Image is everything
by Lisa Ullmann
When you go from making a healthy six figure salary to unemployment, you get resourceful, quickly. In some ways, the obvious restrictions make life simpler. No more shopping, no more Groupon purchases (mine never get used, anyway), no need to read DailyCandy for the latest sample sales or restaurant openings. Some overall basic housekeeping – minus actual housekeeping – another budget cut.
But one day, I received an incredibly tempting email offer, forwarded by my friend Jordan Feldman. Jordan is a tastemaker whom I trust implicitly. Once he went into an almost screaming diatribe about a medium-sized purse I wore to a party. “Are you going to L.A.X. after this? Because that THING looks like a duffel bag. I would CHECK it.” Jordan’s stylist friend, Amy Keller, was offering a closet-editing session at a “friends and family” rate, for a limited time.
I have always, always, always wanted a stylist. It is the ultimate Hollywood fantasy for girls. As evidenced by every grocery-aisle magazine, reality show, Red Carpet special and of course, SEX AND THE CITY. I longed for a more sophisticated wardrobe, dynamic color and pattern plays, and a strategy for all the clothes I purchased but had yet to wear. But a stylist was a luxury item, and only necessities were included in my budget.
But then I remembered the age-old mandate for success in Hollywood: IMAGE IS EVERYTHING. This was not a trivial motive, it was a strategic career move!
Hell, this appointment might even qualify for a tax write off! And so, I sent an email with glee not guilt, and secured my special offer.
Amy the stylist showed up looking effortlessly rocker chic: a little Marisa Tomei by way of an Italian Mary Louise Parker. She was stick thin with brown eyes and beautiful olive skin. I can’t recall her exact outfit, but I know that hot pink socks were paired with leopard booties. She was the perfect amount of intimidating. I mean, I wouldn’t hire a fat personal trainer, or a suicidal therapist, so any potential stylist of mine had better pull off the impossible and then some.
We quickly established a style P.O.V., given my predilections and body type. My style icons were of the European variety, somewhere between Sophia Loren and Sienna Miller. Suddenly I had uniforms – and they were fierce. It was just as I had imagined – empowered by my new wardrobe combinations, I finally felt like a fashionista.
Then Amy had me put on my black jeggings. For those uninitiated, jeggings are a jean as tight as a legging. I wore mine regularly with loose sweaters or long blouses. Amy grabbed a small sheer printed blouse. “Here, put this on and tuck it in with a belt.” A sheer blouse, TUCKED IN TO JEGGINGS?! This felt downright risque to me! AND IF THAT WASN’T ENOUGH, she had me put on HIGH HEELED SUEDE BOOTS, SCRUNCHED DOWN BELOW THE KNEE.
“This is a chic going out outfit.”…she pronounced with confidence.
“Amy, I CAN’T go out like this! I feel like Olivia Newton John at the end of GREASE!”
“Lady, you have an awesome figure, what are you waiting for?”
I am not sharing Amy’s compliment to incur your envy, or to imply that I am some sort of Victoria’s Secret Model. I admit that I am thin. I also admit that I am on A.D.D. medication, and it has vastly supported my metabolism. So in some ways I am lucky, in other ways my mental clarity is just a pipe dream. Which would you prefer? But until Amy came over, I totally took my body type for granted. And if this stylist was telling me I had a figure to show off, who was I not to take advantage of it?
“Are you going out tonight?” It was a Friday, so I actually had plans to meet friends downtown. “Wear this, and just see what happens.” I felt like I was in costume. As a hooker, actually. But I followed my stylist’s orders and headed out to a swanky rooftop bar.
Like a good stylist, Amy checked in the next day: “Lisa, did you end up wearing the jean, boots, etc.? Any feedback?”. To which I responded: “Amy, I MADE OUT with a handsome banker who followed me from the bar to the art show! He was literally OBSESSED with me, which never ever happens!!!!”
And so, I incorporated Amy into my limited budget. Now I can show up anywhere, feeling good on the outside no matter how I feel on the inside. Which only goes to show that beauty really is more than skin deep.
So you want to know what happened with the banker, “John” (not his real name)? Soon after, we met for a proper dinner date. Armed with another great outfit and clear-headed sobriety, I checked out our potential.
“So I know you’re from Chicago, but where did you go to school?”
“Harvard.”
Suddenly, this date was getting interesting! “John” went up about 50 points given his prestigious education. But he was younger than me, and it showed. He seemed uptight, defining himself by his new job and posturing as a cool dude. So I prodded a bit more. His mother had passed away recently, and he did not get along with one of his brothers, given the aftermath. Okay, now we were getting somewhere. If I see an opening for emotional subtext, I get excited. And start to dig for gold.
As the evening and drinks progressed, “John” started making inappropriately-timed overtures when we were mid-conversation. It seemed clear to me that he was transferring a lot of his emotions into… sexuality. Which I found compelling. And hot. But I had a tenant in my guest bedroom (cost cutting measure!) and refused to take him home. I wasn’t in college, he wasn’t my boyfriend, and I didn’t want to deal with potential awkwardness. And so I made a proposal: “Why don’t we just check in to a nearby motel?”
I live in Echo Park, where on any given night a motel’s inhabitants could inspire an episode of THE SHIELD. After refusing to give in to the logic of going to his place, I directed “John” to the ironically named Paradise Motel. But don’t think that I am entirely reckless; I made “John” go in first and suss things out, while I waited in his locked car. He deemed it fine and like a good date, paid for the room. In cash. They only took cash. See what I mean?
The next morning, as I walked out into the blazing hot sun, hung over with my black sunglasses and night-before outfit on, I felt a little like a character from a Tarantino movie. Or maybe Walter White in BREAKING BAD. Or Lindsay Lohan on any given day at all! And it was fun! Plus, if I wasn’t going to dinner parties as half of a power couple, I might as well go full out cheap and tawdry. Because in Hollywood, the only thing worse than a bad image? Having no image at all.
Things with “John” didn’t last, mostly because he answered the phone “whassup?” and never really communicated authentically. I offered to put him up for modeling gigs (with the chance for me to make commission) and he thought me a lunatic. But I’ll tell you this, he was genuinely disappointed when I ended our tryst. I think, deep down, he wanted to connect, and saw some of that accessible with me. Maybe “John” was tiring of his own image, wanting to put it away like a well-worn parka you can’t wait to hang up come Spring. While this is not an easy thing to do, this is where a stylist can compliment the work of your therapist. A new look might just liberate you to retire your old persona. And there’s nothing superficial about that.
Stylist Amy Keller can be reached via her site amykellerstylist.tumblr.com/bio
About Lisa Ullmann
Lisa Ullmann is an independent producer working in television and film. She is the Executive Producer of The Ricky Gervais Show, which ran on HBO for three seasons. Lisa lives in Echo Park and enjoys eccentric people, places and things. If you follow her, maybe she will tweet: @lisaullmann.