaborator, designer Pamela Dennis. The two women, who have dressed luminaries such as the Duchess of York and Kate Winslet, devised a plan. Medvene knew DeGeneres liked the cut of a certain Dennis tuxedo suit, but the car coat needed to be shortened and the beaded halter needed to be replaced with a collared shirt. No problem. Outfitting DeGeneres’ partner, Anne Heche, a perfect size 4, well, that would be easy. Less than 16 hours and an all-nighter later, DeGeneres’ custom-designed suit, coordinated mahogany wrap and beaded mini for Heche boarded a plane to Los Angeles.
All that sound and fury for a pantsuit is the norm in today’s Hollywood. Cari Ross, a Baker Winokur Ryder publicist who represents, among others, Claire Danes, Meg Ryan and Julianna Margulies, says what celebrities wear becomes more important every year. “Fashion and Hollywood are so interdependent. They both want to be on the other side.”
In the old days of Hollywood, the studios provided the glamorous wardrobes--Oleg Cassini and Givenchy draped and swathed Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly, and it all looked effortless. Now, there are not only more stars, there are also more events and much more media coverage. Studio participation is minimal and the celebrity dressing ritual has become a hectic, draining exercise that is anything but glamorous. Steamers, pin-pricked fingers and hazardous driving define the terrain. Add to that celebrities who suddenly decide they don’t like blue or must have a 24-inch waist and you’ve got a sartorial nightmare.
That’s where the stylist steps in, between the designer and the star. Phillip Bloch, self-proclaimed stylist to the stars, is perhaps the first celebrity dresser who went very public with his vocation--in 1996 he became a guest correspondent on “E! Entertainment,” and he has evolved into a celebrity fashion expert who is often quoted in the fashion press. Following in his footsteps is a gaggle of young consultants with backgrounds in fashion, publicity, the Industry. It is the ultimate marketing job--a hybrid of procurement and packaging that can earn stylists as much as $1,000 a day. The job description is a modern lady-in-waiting, a valet who attends to the talent’s every dressing whim, including picking up dry cleaning as well as helping to choose the perfect fabric, the ideal accessory. Schlepping inordinate amounts of clothing across towns and countries constitutes at least 80% of the gig. Stylists also act as personal shoppers, representing clients in meetings with designers or at the runways. “We’re like personal fashion editors,” says Deborah Waknin, who has dressed Jim Carrey and Lauren Holly.
Ultimately, dressing celebrities is a personal and intimate task. “A lot of the work is psychological,” says Medvene. “It’s my job to make them comfortable. They’re not Barbie dolls. They’re not models. It’s a whole different way of working.”
It’s a way of working that can be taxing. Even a pro like Medvene, who’s been a stylist 61/2 years, felt the strain when she and Dennis shuttled back and forth between Kate Winslet’s Hotel Bel-Air room and Laura San Giacomo’s house in the San Fernando Valley to make sure the two not only had on the right underwear but also carried the perfect purses to the Golden Globe Awards. As the tailor made Winslet’s bodice tighter and tighter at the star’s request, Dennis had to keep her mouth shut--after all, pleasing the star is top priority. But increasingly, that job also involves anticipating and sating the public’s style appetite--the public loved Claire Danes in a pale blue Narciso Rodriguez at last year’s Oscars--and protecting the client from fashion don’ts that will provide insult fodder for the more mean-spirited among us. Remember Joan Rivers being merciless as she described Gillian Anderson in a scallop-necked Herve Leger at the Golden Globes?
In such a highly competitive guessing game, stylists will go to great lengths to protect the client’s interest. Two years ago, during a visit to Valentino’s Beverly Hills boutique, Waknin found the perfect Oscar dress for longtime client Halle Berry. The decolette silk and velvet lavender dress had literally just gotten off a plane from Italy, and the Valentino representative wouldn’t put it aside long enough for Waknin to call Berry. Nicole Kidman, it seemed, was due any minute. Waknin, who later softened Demi Moore’s “G.I. Jane” look by putting her in a Badgley Mischka at last year’s Golden Globes, resorted to desperate measures. Before Kidman arrived, she says, “the lavender dress accidentally fell under a desk.” Berry wore the dress.
“It was one of the most talked-about gowns that year,” Waknin says, emerging from Bloomingdale’s with her Hermes bag in one hand and the leash to her Akita (“a gift from Bruce and Demi”) in the other. “When I get calls from clients like Halle thanking me for helping them look so beautiful, it makes it all worthwhile.”
“Young Hollywood is glamorous again,” says Rodriguez, who also designed Carolyn Bessette Kennedy’s famed wedding dress, “and designers want that glamour to be associated with their name.” Although Rodriguez eschews celebrity wrangling--”He would probably cut my head off if I tried,” says his publicist, Pierre Rougier--there’s no doubt that the stakes are high for a designer when an actress chooses to be framed in his creation.
To capitalize on this desire, companies like Los Angeles- and New York-based Stylefile now match celebrities with stylists and designers. “We realized that in order to generate press from magazines like Vogue and InStyle, we needed celebrities. And every time we asked celebrities to attend an event, they needed clothes,” says Lara Shriftman, a Stylefile partner.
Last year Stylefile worked with stylist Wendy Schecter to dress one of the more notorious Academy Award attendees, Courtney Love’s transformation from a smeared-lipstick, slip-wearing pop tart into a pristine glamour puss in white Gianni Versace was unforgettable. “With Courtney, it was all about a philosophical discussion about where she was going with her career and what mood she wanted to create,” recalls Elizabeth Harrison, Stylefile partner. “It was agonizing. We didn’t know if she was going to wear Versace until the very last minute.”
This year Stylefile flew the Donatella Versace atelier collection into Los Angeles for an exclusive Oscar viewing at the Chateau Marmont. Stylists, publicists, agents and celebrities perused the collection in search of the perfect dress. Versace isn’t alone. Many designers book rooms at Los Angeles’ tony hotels to show their wares, and the boom doesn’t stop at dresses. During the award season last year, stylists flocked to Beverly Hills jeweler Martin Katz to procure enough ice for a small army of starlets.
Dressing the rich and famous is not all fashion shows and cocktail soirees. Stylists like Paster start their days before the sun comes up. They call designers in Europe and New York, look at endless swatches and sketches and, of course, shop. Paster, who helped Kim Basinger dress for the Golden Globes, also guided Minnie Driver through the Oscar dressing maze.
As Paster sped down Beverly Boulevard that February afternoon, frantic and tardy, only one thing mattered. Her client was waiting and no one was driving fast enough for her. She cursed the idiot with the Michigan plates who didn’t know how to drive and she cursed the cell phone that picked this crucial moment to give her fits. She ran a couple of yellow lights and made a quick right into an illegal parking space around the corner from the Richard Tyler store. After a mad dash inside, Paster emerged with three pairs of black shoes and a look of horror that could not be masked behind the large frames of her black sunglasses. The white shoes were unavailable at the Tyler store. Leeves was to wear them with the white silk backless sheath. Fear and the prospect of failure thickened the air.
“I’m never going to work for this woman again,” Paster moaned about her favorite longtime client. Tears began sliding down her face. Her breath quickened, but the freak-out was short-lived. About 10 minutes and an emotional eternity later, she walked into Leeves’ dressing room with a smile on her face and two garment bags hanging over her arm. Leeves was calm--and delighted to see the stylist, who gave no hint of her previous state. Less than a hour went by and Leeves was dressed and ready to go. The floor-length Richard Tyler gown accented with little shiny black beads looked stunning. And the white shoes weren’t even necessary because she had chosen to wear the black dress. As Paster jumped back into her Jeep, calm and chipper, she refocused her thoughts--to a weekend photo shoot with another “Frasier” cast member, Peri Gilpin.
The show must go on.
