George Wilkes sat in the hotel lobby, looking slightly nervous. Today could very well be the day that changes his career, but everything was happening too fast. He hadn't had ti to ntally prepare, and after arriving at the hotel, he found himself in a long wait, struggling to contain his anxious feelings.
His eyes kept darting toward the entrance. The lush greenery of Central Park ford a beautiful arc against the night sky, showcasing New York City's unique charm, but George was in no mood to appreciate it. Then, his target appeared.
It was Renly.
George nervously adjusted his tie, making sure it wasn't crooked, and stood up, but found his feet rooted to the spot. Standing next to Renly was the famous Tom Ford, who seed to be engrossed in an enthusiastic conversation with him. On Renly's other side was Eaton, a stylist of modest reputation, but to George, he was the ntor who had discovered his talent.
The group stopped in the center of the hotel lobby. Tom said a few more words before turning and leaving. Renly and the others continued forward, and George knew his mont had arrived. Without thinking, he stepped forward quickly. "Breathe, breathe..." he kept reminding himself.
"Renly," George called out, but his voice was tight, barely audible.
Still, Renly stopped and gave him a polite look.
"How should I introduce myself?" George was montarily dazed.
"This is George Wilkes," Eaton introduced simply. "He recently started his own brand—a rising star with great potential."
Renly nodded and smiled. But before George could say more, Eaton added, "Let's not stand here chatting; let's head upstairs for a more detailed conversation."
George closed his mouth and followed them up to the elevator. The red carpeted hallway was silent and serene, forcing George to slow his breathing. But as soon as he entered the room, he understood the aning of luxury. The living room alone was the size of half a basketball court. To the right, four golden garnt racks stood, filled with all kinds of suits, making the space feel almost cramped.
George stood cautiously in the living room, glancing at the racks filled with designs from Burberry, Tom Ford, Dior, Armani, Paul Smith... every level and style imaginable. He couldn't see his own designs, though they had been sent over earlier that afternoon. Maybe they were hidden among the others.
The fierce competition was overwhelming, and George's anxiety grew. Breaking through this elite crowd would be a monuntal challenge.
Andy, George's manager, was also wide-eyed. It wasn't the clothes that surprised him—he had seen more extravagant displays as Harrison Ford's agent and a veteran at CAA. What impressed him was Eaton's connections.
For Renly, a newcor, to earn the favor of these major brands seed nearly impossible, unless it was a rare case like Karl Lagerfeld handpicking Blake Lively, rocketing her to fashion fa overnight. Yet, the undeniable presence of these top-tier brands in the room proved Eaton's prowess.
"Let's get started. We're running out of ti before midnight—I don't want to witness a werewolf transformation," Eaton joked, referencing Renly's infamous love for sleep.
Renly wasn't bothered by the playful jab. Back at Eton College, the notorious "Boar Incident" began after the dorm supervisor checked rooms three tis in one week at midnight, waking a sleeping Renly and triggering an unforgettable scandal still gossiped about at the school.
Renly stepped into the center of the room, awaiting Eaton's evaluation. Eaton approached, following the tradition of Savile Row, lifting Renly's arms to asure his precise dinsions, including details like neck, wrist, forearm, and calf size—data that might seem irrelevant but were essential for a perfect custom suit.
George, standing off to the side, observed from a distance. He knew that for top-tier bespoke suits, every detail mattered. A single misstep could affect the entire ensemble.
When Eaton finished asuring, he headed to the garnt racks to begin selecting. "Why don't we start with George's designs?" Eaton suggested, recognizing the convenience of having the designer present.
George quickly stepped forward, ready to get to work, but just as he approached the racks, a knock ca at the door. George paused, glanced around, and then offered, "I'll get it."
It was soone from Burberry, likely Christopher Bailey's assistant. After so pleasantries, Renly began trying on Burberry's designs, with the assistant adjusting the fit with pins for optimal presentation.
Before the Burberry fitting was over, another person arrived—Paul Smith's New York marketing director. The room grew lively once again, and soon it was ti to try on the Paul Smith designs.
George felt like an outsider. He wanted to be part of the group, to seize this rare opportunity, to connect with these key fashion figures. He knew the importance of tonight, but he couldn't find a way to insert himself into the conversation. He felt invisible, like a nobody with no presence.
After trying on 25 different suits, the clock had passed midnight, and Renly was beginning to feel fatigued. Trying on clothes had proven to be more exhausting than expected.
Of all the suits, Tom Ford's stood out the most.
The Golden Globes, unlike the Oscars or Emmys, emphasized entertainnt and lightheartedness. n even appeared in leather jackets on occasion. Tom Ford's designs, bold yet sleek, with sharp lines along the shoulders, chest, and waist, exuded the sensuality characteristic of the designer.
It was perfect for the Golden Globes but might have been too flashy for the Oscars.
"Do you want to continue, or call it a night and pick up tomorrow?" Eaton asked, arms crossed.
George's heart leapt to his throat. He had waited three hours without saying a word. Would he have to wait until tomorrow? He didn't mind waiting, but what if Renly decided to stop and choose Tom Ford without even trying his designs?
"George?" Renly's voice, hoarse from exhaustion, snapped him back to reality. He looked up to see Renly's gaze on him. "Eaton's waiting for you."
George's spirits soared. Eaton had selected his designs from the garnt rack. "Of course, of course," George hurried over. "These three are my designs, inspired by you, with a focus on simple lines..."
"Slow down," Renly chuckled. George realized his excitent had made him speak too fast, like a machine gun. He felt embarrassed but managed a small, awkward smile.
"You said these suits were inspired by ?" Renly found the idea amusing. He had only two projects to his na so far. How could soone have drawn inspiration from him?
"Yes," George nodded. "I watched 'The Pacific,' and Eugene 'Sledgehamr' Sledge left a deep impression on . Then I saw two of your YouTube singles, and the ideas ca. These suits are designed for you—no one else can wear them like you can."
George's eyes shone with excitent, his sincerity palpable. Renly glanced at Eaton, who rely shrugged with a grin, as if to say, "I don't make random choices."
Renly smiled, "It's an honor. Now, I can't wait to see what these suits look like."
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