If I could model my career after one woman, down to her fragrance line, it’d be her. I could write a three-part series on the subtle but powerful moods in her designs.By Santerreis one of the most highly regarded houses for innovation, fusingclassic French design techniques with a modern Italian edge. Her couture line is high-fashion, yet still seems attainable.
The amount of time I spend thinking about her designs may supersede the time I spend stressing about Giovanni. An impressive feat as of late.
Having a famous brother makes me hypersensitive to approaching celebrities, but I can’t waste this opportunity. I’ll just say a quick “thank you” for inspiring me with her art. I wait until she finishes her conversation with a crew member, which gives me time to rustle up some courage.
When Simone looks up from the sound guy’s tablet, I make eye contact with her. She pauses for a moment, facing me with an inquisitive look.
“Ms. Santerre? I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to say that you’re my biggest inspiration. I can’t begin to describe how much I’d like to mirror your career one day.”
After working with Lamont, “warm” and “friendly” are not words I’d associate with Creative Directors. The industry has hardened me to the reality that most people aren’t going to stick around and make small talk, so I practically startle when she responds.
“Which house do you work for?” she asks with a French lilt to her voice.
“Haus of Lamont.”
“And what do you do there?”
My face heats, wishing I was more impressive. “I’m a junior designer.”
“How long have you been with him?”
“Five years.”
“And still a junior… hm, his reputationdoesprecede him.” One of her perfectly manicured eyebrows raises. “Will I have seen any of your work?”
Her eye contact alone makes me giddy. I can’t believe she’s still talking to me.
Thinking through my back catalog of original designs I’ve shared with Lamont, one viral look comes to mind. “Um, I pitched the Youthquake-inspired sheath dress that showed in New York three years ago.”
“The one with the trumpet sleeves? For the sixties line?”
I shift nervously on my feet. “Um. Yes. Yes, that’s the one.”
“Pattern wasn’t my favorite.”
My shoulders droop. I hated the pattern, too—it was a Lamont decision.
“But I liked the design,” Simone fucking Santerre adds, like that’s something I can be normal about.
Forget designing my own line, life will never get better than this moment.
“Do you enjoy working for Lamont?”
I plaster a professional smile to my face. “Yeah, it’s been great.”
Simone raises an eyebrow, and I wonder if she can see through my lie.
No one enjoys working for Lamont.
A hint of a smile flickers at the corner of her mouth.
When she hands the tablet back to the sound guy, a bold idea plants itself in my chest. The future I want is standing right in front of me, and I won’t get closer than this. My pulse flutters at my wrist as I begin stitching together tiny scraps of bravery in my mind until they start ringing true.
Asking isn’t arrogance. If you don’t grasp this opportunity, someone less skilled will. You aremorethan “tolerable.”
“Ms. Santerre? I’m looking to expand my network within the industry, and I’d love to connect after fashion week. Would you be open to me reaching out to your assistant to schedule a meeting with you?”
She hesitates, then nods. “The general email for my house is listed on our website, and my assistant manages the inbox. You can mention we spoke.”
