last summer, a friend emailed to ask if i wanted to work on a short-term project at her fashion magazine, and i burst into tears. this year, a friend emailed to ask if i wanted to work on a short-term project at her fashion magazine and i was like, oh my god, i am going to get paid a really high day rate to learn new beauty tips (you can use an eyelash curler even after applying mascara), distract myself from premarital stress, and figure out who should do the hair and makeup for my wedding.
i had a vision: i wanted a hair stylist and makeup artist who worked backstage and did editorial, but would consent to doing bridal as long as it didn’t look like bridal. i didn’t think these people actually existed, so i was prepared to research until i found a suitable, disappointing alternative.
i spent a month working on glamour dos and dont’s, a project so steeped in historical import and feelings i was often on the verge of weeping. in doing so, i found out—for once, this never happens—that my vision could actually be realized. the kind of people i wanted to make me look like a milder version of a vogue italia model did, in fact, exist, as a group. i even knew some of their work from before (like, from w magazine editorials i had saved in my tumblr drafts).
i had forgotten how hard it is to create images with professionals. everyone has a vision, and an ego, and if you are anna wintour you can do a several thousand dollar beauty shoot and if doesn’t work it doesn’t matter: you kill it. if i could be as wasteful as the old conde nast i might be. i mean: i definitely would be. that was part of what made the old conde nast great.
we’re working it out. i had my hair cut yesterday and we started considering which extensions are the right extensions. i would be lying if i said i had complete faith that i’m going to look a way i want to look when i walk out the door for the ceremony. but my stylist said she loved the gemma ward updo i sent her as a reference, and i like the gamble.