Everyone loves a bad behavior story, don’t they? Especially a fashion one.
Way back when The Devil Wears Prada’s Miranda Priestly was simply the new girl on the scene, her evisceration of Andy, her lowly assistant, became the talk of the tabloids — but elicited mere eye-rolls among the fashion pack, who had been putting up with that sort of thing for years, on shoots, in the office, and everywhere in between. And to be honest, I’m not sure it’s gotten a lot better. I should know. After 20 years on the fashion circuit, I’ve witnessed some humdingers.
But, contrary to popular myth, it’s not always the magazine editors who are the worst culprits. Celebrities can give anyone a run for their money in the ‘They did what?’ stakes.
Let’s start in Milan, at a late-night dinner with a venerable luxury fashion house, where our host, the head of PR and communications, was interrupted by an urgent phone call from the eponymous designer. The request was outrageous, and, to his embarrassment, audible to the assembled guests: “Mobilize the company’s private jet immediately to fly [famous and demanding pop star], who’d been at the catwalk show earlier, back to New York.”
The head of comms’ urgent protestations ensued: “But it’s a ‘Category One’ storm. All Milan flights have been grounded for safety. Even the Prime Minister is stuck.” Then… silence at the other end of the line. We found out the following day that the jet had indeed been dispatched, the pop star deposited at JFK, and the head of comms? Duly sacked for insubordination.
Sometimes it wasn’t what the talent did that caused the problem, but what they didn’t do. I used to work as a stylist for a global fashion label that dressed a lot of top names for events such as the Oscars and MTV Awards. On one occasion I’d been consulting with a major film star for more than three months on potential outfits for the big day, where he expected to be in front of the cameras — and subsequently, he hoped, all over the press.
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To say he was particular was an understatement: he wanted numerous options, all tailored to fit perfectly, which he then narrowed down until just two choices remained, while presumably his wardrobe filled with all the ‘rejected’ ensembles. Finally we agreed on an outfit, which had been made bespoke by the label’s top tailors. Everything was set and I settled down to watch the event on TV — only to see him walk the red carpet looking like he’d just popped out to run errands, dressed in denim and a nondescript shirt. And definitely not by the designer who’d spent thousands of dollars creating all these personalized looks for him. The brand was furious, I looked like an idiot, and his team were (a bit) apologetic. But he — and, it turns out, his new girlfriend — thought he looked great, so that was that.
A long time ago, I witnessed something that (surely) wouldn’t be allowed today. I was styling a glossy magazine cover shoot in another European fashion capital and the founder of an older fashion brand decided, against his team’s wishes, to become the photographer of the cover star: a soccer player destined for global fame. As I unpacked and steamed the looks, I noticed the designer positioning his subject on an armchair in front of his close-up lens. Over the course of the shoot he continuously sprayed the athlete’s body with water, and by lunch the poor guy was dripping wet in scraps of now-transparent clothing while the designer openly ogled him from close range. Of course, fashion editors certainly play their part. My own boss displayed some deeply narcissistic behavior over the years. On a shoot location in some far-flung destination with an inconvenient (for me) 10-hour time difference, he would regularly call me back home — usually as I was getting into bed — to ask me to contact the hotel concierge to bring a bottle of water to his room with the excuse he couldn’t get through on the hotel phone.
Very often, after shoots that we’d both been on, I would have to drive him home and wait outside while he showered and changed for his dinner date as he didn’t want to pay for his own taxi.
So, does fashion deserve its reputation as a viper’s nest of status anxiety, egotistical backstabbing, and abusive behavior? You be the judge. But from me, and to quote Miranda Priestly, ‘That’s all.’
The author has been in the fashion industry for over two decades and has worked with some of the biggest designers in the world.
