Born to Be Brad (24 page)

Anne Hathaway (2009), Armani Privé

Full disclosure: I was involved in this look. But that’s not why I chose it. This was the first dress Anne tried on, and we knew this would be the dress. We spent two weeks fitting other gowns, just to be sure. But she needed the Armani Privé—which was couture, beautifully made, strapless with sequins set diagonally. It was a big year for her. It was her first nomination, for
Rachel Getting Married,
and this was the right amount of glitz and glamour, without invoking Liza Minnelli.

Marion Cotillard (2008), Jean Paul Gaultier Couture

Talk about a risk. Jean Paul Gaultier’s entire collection that year was based on the sea—with fish scales and mermaids on everything. For Marion, this look was a combination of so many things that could have gone wrong: white, fish scales, rosettes around the boobs, and a ton of beading. It could have looked like a bad costume from a Bette Midler show. But because Marion wears clothes so well and doesn’t let the clothing wear her, her look is effortless. Even though the dress was nothing
but
effort. Plus, for a French actress to wear a French designer on this major night in her career was a nice nod to where she’s from.

Penélope Cruz (2007), Atelier Versace

Before she played a fiery artist in
Vicky Cristina Barcelona,
Penélope Cruz was bringing serious drama to the red carpet. Then she was nominated for her role in
Volver.
As a stylist and as a viewer, this is one of those big moments that you’re waiting for. She’s this tiny girl in an awfully big ruffled gown, with perfect hair, makeup, and jewelry. She was a fantasy come to life.

Sharon Stone (1999), Vera Wang

Talk about DIY. It takes a confident, assured woman—or maybe it takes balls—to go into her husband’s closet, grab a Gap shirt, and wear it to the Oscars. End of story.

Nicole Kidman (1997), Christian Dior Couture

Let’s start with the color: chartreuse. Add on that deep burgundy lip, the Indian jewelry, and the shape of her body in this sleeveless gown with a hint of fur trim. Do you know how beautiful this gown was? So beautiful that everybody forgot Tom Cruise was standing next to her.

“Don’t quit,” Rachel said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t want to figure it out. I’m going to have pizza with my boyfriend.” I picked up my keys, took off my microphone pack, and walked out the front door. On the way to Farfalla pizza on Hillhurst, I called my sister from the car. “Taylor is bad news,” she said. “You’re never going to win. You should get out of there.”

I was driving home with the pizza when my phone started ringing. I looked down and saw Taylor’s name pop up on the screen. I ignored her call. Then I ignored her second call. Finally I picked up. I knew this conversation would be recorded for the show, that the cameras at Rachel’s house would be getting all of this on video. But I picked up anyway. Because I knew Taylor wouldn’t stop calling if I didn’t answer.

“Don’t quit,” Taylor said. “Come back in. We’ll work things out.”

“I’d given up all credibility and my career trajectory to be on some TV show, and though I hadn’t seen any of the footage yet, I certainly knew how I’d be perceived.”

I wasn’t so sure. Everything I feared was coming true. I felt sabotaged. But worse, I felt like taking this job had been a mistake. I was a grunt at
Vogue,
but at least I was a grunt at the world’s most important fashion magazine. When I quit after only three months, I was told I’d be blacklisted from Condé Nast. At the time, a photographer told me, “Fuck them.” He said, “The second you become successful and make a name for yourself, those magazines will come sniffing around you. Do what you need to do.” But maybe this had all been a mistake, a rash panic move. I’d given up all credibility and my career trajectory to be on some TV show, and though I hadn’t seen any of the footage yet, I certainly knew how I’d be perceived—which is to say, like an incompetent queen. I’d let a twenty-four-year-old blond girl from Beverly Hills walk all over me, and to make matters worse, I cried about it on camera. And I cried ugly.

When I got home, Gary was sympathetic. But he was also a realist.

“Did you cry?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, get ready to see that in every promo.”

8

If you’re not making mistakes, you’re not growing.

THE RACHEL ZOE PROJECT
premiered on September 8, 2008, becoming a cult hit for Bravo. Looking at the TV show each week, I was able to see the events with some distance. I could see just how far I came in such a short time and how much I learned from Rachel and Taylor. And I am so glad that I took Gary’s advice, that I looked at this opportunity and went for it. Because Gary was right: If I’d turned on this show and seen this positive outpouring of love and these insane opportunities directed at some other aspiring stylist, I would have felt like I’d missed out. It was scary to leave
Vogue.
But sometimes you have to leave one amazing opportunity to pursue another, to find out what you can do. What I was discovering was that I was much more than the kid who forgot to leave a kit for Rachel.

“Reality TV was a magnifying glass, I was finding out; by being myself, I’d given others the courage to do the same.”

I’d taken the Monday after the disastrous Oscars off to wallow at home. But I went right back to work the next day. It was Grandma Ruby’s voice propelling me forward. I was suddenly five years old again and she was telling me not to let anyone push me around. That if I quit, if I walked away from this dream, I’d be exactly what I feared the most. I thought back on my time in college and how the administration was intent on kicking me out. I’d learned then that you can’t let people take opportunities away from you, and it almost happened again. I’d been working toward this moment with Rachel for years. I’d seen people get close to their dream. But that’s usually when the work gets hardest and they throw up their hands and walk away, just before the finish line. They say, “What I have is good enough.” But you can do more.
I
can do more. I developed a tougher skin. I insisted Taylor open the lines of communication and keep me informed. I stood up for myself, and it made all the difference. And soon we were working hand in hand, supporting each other.

I don’t regret crying on TV. It was such a real moment. But somehow people saw it as a weakness. And it was hard to escape. I took solace in the fan mail, however. Young gay kids across the country were reaching out to me, telling me how I’d given them hope. I’d given them the courage to come out, or to pursue their fashion dreams, or even to wear a shrunken blazer to school. Reality TV was a magnifying glass, I was finding out; by being myself, I’d given others the courage to do the same.

Life was moving quickly. I was making contacts, befriending fashion publicists, and getting better at my job. I could get a look pulled from another shoot and sent to Rachel’s studio. When a client was on tour overseas and wanted to see new options at her hotel, I made the clothing appear. It was a two-way street, and the publicists knew they could trust me. If they needed a dress back from me quickly, as long as a client didn’t need it, I produced it.

For the premiere party for the first season of
The Rachel Zoe Project
, I wanted to do a Clark Gable/
Casablanca
thing. I only had an hour to get ready. But when I saw that the pieces were working, I did a little dance.

I hung out with Nate Berkus and Andy Cohen at the premiere party. It was so hot inside my glasses were fogging up. We’d finished filming months ago. But this was the first night that it all felt real.

Photograph by Allen Zepeda/Bravo/NBCUPB via AP Images

The job was not without challenges. There were times when I was overseas, calling Rachel at all hours of the night, texting her images of dresses. Times when I wasn’t sleeping. When I was up all night trying to make new outfits appear out of thin air. I was flying on private planes and having dinners in secluded rooms at five-star restaurants in exotic cities, dealing with problems that came up around the world. It was not unusual for someone to love a dress in the fitting and then want new options on the day of her event.

Big Girls Don’t Cry

OR HOW TO CRY LIKE A MAN, IN THREE EASY STEPS!

1. When you feel the tears coming on, try as hard as possible to stuff them back down. That’s the first step. I can’t control it. It’s like someone with irritable bowel syndrome. Except it’s tears coming down my cheeks instead of, well, you know.

2. If the tears do start coming, let them fall as if you’re Demi Moore in
Ghost
and Patrick Swayze is behind you, and you can feel his presence. Those are perfect tears. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go back and rewatch the movie. You weren’t watching close enough the first time.

3. If steps 1 and 2 fail, let her rip. Allow yourself to have a full-on meltdown cry to the point that you think people should be concerned for you. For the first part, look as ugly as you want to. Then bring it back in and make it a cute cry. No one wants to console an ugly crier.

“I was flying on private planes and having dinners in secluded rooms at five-star restaurants in exotic cities.”

Was this a dream come true? In so many ways, yes. My phone would ring and I’d find myself telling friends that I was in Paris shopping for Cameron Diaz. We started working together around the film
What Happens in Vegas.
Before the Japanese press tour for that film, I took a vacation with her family, traveling through Japan, doing a one-week tour of Kyoto, Hakone, and Tokyo. I found myself in situations I would only have dreamed of a year before. I was changing Kate Hudson out of her green Galliano into a Balmain minidress in the bathroom of Nobu before going to a party on the Thames. It’s not just the glamour or the celebrity that thrilled me. Rather, we were this traveling band of gypsies—with the star and the hair-and-makeup team and the publicist and the photographers. For a moment in time, a specific but excellent moment, you became a family. And when you came back to L.A., you all went your separate ways. But when the family reunited for the next tour, you picked up right where you left off.