Always Pack a Party Dress: And Other Lessons Learned From a (Half) Life in Fashion

by Amanda Brooks

  Dinner with Issy (and her hat!) and Aeneas MacKay at Cipriani Downtown, 2000. Photo by me!

  I saw Issy a dozen more times over the years, and she always asked me if I had quit my day job to become a photographer. I never did, but I still tote my camera wherever I go, and she was always one of my most willing subjects.

  With my friend Leah Forester, playing dress-up in the vintage clothing shop she once owned.

  TAKE THE THING YOU MOST LOVE TO DO ON WEEKENDS AND TURN THAT INTO YOUR CAREER

  GROWING UP, my older sister, Kimberly, was the one who loved fashion. She was the one with the eighties Fashion Plates toy that enabled you to make outfits for the girl of your choice and then fill them in with patterns using colored pencils. She was the one dragging me to the mall to shop at The Limited and Benetton, and once she even dyed and permed her hair to look more like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club.

  While Kim was busy loving fashion and style, I was at gymnastics class or on a skateboard with my best friend Alexandra, or, even more precariously, lying down in the middle of the street to act as a hurdle for the boys to jump over on their BMX bikes. I often look back at that time and ask myself how I got from being a complete tomboy to here. When did I fall in love with fashion?

  In high school, I dated a boy named Robby, whose stepmother was fashion designer Carolyne Roehm. She looked completely immaculate at all times, even when wearing jeans on the weekend. The only thing I related to about the way she dressed were the Goody faux-tortoiseshell barrettes in her hair. Everything else she wore was silk, cashmere, or fur, and it all matched and was perfectly pressed. Feeling the need to look more polished while spending weekends and holidays at their home, I bought my first real designer clothes—a pair of Gucci lizardskin loafers, 80 percent off at the outlet store in Secaucus, New Jersey, and red Ralph Lauren jodhpurs I found on sale at the Eastchester branch of Lord & Taylor.

  Another influence in high school was my irreverent friend Samantha Phipps. Her background was as privileged, WASPy, and “tasteful” as they come, but she didn’t want to be defined by that. Yes, she wore the requisite Laura Ashley floral-print dresses that all our friends had at the time, but she wore hers with fluorescent orange cowboy boots. She also had long, painted red nails (at age fifteen), and she was the first of my friends to get a tattoo. Sam’s unique spirit taught me the importance of being myself and that the first step to self-discovery, in style as in all else, happens by not always following the rules.

  Although I can look back now and see the first rumblings of my fashion evolution in high school, I wasn’t consciously aware of the role clothes could play in my life until I arrived at Brown. When I first got there I made friends from similar backgrounds and with similar attitudes. While I was comforted by the familiarity, I longed to experience something new. It didn’t take me long to find it. My roommate Christy was British, and her older sister Suze hung out with a very cool and certainly more sophisticated gang of friends, most of them from Europe or New York City. I was intrigued but also intimidated. Their clothes were carefully considered, their hair perfectly colored, their nails immaculately manicured. They were exquisite, exotic creatures. Christy was more au naturel, like me, and together we set about trying to glam ourselves up, not so much to impress the older girls but because we were inspired by them (well, maybe a bit of both).

  Soon Christy and I were having weekly manicures (I know, a ridiculous thing to do in college), trolling the mall for the trendiest clothes we could afford (yet again, thank God for Contempo Casuals), and obsessively reading every monthly fashion magazine we could afford. Despite all this, working at Demarchelier brought me back to my tomboy roots—as a photographer’s assistant, I needed to be practical, and it wasn’t my place to stand out for what I wore. But at Gagosian, I was expected to look current and fashionable, and I enjoyed pursuing my fashion ambitions once again.

  Shortly after I left Gagosian, I was having dinner with my friend Harlan Peltz, who asked me what I wanted to do next. I wasn’t sure. He said, “Well, it’s easy. Take the thing you most love to do on weekends and turn that into your career.” Without thinking too long, I realized what I most liked to do was go to the flea market and buy vintage handbags. I figured that in my collection of bags there were a whole lot of design ideas one could use to make new bags. Take the shape from one, combine it with the material of another, and add the hardware of yet another. And so I decided that I’d become a handbag designer, despite having no related experience. I compiled an old linen album with photos, drawings, tear sheets, and collected inspirations that exemplified my style. Then I loaded up an old suitcase with all my vintage bags and called everyone I knew who might introduce me to potential employers.

  I got two results. My girlfriend Plum Sykes, who was (and still is) a fashion writer at Vogue, recommended the hairdresser Frédéric Fekkai. The majority of his company had just been bought by Chanel, and they had plans to turn it into a full lifestyle brand, including hair accessories and handbags. They were looking to hire someone to oversee their accessory lines. I hauled my stuff in there and had a great meeting with Frédéric and his deputy Michelle. Even with no experience in designing handbags (or designing anything, for that matter!), through my creative presentation, my enthusiasm, and my recommendations from respected people in the fashion world, I was able to convince him that with the support of a technical designer I was up for the task. The very next day he offered me the job of creative director, accessories, at exactly double the salary of my previous job.

  The other interview came about through David Lauren (Ralph’s son), whom I’d gotten to know as a teenager when he lived in the same building as my middle school best friend. After an hour and a half of waiting in the reception room, during which time I got a stomachache from nervously ingesting dozens of handfuls of M&M’s from the engraved silver bowl on the table next to me, I was interviewed by Buffy Birrittella, Ralph’s famously tough right-hand woman. She was gracious and said she liked my presentation but that the accessories department was in flux, and she made it clear that they would be offering only a junior position to me, if any at all.

  Ralph has a legendarily focused and established aesthetic, whereas at Fekkai, I could be in charge of the whole creative tone. So I accepted the job at Fekkai, and at age twenty-four, my entrance to the world of fashion was official.

  Some of the bags that I designed with Bruno Frisoni while I was creative director, accessories at Fekkai.

  They were inspired by Provence.

  FASHION LESSON NO. 3

  BELLS AND WHISTLES

  WHEN I WAS in my twenties, I had to be strategic about buying clothes that were versatile. If I bought a suit, it was dark gray; if I bought a winter coat, it was black; if I bought a cashmere sweater, it was navy. These big-ticket items had to last me a good while and match with nearly everything in my closet. In order to make my outfits more interesting, however, I started a collection of cheap chic “bells and whistles” as I liked to call them. They were just the odd whimsical item here and there that added something unexpected to my look. These were the things I had the most fun shopping for. I remember walking down rue Vieille du Temple in the Marais in Paris poking my nose into each boutique until I found one that looked affordable and interesting. It was the nineties when those jelly-colored Mac laptops were all the craze and I found a bright green rubber watch that was completely of that moment. I wore it for two years. Also in Paris I combed the flea market and found vintage military pins, old bangles, silk flowers, and fringed shawls. I also loved wandering the New York flea market. I once found a pair of chunky hoop earrings made from teal sequins that I wore to parties for at least a year. As I learned what worked for me and what didn’t, and as I started to earn a little more money, I became bolder in my choices and made bigger investments in the pieces that added more personality to my style. A burgundy sequin evening bag that I bought for $150 at a Chanel sample sale beca
me a surprising staple that I wore regularly for years on end, although a pair of red suede stiletto boots—they were the most beautiful things you’d ever seen—from the Stephane Kélian sample sale only got worn maybe three or four times. They just didn’t go with enough in my closet. As I’ve gotten older, I still use bells and whistles to add character to my outfits, and as I’ve gained wisdom about what is “me” and “not me,” I’ve been able to simplify the collection and just have a few key things from the most humble—simple red lipstick often does the trick—to the most indulgent—my Chanel shooting star engagement ring.

  My sequined Chanel evening bag.

  At Brown, I became interested in fashion photography and Tracee was a willing subject. I trusted her to put on whatever she felt like, and she always looked amazing.

  STYLE INFLUENCE

  TRACEE ELLIS ROSS

  TRACEE WAS my first truly high-fashion friend. We met at Brown when I was a freshman and she was a junior. She was extraordinary looking—big beautiful brown eyes, perfect coffee-colored skin, and a headful of immaculate curls. As Diana Ross’s daughter, she had in her closet many incredible designer pieces from her mother’s fashion heyday in the seventies. She had Missoni flares, Halston gowns, Giorgio di Sant’Angelo jumpsuits, and countless sky-high platform shoes. You would expect the daughter of such a glamorous pop star to have all these clothes in her possession, but seeing them in the context of college was unexpected and at first quite intimidating. But Tracee never wore her clothes in an ostentatious way—she would wear one over-the-top thing with other casual, more down-to-earth pieces mixed in. She was the first high/low dresser I ever encountered. She was also the first girl I met who had a signature scent. It would take me twenty years to find my own signature scent (Molecule 01 by Escentric Molecules), but to this day when I smell L’Artisan Parfumeur’s Vanille Absolument, I think of Tracee.

  SIDEBAR

  INFORMATIONAL INTERVIEWS

  I would not have made it very far in the fashion industry without the support of the mentors who have helped me find my way from time to time. In an effort to repay that generosity, I have always made a conscious effort to make time to talk with people who are new to fashion and trying to figure out their own path. In New York we call these “informational interviews.” It means that while I may not have a job opening to offer you, I am still willing to hear about your dreams and aspirations so that I can recommend you to others or call you if I have a position that opens up. Informational interviews can often be equally or more important than actual job interviews, because these people, if impressed by you, are basically willing to use their powerful contacts to help you make connections you would otherwise never get on your own and can lead to some incredible opportunities. I have helped fashion newcomers get summer internships at Diane von Furstenberg, Barneys, Rag & Bone, and Chanel. I even helped an impressive babysitter who was working as a junior writer at a Christian Science magazine get hired as the assistant to the editor in chief at Teen Vogue. She has had a successful career in fashion publishing ever since. Some of these meetings with fashion newcomers have been empowering and uplifting, to them and to me, and culminated in great results, while others have been infuriating and felt like nothing more than a waste of my time.

  Here are some suggestions for having a successful “informational interview,” or any interview, for that matter. Let’s pretend you are meeting with me!

  1. Have a goal in mind. I want to be able to help you move forward with your ambitions, but I can’t help you know what you want. If you know you want to work in fashion (or in any field), but don’t know what area, you need to just choose something more specific and go for it. If you try it and don’t like it, then you can cross it off your list and pursue the next option. Sitting still and endlessly pondering your direction will not make your path clearer. I want you to say to me, “I would love to work in publishing,” or “I am interesting in exploring the retail side of fashion,” or “I am passionate about working for a designer.” If you feel you are focused but flexible, then give me two or three areas that you would be excited to pursue, but whatever you do, don’t say “I don’t know.”

  2. If you love fashion so much, show me! Tear sheets, collages, scrapbooks, anything. Tell me about the magazines you read, the designers you love, the stores you frequent. When I hired Chelsea, my best intern ever, she stole the job away from someone I was on the brink of hiring because she referenced all the pictures she’d ever seen of me in Vogue. Yes, this did massage my ego, but as I was looking for a photo researcher, it showed me that she had a prolific knowledge of fashion imagery and a good memory. Either that, or she was a stalker! Thankfully, she turned out to be the former.

  3. Take advantage of my experience and wisdom. Ask me what I have learned in the industry, what I have loved most, hated the most, the jobs that have given me the most satisfaction, etc. I want you to feel you have learned something from me, and I want to know that you are curious, hungry for knowledge and wisdom, and willing to take full advantage of opportunities presented to you.

  4. Dress the part. Of course I am going to notice every single thing you are wearing, and I’m going to be analyzing what it says about you. I’m sure that intimidates you, but clothes are the language of this industry, and they will be the first thing that gives me a sense of who you are. So yes, the pressure is on! When in doubt, underplay it instead of overplaying it. You don’t have to knock my socks off—I just want to see that you have some sense of taste and style when it comes to clothes. One time I interviewed a girl who had on every piece of designer clothing that she owned—a Burberry plaid scarf, Tory Burch “Reva” flats, a Coach bag, a Kate Spade trench. It was just all too much and showed no inherent personal style. I would be so much more impressed by someone who was wearing something I liked and I didn’t know who designed it. Zara is a great choice in this regard— on trend, doesn’t break the bank, and doesn’t scream any one designer, unless you go for the supertrendy pieces . . . best to avoid those. I still remember what Laura Stoloff, my assistant at William Morris Endeavor and Barneys, wore when she first came to my office for her interview: a Phillip Lim black leather jacket with a ruffled hem, a white T-shirt, and a set of pearls. I don’t remember the trousers or shoes, just that she looked great all around. The jacket was impressive—a pricier item than I’d expect a twenty-three-year-old to have, but she didn’t come off as spoiled or pretentious, so I assumed it was a special treat from her parents or something she saved up for to buy on sale. It showed me she understood that a special classic piece was sometimes worth a splurge. Knowing her now for many, many years, my assumption proved true. She is a girl who buys few things, but when she has the chance, she knows exactly the right piece to pounce on. I am so happy today when I see her picture in the press or on blogs being celebrated for her style. She deserves it.

  5. Show me how grateful you are for my time. Fashion professionals are busy people. I would always have some resistance to informational interviews because you never know what you are going to get—someone who inspires me to make a few calls and send a few e-mails after they have left, or someone who makes me feel that I’ve just lost a precious half hour of my day. If you’re great, that is reward enough in itself, but just to be sure, bring me a cookie or a flower or a coffee and send me a really nice thank-you note afterward. Handwritten!!!!!

  Mick Jagger and me at the Hôtel Costes in Paris, 1999. I get embarrassed by the over-excited look on my face every time I see this photo.

  WHEN A ROCK STAR ASKS FOR YOUR PHONE NUMBER, HE DOESN’T JUST WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND

  BY WONDERFUL coincidence, the first three jobs I had in fashion involved me going to Paris regularly. I love Paris. If I ever move to a city again, it’s the only one I can imagine living in—walkable, beautiful, and full of inspiration.

  When I was twenty-four and working for Frédéric Fekkai, I was often in Paris on my own. Unlike my friends who were there to
attend fashion shows, I was there for Première Vision, the biggest fashion fabric trade show in the world. I’d rush to get my orders done in the morning, leaving me plenty of time for shopping and then dinner with friends. One night I met a bunch of girlfriends at Hôtel Costes for dinner. Hôtel Costes is still cool, but back in 1999 it was the coolest place in Paris. My friends Lucy and Plum Sykes had recently been designated “It Girls” by the New York Times Style section, so they were able to score us a good table. It was such a fun night—lots of wine, chatting, and flirting with the guys at the next table, who kept sending us drinks.

  After midnight, when we were starting to think about going home, the actor Billy Zane approached our table to ask if we wanted to go out dancing with him and some friends. When we failed to accept immediately, he discreetly whispered that he was with Mick Jagger. Much less discreetly, we whipped around to look at his table, and there was Mick Jagger, looking right at us. “Come on, girls!” he called out. Needless to say, we jumped out of our chairs.

  Mick and co. drove us to a nightclub (I can’t remember which one—I was too distracted by the excitement) and ordered a giant bottle of champagne. We all migrated to the dance floor. I remember how self-consciously uncool I felt dancing in my outfit. The previous day I’d received a present from my mom—an invitation to buy myself a pair of nice winter shoes while I was in Paris. (She has always very generously made sure I have a few—but not too many—good things to wear.) I went straight to the Louboutin store and settled rather practically on a pair of beautiful black leather boots; they reached all the way up to the knee and had an elegant but weather-friendly flat crepe sole. Usually I would have dressed up more to have dinner at a sexy restaurant with my girlfriends, but I was too excited about my new boots not to wear them. It didn’t help that I paired them with a puce-colored, crushed velvet, below-the-knee, bias-cut skirt and a vintage teal cardigan. So nineties.