Born to Be Brad (16 page)

Gary and I met former president Bill Clinton at a Human Rights Campaign rally in Los Angeles. We’re in matching Gucci. I have no idea what Bill is wearing. The funny thing is, he asked us to take this photo! You were supposed to pay extra to have your picture taken with Clinton. But we happened to be passing by just as the photographer passed by, and Clinton said, “Hey, guys! How about a picture!” True story.

Shortly after the
Life
magazine cover appeared on newsstands, my sister called: Our grandmother Ruby was sick with cancer and I should fly home immediately. Ruby—the woman who bought me Barbie dolls even though she knew my father would throw them out—had been sick for months. She knew her illness was serious, but she self-medicated with Tylenol until the pain got so bad she had to see the doctor. The diagnosis was cancer, and she didn’t have much time left.

“For the first time, I believed my life was worth fighting for. That
I
was worth fighting for.”

We’d been in close touch over the years. My sponsor in AA had insisted I send regular letters to my grandmother as part of my amends, which I did. Sometimes these letters were substantial, other times they were just little note cards, reminders that I was out there and that I loved her and appreciated her. I’d call Ruby about my visa troubles, to tell her how stressed out I was. I was distraught, worried that the life Gary and I had created would be taken away from me. She told me, “We’re a family of worriers. And that can’t deter you. You can’t let it destroy anything. Acknowledge that worrying is part of your personality. The world isn’t out to get you.” She was so happy for me and wanted me to snap out of it. She was always this way. When I was a kid, I’d say, “I can’t wait for Christmas.” She’d say, “Don’t wish your life away.” She was right. This was a precursor to AA. She was basically saying, “One day at a time.”

I’d seen her at Thanksgiving, and I’d been wearing a cashmere sweater she loved. Every time I passed by, she’d reach out to caress the soft wool. And so, for Christmas, my sister and I got her a cashmere blanket. She said she liked it, but, a spitfire to the end, she said she would have preferred a cashmere sweater. That was Ruby.

When my sister called to say that our grandmother’s situation had worsened, I boarded a plane to Ontario, picking up a cashmere sweater for Ruby on the way—one last gift so she knew what she meant to me. So she knew I owed her everything. When she opened the box and held up the sweater, she said it was the nicest thing she’d ever owned in her life. She wanted to be buried in it, she said, and when she passed away a few days later, we honored her request. Back at the house, I found a stack of the letters I’d sent her over the years, tucked away next to her favorite chair. One of her friends told me that Ruby would read these notes again and again. She called them her “love letters.”

“I felt like a man. I wanted to continue on this path, to be a better person. For me. For Gary. But also for Ruby.”

Grandma Ruby’s passing focused me. I was in the hospital with her when she died. I remember looking around the room and feeling grateful that I was there. Grateful that I was physically allowed to be in the room when she passed. If I’d still been using drugs, I would have missed this entirely. And even if I’d made it to the hospital, in the state I was in when I was using, no one would have let me near my grandmother. But now I felt strong. I felt like a man. I wanted to continue on this path, to be a better person. For me. For Gary. But also for Ruby.

These words went through my head: Look around you. Take notes. Prepare yourself for what is next. Because what is next is your life. It is waiting for you.

I
transferred to USC in 2006 and majored in art history. When I was at
Vogue,
I was often photocopying historical references from art books. The editors would flag old images as inspiration shots. Camilla Nickerson and Grace Coddington would have art books open all the time. If I’m going to be a stylist, I thought, I should know painters and photographers and color composition and how it all fits together. And I worked hard. I was diligent in my studies, but more than that, I was focused on gaining actual real-world experience. Herein, a fast-forward flip book through my grunt work.

I was back in New York the summer after my
Vogue
internship, interning this time at
W
magazine. I was obsessed with the fashion and style editor Alex White, who consistently pushed the boundaries of what an American fashion magazine could be with shoots that were as high-fashion as European editorials but still palatable on U.S. shores. I especially loved one shoot where she dressed men in women’s clothing. It was shocking to see real men in heels on the cover of an American magazine. There was an air of mystery about it, like we’d been transported to some secret society somewhere. There’s more: I was obsessed with a Karen Elson shoot Alex styled—an iconic series taken on soaking-wet Manhattan streets. She has a specific eye, telling stories with the collections but always making them her own. She is like Grace Coddington in that respect. I wanted to know how that brain works.

Required Reading

SEVEN MUST-HAVE FASHION COFFEE TABLE BOOKS

1.
Blood Sweat and Tears,
Bruce Weber (1999)

This iconic photographer captures the kind of teenage years I wish I’d lived: beautiful, topless girls in the Hamptons with the hottest surfer guys around.

2.
The Costume History
, Auguste Racinet (1876; reissued by Taschen paperback in 2009)

Fashion plates and historical references. Do your homework! Alexander McQueen was obsessed with the Victorian era and the Scottish Highlands. John Galliano was obsessed with corset construction. Those original references—for silhouettes, for shapes—are all here.

3.
Tom Ford,
Tom Ford (2008)

From Tom Ford’s years at YSL to Gucci to his own eponymous label, it’s all here. Think modern sexuality. Think smoldering. Think of the Gucci G shaved into a girl’s pubic hair.

4.
Grace: Thirty Years of Fashion at Vogue
, Grace Coddington (2002)

No explanation necessary.

5.
Rock and Royalty,
Gianni Versace (1997)

Gianni Versace’s couture, featuring Linda, Christy, Naomi, and a continuation of the excess of the eighties into the next decade. Genius.

6.
Minimalism and Fashion: Reduction in the Postmodern Era
, Elyssa Dimant (2010)

A retrospective of minimalism—huge in the nineties, and back again now.

7.
Helmut Newton: Polaroids,
Helmut Newton (2011)

Known for his disturbing and overt sexuality, Helmut Newton created some of the most lasting images of women. His shots of Nadja Auermann haunt me. When I was in high school, I remember seeing Newton’s shots of Nadja in
Vogue.
Nadja is known for her legs. And so he shot her in leg braces and on crutches, walking down the stairs in a pencil skirt. Arresting.

Unfortunately, the summer that I interned at
W,
Alex White was out on maternity leave, and my sole interaction with her consisted of one afternoon when I dropped a package off at her front door. Typical! Though I should say, even that one moment was memorable, because when she opened the door, she was wearing a monogrammed denim Louis Vuitton dress—one of
the
key pieces of the season.

Still, the job was a learning experience. For
W,
we shot a post–
Donnie Darko,
pre–
Brokeback
Mountain
Jake Gyllenhaal. I didn’t know who he was. But my girlfriends were freaking out, begging me for Polaroids from the shoot. What I remember more than the styling that day is Jake and Kirsten Dunst. The two were dating at the time, and after the shoot, they sat together at Milk Studios sipping champagne. It all felt too glamorous.

Art School Confidential

TEN ARTISTS YOU SHOULD KNOW

1. Kara Walker

Her oversize silhouettes are a sometimes shocking commentary on the antebellum South. Stop, look, and contemplate. These images are meant to start a dialogue about racial relationships.

2. Nikki S. Lee

This Korean-American photographer is known for a series called
Projects,
where she immerses herself in different societies, capturing cultures with a point-and-click camera and a time/date stamp. It’s deceptively simple. She’s a voyeur—whether she’s hanging out in a trailer park or with senior citizens—and by extension, so are we. I dream of owning a Nikki S. Lee print.

3. François Boucher

A French painter in the eighteenth century, Boucher did a series of detailed portraits of Madame de Pompadour—Louis XV’s chief mistress from 1745 to her death in 1764. She was one of my obsessions in school. To me, Madame de Pompadour is all about decadence. She was a tastemaker and Boucher captures that spirit wonderfully.

4. Ernst Kirchner

A great example of German Expressionism, Kirchner’s
Street, Dresden
is one of my favorite paintings, and I stop in to see it every time I’m at the MoMA. The palette is beautiful, as is the scale.

5. Constantin Brancusi

A Romanian-born sculptor. His
Bird in Flight
is the definition of modernity.

6. Robert Mapplethorpe

One of the most important photographers dealing with male sexuality and homosexuality—period.

7. Mark Rothko

Sitting in a room surrounded by Rothko paintings gives me a particular sensation—it’s like the room is throbbing. His humming energy comes through the paintings and penetrates your body.

8. Florian Maier-Aichen

The Blum & Poe Gallery in L.A. handles this young artist’s work—these beautiful, moody large-scale landscape photographs that take up almost an entire wall. I don’t know if I have a wall large enough in my house to accommodate one, but that’s the dream!

9. Michelangelo

I know, not a surprise. But I’ve seen
David
on three separate trips to Florence, and he never ceases to amaze.

10. Gian Lorenzo Bernini

An Italian artist from the seventeenth century, Bernini is perhaps best known for his sculpture
Apollo and Daphne,
which depicts a scene from Ovid’s
Metamorphoses
in which a woman becomes a tree. This must be seen up close to truly appreciate the intricate and delicate detail, and also the emotion. The leaves and twigs are growing out of Daphne’s hands—and it’s this massive rush of energy.

In many ways, Alex’s assistant, Marina Burini, was running the show and everyone lived in fear of her. She was very French in appearance, wearing mostly black dresses that fell below the knee and sensible sandals. She was the assistant to the queen bee and her voice mattered. But Marina was also under a lot of pressure, trying to pull all of these complicated fashion shoots together without the boss. At the time, I didn’t really understand the stress she was under. It wasn’t until years later, when I was working for Rachel Zoe, that I really understood the logistics she was up against. Yet Marina rarely, if ever, let anyone see her sweat.

I was afraid of Marina, too, I should say. Afraid every time she crossed my path in the office. But I was nobody’s bitch that summer. There was less of an established hierarchy at
W
than at
Vogue,
and I was hands-on at photo shoots. I wasn’t just observing how the parts moved. I was actually doing the job. I was getting messy, sometimes quite literally. I was at a shoot one afternoon steaming a satin dress. I had no idea what I was doing, mind you, and water was splashing everywhere, threatening to ruin this very expensive, handmade dress. Marina saw what was happening and stopped what she was doing. I thought I was going to get yelled at, but instead she took the time to show me the proper way to steam a dress. “Pull the fabric tight,” she said, instructing me, “and steam from the inside, not the outside.” She also told me that if you put a sock over the head of the steamer, it’ll help stem the sputtering water.