The Most Beautiful Job in the World

Giulia Mensitieri, Natasha Lehrer

• Éditeur: Melbourne University Press Digital
• Année: 2020
• ISBN:
  9780522876116
• Sujet: Scienze sociali
• Sous-sujet: Cultura e tradizioni

Fashion is one of the most powerful industries in the world, accounting for 6 per cent of global consumption and growing steadily. Since the 1980s and the birth of the neoliberal economy, it has emerged as the glittering face of capitalism, bringing together prestige, power and beauty and occupying a central place in media and consumer fantasies. Yet the fashion industry, which claims to offer highly desirable job opportunities, relies significantly on job instability, not just in outsourced garment production but at the very heart of its creative production of luxury.Based on an in-depth investigation involving stylists, models, designers, hairdressers, make-up artists, photographers and interns, anthropologist Giulia Mensitieri draws back fashion's glamorous facade to explore the lived realities of working in the industry. This challenging book lays bare the working conditions of 'the most beautiful job in the world', showing that exploitation isn't confined to sweatshops or sexual harassment of models, but exists at the very heart of the powerful symbolic and economic centre of fashion.

Part One

Fashion and Capitalism: A System for Producing the Dream

I originally met Mia long before I started researching this book; she was renting an apartment in Paris with Jaime, an old friend of mine. Mia was thirty at the time, and had come to France in the wake of a romantic breakup, keen to both establish a new personal life and develop her career. After gaining a degree from an Italian fashion school, she worked as a journalist for a fashion magazine in Milan and then as a consultant for several ready-to-wear labels. In Paris she began freelancing as a stylist for photo shoots. Her work as a stylist consists of overseeing all the different elements of a shoot, whether a story for a magazine or an advertising campaign for a brand: she chooses the inspiration, theme, location, clothes, accessories, background and models. Sometimes she also recruits the people working behind the scenes: photographer, hairdresser, makeup artist and photo retoucher. She basically directs the shoot, working alongside the photographer. She has a strong personality: authoritative, charismatic and incisive. She cheerfully acknowledges that she can be a ‘prima donna’ or a ‘drama queen’. She has a gravelly voice, and often wears bright red lipstick. Her style is an eclectic blend of sophisticated and bold, sometimes casual but never predictable, mixing up luxury labels with high street brands. It was thanks to Mia that I was able to gain an introduction to people who work in fashion.

1

Fabricating Desire: Press and Advertising

The Heidi shoot

During one of our many Skype conversations, Mia told me that she was doing a fashion shoot the following week with a couple of supermodels.¹ It was going to be ‘a really professional, high level thing’, and the way she talked about it, it was clear that it was something I shouldn’t miss. It was a shoot for Heidi,² a Swiss women’s magazine, that was going to run both online and in print. As Mia didn’t have the precise time of the shoot yet, I decided to stay over the night before at her apartment, in La Chapelle, an ethnically mixed, largely working-class neighbourhood in Paris. Around ten o’clock that evening she received an email from her agent telling her to be at the studio at 8.15 the following morning. That night we shared a bed in the kitchen-living room of the apartment she rented with her friend Jaime, who had the bedroom.

The press offices of the labels whose clothes were appearing in the story had sent over the pieces that Mia had selected directly to the studio in the 14th arrondissement, which meant that we weren’t going to have to haul bags full of clothes with us. At 7.30 the next morning, at the height of the rush hour, we found a taxi; but the traffic moved so slowly that Mia began arguing with the driver, telling him he had taken the wrong route. Luciana, an Italian photographer with whom Mia often collaborates, called her to let her know that she was late and that everyone else had already arrived. The people with the most power on a shoot are the photographer and the stylist. It’s often the case that a magazine will choose a photographer and then let them decide which stylist they want to work with (or vice versa), and inevitably they often ask the people they’re used to working with. Mia and Luciana had already worked together several times. I realized from Luciana’s patronizing demeanour towards Mia that on this occasion she had been selected to be the photographer, and it was she who had invited Mia to collaborate on the shoot.

When we eventually arrived at the studio, a young man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, welcomed us with a shy smile. Blushing, he led us onto the set. Even though we were only about twenty minutes late, most things had already been set up. The space was organized over two levels: a large area which served simultaneously as set, dressing room and seating area, and the mezzanine level reserved for makeup and hair. Mirjana, the model cast to appear in the video, was upstairs with the Austrian makeup artist and the French hairdresser. Downstairs, in the wardrobe area near the stairs, Mia’s assistant Annie had already emptied all the bags and hung up the clothes, which she’d sorted according to colour, and probably other criteria that I wasn’t aware of. Beneath the mezzanine there was a large black leather sofa and a smoked glass coffee table on which sat a plate with a solitary croissant, presumably all that was left over from the morning’s pastries. Everywhere we looked there were things to remind us that we’d arrived late.

I didn’t know a soul, and it soon became apparent how stressed Mia was in this professional environment. I introduced myself in French to Annie, who answered me in Italian. She told me she was half-French and half-Italian, and she used to live in Rome, like the assistant photographer Riccardo and Luciana herself, the photographer, who seemed irritated by my presence. Everyone was in black – jeans and tops – including Mia, who was also wearing a voluminous black fur headband. It made her look a little eccentric, which suited her personality. She was rifling through the clothes on the rack, selecting items to put together into outfits for the models to wear. Along with the hair and makeup, these would create what are called ‘looks’.

I made myself a coffee at the Nespresso machine then sat down on the sofa. In front of me a huge black sheet lay on the floor, taking up half the space and blending in with the black wall at the back. This was the set, the backdrop against which the models were going to be photographed, a decor that would later be retouched by the photographer and her assistant. Laid on the ground under the black cloth were several thick cables connecting the generator and the lights – all the paraphernalia that was required to fabricate the dream and make it as alluring as possible. The assistant photographer, Riccardo, aided by the young man who had let us in, was positioning the lights and adjusting their intensity. The set was ready.

A few minutes later Mirjana came downstairs from the mezzanine. It was my first sight of her, but the evening before Mia had described her to me in admiring detail: she kept saying how beautiful she was, and what a lovely person, how much money she earned, what a stunning apartment she owned in the elegant 17th arrondissement. From my position on the sofa, the first thing I saw of her as she descended the staircase was her feet – she was wearing a pair of those white towelling slippers you find in the bathrooms of luxury hotels – and then the hem of her long white bathrobe. She came down and greeted Mia warmly, ‘Amore!’ I was no more than a metre away from her but without even glancing at me she turned her back to confer with Mia. The photographer reminded everyone sharply that we were running late. Mia asked Annie to hand Mirjana her first outfit – in spite of the fact that it was right in front of her and Annie was on the other side of the room.

Mirjana took off her robe with no evidence of shyness or hesitation and stood there, almost completely naked. It occurred to me later that she did this so naturally that I didn’t even have the reflex to turn away in respect for her privacy. The atmosphere was such that I felt entitled to look at her as if in some sense her body was there expressly to be stared at. She wore a flesh-coloured thong that was barely visible against her skin, from which dangled a tampon string, and a pair of compression socks that were also flesh-coloured. The sight of her skeletal frame, with the hint of medical problems at calf level and the lack of sophistication that was reinforced by the tampon string, contrasted strongly with the image of the supermodel that Mia had described to me the previous evening.

I had mixed feelings: I understood that in this situation the model’s nudity was completely ordinary, and that looking at her body was simply part of the rules of the game, but at the same I time I felt somehow assaulted by the excess of information about this person to whom I had never even spoken. Seeing her nearly naked body I could tell that she had her period and suffered from circulation problems. This negotiation between reserve and intimacy, which I hadn’t experienced before, gave me the impression that her body was first and foremost a work tool that she made available for the creation of images. Mirjana put on the outfit that Annie handed to her: a sheer flesh-coloured body with the faintest touch of grey, and a pair of wide beige palazzo pants in a subtly iridescent diaphanous pleated silk. The ‘look’ they were shooting was nude, Mia said. Mirjana went and stood under the lights. Mia, Annie, the hairdresser and the makeup artist stood around her for a final touch-up. This was the first time I had seen her face properly. She was wearing a huge amount of makeup. She had fine features and glacial grey eyes. Something about her manner was extremely cold, but I couldn’t tell if that was because of all the makeup she was wearing. After she was touched up the hairdresser dragged over a huge fan to blow gusts of air into the trousers and Mirjana’s luxuriant mane, which was made of her own hair woven with false hairpieces. Luciana moved into position with her large camera.

Mirjana began to sway sensually, her hair rippling in the artificial breeze. Her grey eyes stared straight at the camera, casting seductive glances as she caressed her breasts and opened her mouth, painted an intense deep red, then closed her eyes and mimed little moans of pleasure. Luciana was down on the ground lying on her stomach, her legs wide, snapping her from below. Behind her, Mia, Annie, Riccardo, the hairdresser and the makeup artist were watching the performance, scrutinizing the young woman while keeping up a running commentary on her appearance. ‘She’s absolutely stunning’, said Mia. The makeup artist, with a grave, knowing frown, injected a note of doubt: ‘Yes, but she’s definitely put on a couple of kilos. She needs to lose a bit, and she knows it.’

At Mirjana’s request, someone put on some music with a pulsating beat. She began to dance in front of the camera, swaying and squatting with her legs apart. She stayed a few seconds in that position, watching the camera with an arch expression, then she stood back up and began caressing her inner thighs. Even though her movements were explicitly sexual, I noted no surprise in the people around me; it was clear that this corresponded to the codes of the assignment.

When Luciana decided she had taken enough pictures, Mirjana returned to the dressing area. Mia had selected a gauzy white tulle skirt, like a ballerina’s tutu, hemmed with lace and with two deep splits on either side that exposed the model’s thighs. Luciana said that she thought it was hideous, and she didn’t want to photograph Mirjana in it. Mia explained that it was a piece by one of the advertisers³ and that the magazine’s editor insisted that it had to be featured in at least one of the images. Luciana tried to persuade Mia to choose another piece, but Mia said that the entire collection was utterly hideous, and this was the least ugly piece she could find. The two women decided that Mirjana would hitch up the skirt so that it would be barely visible. The hairdresser removed Mirjana’s hairpieces and restyled her hair, and the makeup artist touched up her face. Mirjana took off the palazzo pants, put on the skirt and asked what she was to wear on top. She was told to keep the body on, and that she would take it off later. She returned to the set and tried out various poses, but Luciana thought that the skirt was still too visible and that it ruined the pictures. Mirjana sat down on the floor with her legs folded beneath her. She lifted the skirt right up and began caressing her breast as she gazed at the camera. Luciana was very enthusiastic about this idea and asked her to pull down the body down on one side to reveal a breast. She shot multiple photos until she decided she had enough images.

Meanwhile another model, Crotoy, had arrived at the studio. She sat down alongside me on the sofa without greeting me, her eyes focused on her Blackberry. Unlike the mostly still-teenage models I had previously encountered, Mirjana and Crotoy were distant and cold, barely interacting with the other people present, unless they absolutely had to. They were already sufficiently famous that they had no need to please anyone or do any networking. Crotoy, in particular, emanated an intimidating hauteur; I didn’t introduce myself to her or try to cross the symbolic barrier that she’d erected between her half of the sofa and mine. She was very thin, her skinny legs on display in a little pair of shorts. She had fine hair, dark rings under her eyes, and yellowing teeth, which suggested that she might be anorexic or bulimic. Once Luciana had finished the shoot with Mirjana, it was Crotoy’s turn to be made up and have her hair done. As she stood up I saw from the discreet logos on her sneakers, shorts and dark top that she was wearing head-to-toe Chanel. This was in striking contrast to the other models I’d come across, who tended to wear much less expensive clothes. I was struck by Crotoy’s fragile, unhealthy appearance, in contrast to Mirjana’s – even though I didn’t know what Mirjana really looked like without all the makeup.

By now it was lunchtime and the studio assistant was going round asking people what kind of sandwich they wanted him to pick up from the bakery round the corner. He carefully wrote down everyone’s request, but when the two models ordered salad he reddened and looked slightly panicked; they had an agreement with the bakery to provide sandwiches and pastries, not salad. The models insisted, however, and he assured them he would sort it out and they would have their salad. Half an hour later he was back. I found him in the toilets washing lettuce leaves from a supermarket bag. He told me he had bought salad and plastic plates and forks for the models’ lunch. He seemed so inexperienced, so young and beleaguered, I wondered if he was an intern. He told me he was, and had only recently started. I asked if his internship was paid; he shook his head and said he’d bought the salad with his own money.

Everyone ate quickly. The models barely touched their salads. Crotoy was in a robe with her hair in rollers. After having her makeup done, she took off the robe and put on the outfit that Mia had prepared for her: white shirt, straight red and black skirt and a pair of high heels. She went and stood under the lights. Just as with Mirjana, her outfit and the effect of the lights immediately transformed the image I had of her. She suddenly looked stunning. The mechanism of fascination had been set in motion and I fell for it completely. It was like a magic trick engineered by the lighting. Once they were all done up and positioned under the artificial lights, the bodies of these two young women, which I thought were far too thin, unhealthy, almost viscerally raw, became suddenly attractive. I wondered what it was that made them now so gorgeous and alluring. ...