Born to Be Brad (26 page)

She also taught me when it was time to leave a job. It was no mystery to anyone in town that Taylor was unhappy. She said it on TV before every commercial break. I thought she was all talk. I thought she’d work for Rachel forever. But I was wrong. She was overseeing Rachel’s business, and I think she liked the power and the association that came with it. And I think she was too afraid to make the leap. Too afraid to say her time was up and she was tired of her job. Maybe in the end she was looking for a way out. She needed a push, and she got it. When I decided to leave Rachel, it was because I wanted to leave before that point came. I wanted to leave while it was all still magical. Because it was.

“This is what it feels like to be alive. I can see how much I’ve matured. And how much Rachel respects me.”

It was the third season and I was suddenly thrust into a leading role, cast as Rachel’s style director, and every job came to me. It was a huge opportunity and overwhelmingly stressful. We styled Demi for the cover of
Harper’s Bazaar.
We styled Cameron, Kate, and Eva for the Golden Globes. I fit Ashton Kutcher for his trip to Russia with Demi—which got canceled. We went to New York for Fashion Week and styled the Relief for Haiti show for Naomi Campbell. Rachel had Naomi coming down hard on her, which led to friction between us. There was a blizzard and I was expected to have clothing donated for free, two days before the show.

Still, not only was it an honor to work this event but I also felt like I was in the documentary
Unzipped,
the one about Isaac Mizrahi that I watched at the video store where I worked in high school. Except now it was me doing fittings, it was me backstage. David LaChapelle, Naomi, Chris Brown—it was a revolving door of famous faces. Naomi kept asking for me. “Where’s Brad? Where’s Brad?” In a good way! Karen Elson, Natasha Poly, and Sasha Pivovarova—these huge models—were worried they were in the wrong looks. And I was helping them to get dressed. And at the same time, despite all the chaos, the thought going through my head was a simple but essential one: I’m alive. This is what it feels like to be alive. I can see how much I’ve matured. And how much Rachel respects me. She and I are working this event like a team. I’m not some B-assistant trying to prove myself. We were offering up accessories, saying to each other, “What do you think of this? Should I add this in?” It was a major turning point.

I am backstage at the Naomi Campbell benefit for Haiti during Fashion Week, consulting with Karen Elson on her look. Side note: Someone stole my green Dsquared
²
bomber jacket that day. I was so annoyed, but I put on this Bally leather jacket to console myself.

People were noticing me. And I started to feel differently about myself. I started to feel stronger. It was April 2010, and we were shooting Cameron Diaz for the cover of
Harper’s Bazaar
. We were on location at the top of the Met Life building. Terry Richardson was the photographer, and we barely interacted. He and Rachel are close, so I hung back, steaming garments, making sure the clothing was organized and ready to go. Which made what happened next all the more surprising. After lunch, Terry pulled me aside and said, “I want to take your picture tomorrow.”

“Uh, OK,” I said. “Sure.”

I didn’t think he was serious. But that night, I called Danielle and Annabet to tell them what Terry said. Both of them shouted the same thing: “He’s going to try to get you to take your clothes off.” I got it. Terry has a reputation for getting models and actors and actresses undressed for his photos. But I brushed it off. He probably wouldn’t even remember. He was probably just being polite.

Well, sure enough, the next day Terry asked to take some photos with me and Rachel. We were at Milk Studios on Sixteenth Street in New York, and the three of us were posing together. He took a few of Rachel solo. And then he asked one of his assistants to bring over his special flash camera and asked if I’d take some photos by myself. I was nervous but then I thought, Fuck it. When is Terry Richardson going to ask to take my picture again?

Of course Danielle and Annabet were right. I was posing against a white backdrop wearing a pair of cut-off denim Levi’s shorts I made myself; a cashmere red, white, and blue Band of Outsiders T-shirt; red Band of Outsiders suspenders; and Converse sneakers. Basically, I was dressed for kindergarten. And Terry asked me to flex my arm.

“You have a really nice biceps,” he said. “What’s your body like underneath your shirt? Take your shirt off.”

I hesitated but then did it.

“You have abs, man!” Terry said. “Who would have known?”

Soon enough, everyone would know. A month went by and I’d almost forgotten about the photos. Until I got a tweet from someone saying, “OMG. Photos of @MrBradGoreski by Terry Richardson. Amazing.”

I clicked, and I was beyond nervous. When the photos came up, I had two reactions. One: That can’t be me. And two: I’m elated. Terry caught me at the right moment. I felt like Nicole Kidman in
Moulin Rouge.
She’d never looked better. And I thought I’d never look as good as I did in those photos.

The pictures were all over the Internet—me, without a shirt on. I called Gary to give him a heads-up. But it was too late. Within an hour, every fashion blog was linking to the photos. Terry later told me that it was the second-most trafficked photo on his site—after only Mary-Kate Olsen. I guess there was a desire to see me without my shirt on.

“I took a chance. It was a risk. And it paid off.”

This is one of those moments in life where I’m so glad I didn’t say no. Like going to Greece. Or moving to Los Angeles to be with Gary, or going to work for Rachel. I took a chance. It was a risk. And it paid off. I’d long since lost the weight from my childhood fat days, but on the inside, I still felt like the kid from Port Perry who wore a T-shirt in the pool until he was eighteen years old. My bow ties and glasses had almost become a caricature; they were as much my shield as my grunge look was in high school. I don’t think people even knew I had a body under there. But I’d been working out every morning, and the gym was as much about vanity as it was about having a meditative experience. About doing something for myself, because I was worth it.

When Terry asked to take my picture, I thought, Don’t be the fat kid running away again. Just let go. And I’m so glad I did.

W
orking for Rachel was the best professional experience of my life. I left, in part, because I didn’t want to be another Taylor. I didn’t want to leave so abruptly. I didn’t want to tape another season of the show and be miserable on air. I didn’t want to take being on set for granted. I remembered how I felt hustling for that Kate Hudson job on my first trip to London for Rachel. It wasn’t that my work was slipping, but I didn’t feel that drive in my heart anymore. In the dance world, there’s this phrase: “You have to eat nails.” That’s how badly you need to want it. And I didn’t want it like that anymore. The fire was out. The only way to get that back was to work for myself.

“When Terry asked to take my picture, I thought, Don’t be the fat kid running away again. Just let go. And I’m so glad I did.”

It was time for some fresh blood to come into Rachel’s studio. I didn’t want to be looking for an agent behind her back. I didn’t want to be setting up other jobs. I wanted to be up-front with her. I wanted her to know why I was leaving. The thought came on quickly, and the feeling in my heart was contentment. But while I was busier than I’d ever been, I was also on autopilot. And there was this nagging question at the back of my throat: Is it enough? Looking back, at every point in my life I’ve always thought, What is next? I was a good assistant. But if you’re not making mistakes, you’re not growing. Could I do more? Should I do more? Was it time to take a chance?

“The fire was out. The only way to get that back was to work for myself.”

By the time I went out on tour with Cameron Diaz for
Knight and Day,
a movie where Tom Cruise was an international spy and Cameron repaired automobiles (don’t ask questions), I’d already made up my mind to leave. The press tour took me to Brazil, Mexico City, London, Salzburg, Munich, New York, and Chicago. We were in Seville, Spain, when it hit me: I could do this on my own. I was in a foreign country about to travel to another international city. I knew how to get dresses sent to me in Europe. When I took a job, the talent was happy. The publicist was happy. The studio was happy. It wasn’t just that I felt secure in my duties. I used to rely on Rachel, e-mailing her photos of a client, wondering if I’d gotten it right or asking for help with securing additional looks at the last minute. Rachel had been the best guide. But now she felt more like a safety net.

Rachel styled the model Ginta for
Love
magazine in May 2010. It was a rough day for me, as I’d decided I was likely going to leave Rachel and that this special time was coming to an end. To make the day more bearable, I dressed up and surprised Ginta. I asked her who was prettier, and she said me.

This is me in a Chanel coat. I have a habit of trying on the clothing before we shoot. Can you blame me?

“But if you’re not making mistakes, you’re not growing.”

The truth is, others saw it first. It was other people who saw that it was time for me to move on. They knew it before I believed it in my bones. While on the
Knight and Day
tour, I hit it off with the makeup artist Gucci Westman, who does Cameron’s makeup. Gucci Westman is major. She had her big break in 1996, covering bikers in mud for an Annie Leibovitz shoot for
Vanity Fair.
Later she was named the artistic director for Lancôme. She works with Cameron and Julianne Moore and a handful of other A-list actresses. And in Rio, she told me that
Harper’s Bazaar
was going to do a feature on her, celebrating her personal style. The magazine asked her for a list of people to style the shoot, and she’d submitted my name. Somehow, the magazine agreed and Rachel signed off on the job.

Back in New York, I was pulling clothing for Gucci Westman, styling a
Harper’s
shoot on my own. She has serious fashion in her blood. Her husband is one of the men behind Rag & Bone. Her opinion matters. Her style is very New York, downtown cool with a European edge. She likes distressed jeans and Lanvin and vintage Cartier. Her look is disheveled chic. I called in pieces from Chanel, Dries Van Noten, and Hermès. I’d grown into my own entity. And people were starting to ask me when I was going to strike out on my own. At first, I was taken aback. But then I realized: It is time. When you no longer need a safety net, that’s when it’s time to take a leap.

When things are right, I believe the pieces all fall together naturally. As confusing as the universe can be, when the sign comes the pieces are usually already in place. It was time to listen to my own voice again. Comfort can be your worst enemy. Mistakes are essential to growing—whether it’s a sartorial mistake or one that leads to a failed relationship. These are the building blocks of who we are. If everything is going smoothly you’re not challenging yourself. But how to do it? Again, I went to the people I admired most to ask for advice.