Ella
The stylist Kylian hired arrived on a Tuesday morning with three assistants, six garment racks, and an air of someone who had never once in her career been told no. Her name was Camille, and within the first ten minutes of meeting me she'd circled me twice, tilted my chin toward the light, and declared that whoever had dressed me for the last decade had been actively working against me.
"Nothing personal," she said, when I told her that whoever had dressed me was, in fact, me. "But we're starting over completely."
Over the following weeks, I learned things I hadn't known there was a formal education in. Which fabrics held their structure through an entire evening and which wilted after an hour. How the cut of a sleeve changed depending on whether I was standing behind a podium or w
