One of the only perks of indentured fashion slavery is breathing the same air as the stylists and editors who translate runway to still-life, rendering the artistic vision of another in their own light and medium.
I find myself conflicted when it comes to American publications. The industry practically wipes its ass on the boring pages of US Vogue but delicately places the latest issue of Italian Vogue in a diamond-encrusted glass box. I think things can be different.
You see, these days I am uncharacteristically enamoured by stylists. Initially I found the profession laughable, righteously claiming that style doesn't transfer between authority and apprentice. While that belief still rings true, I now more thoroughly understand the role and impact of stylists in a publication.
Today at the accessories mound, I gazed at the Giles Deacon helmet I just checked in then turned to another interned and whispered, "Melanie always gets the coolest shit."
Halfway through my internship, I decided to learn some shit. And I have found that Melanie Ward is not only tremendously inspiring -- she is fucking cool and incredible at what she does. My adoration for her is practically a crush. I feel that every shoot she styles was made to send a jolt of temporal euphoria down my spine.
For me, she is one of the few stylists that gives the truly fashion-hungry a reason to even glance at US publications. Everyone is so busy playing it safe: Marc Jacobs, Michael Kors, and the occasional Lanvin piece statically plastered on a cliche-couture-postured Raquel Zimmerman. THAT'S NOT EDITORIAL. Melanie calls in Balmain! Louboutin for Rodarte! Givenchy!
Whatever she needs to get that shot. She excites me and that's what this path is all about. Other stylists and editors: please take note.
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