Hollywood: The Greatest Showman

Chapter 121: Who’s the Expert here?

Chapter 121: Who's the Expert here?

Melvin was already on the verge of exploding. The insignificant figure in front of him had tried on twenty-four sets of suits, consuming nearly three hours, yet each set had some flaws that could be nitpicked, forcing him to start over. Even Anne Hathaway, at the beginning, didn't have such trouble.

Of course, it's normal for actresses to try on fifty dresses for the Oscars, but why take it so seriously for just an Emmy? It's just a little achievement, but he's already showing off. Melvin couldn't help but roll his eyes, expressing his dissatisfaction openly. His time was extremely precious; he didn't have the luxury to play the showing-off game with a kid here.

If it weren't for Andy Rogers' sake, he wouldn't bother dealing with this inexperienced country bumpkin. Thinking of Andy's innovative artist management company behind him, Melvin sighed deeply, reminding himself to endure a bit more for future work.

"I think this set is very good, youthful and full of energy, the cut is very appropriate, and it suits your style very well. Just need to style your hair with wax, and it will be perfect." Melvin suppressed his last bit of patience and said, but there was already a hint of impatience in his tone.

Looking at himself in the full-length mirror wearing this Scottish plaid suit, the dazzling combination of red, navy, and black plaid was overwhelming. The consistent plaid pattern from head to toe seemed excessive; it was too forceful. Changing the trousers to a solid color would improve the overall impression. Additionally, this outfit would be suitable for a fashion ceremony or a celebration party, but it seemed too eager for the Emmy Awards, exuding a message of "look at me."

Upon hearing Melvin's words, Renly, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He could feel the stylist's impatience, but the problem was, he was the one trying on the clothes. He was more tired, more impatient than Melvin, and they were paying him to hire Melvin as a stylist, so Melvin should fulfill his duties properly. Renly was starting to doubt if Andy had been deceived? Melvin's professionalism was truly questionable.

However, Renly still maintained basic etiquette and said, "I personally think this suit is too flashy for the Emmy Awards."

Melvin raised an eyebrow, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips. What did this country bumpkin know? He dared to question his professionalism. "So, which suit do you think is more appropriate?" Melvin stepped aside, revealing the clothing rack behind him. "How about trying on that Vivienne Westwood suit? It's a British brand, and I think it will suit you perfectly."

Renly frowned slightly, his tone turning less friendly. "Are you kidding me? I think this suit is too flashy, and then you recommend Vivienne Westwood to me? I don't think that's a wise choice. Do you only have a Vivienne Westwood suit in your arsenal as a stylist? Is that all you've got? Some leftovers from fashion magazine warehouses?"

Renly had always been low-key and restrained, but it didn't mean he was afraid of conflict or lacked temper. Politeness didn't equate to weakness.

Vivienne Westwood's designs were known for their rebelliousness, flamboyance, boldness, and nonconformity; that was practically her trademark. Melvin's choice of this brand was obviously an unprofessional display.

"Are you the stylist, or am I the stylist?" Melvin exploded. He was one of the top stylists in the industry, and this nobody in front of him dared to criticize his work. That picky and arrogant attitude was laughable. All the suppressed anger finally erupted. "What do you know about fashion? What do you know about suits? Are you a professional, or am I? Look at what you're wearing today, a T-shirt paired with jeans, and you even chose sneakers that fashionable people would never touch? That's just a slum outfit. And you dare to criticize my work?"

Melvin turned away, his face turning red as he looked at Andy because of his anger. "Andy, sorry. I really wanted to complete this job smoothly, but obviously, your actor is not cooperating at all. Not only is he meddling, but he's also insulting my profession. That's absolutely unacceptable. I'm not taking this job anymore. The deposit can't be refunded, but I won't take the rest of the payment. Please leave now!"

Renly found it somewhat ridiculous and amusing. Melvin was playing the victim, acting as if he was the one being wronged. However, Renly didn't rush to explain himself. Instead, he looked at Andy, curious about how the agent would handle this.

Andy still wore his gentle smile, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. "Melvin, you're the stylist, and you must complete your job. I'm not sure what happened here exactly, but what I can tell you is, if it were Brad Pitt standing here, you definitely wouldn't lose your temper."

Honestly, Andy didn't understand the situation. He thought Melvin's work was fine; the suits looked good on Renly. But Andy's stance was clear. Internal issues could be dealt with later; now, facing outsiders, he unconditionally chose to support his artist.

"Melvin, let me tell you what happened!" Melvin exploded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, jumping up and down. Being dismissive of a newcomer was one thing, but being exposed by the agent was another. Of course, he wouldn't admit it. "He, an outsider who knows nothing about suits, keeps meddling with my work, refuses to believe in my professionalism, refuses to accept my advice. He might not even know the difference between a notch lapel and a peak lapel, yet he keeps making meaningless comments. I don't understand what my role as a stylist is here."

Upon hearing this, Renly found it somewhat absurdly amusing. Contrary to what Melvin said, he had actually worn suits the most in the past twenty years. Even eating at home required formal attire, let alone formal occasions. The school uniforms were all suits. In his life, suits were the norm.

But all of his suits were bespoke, and people who weren't at that level couldn't discern the quality difference; they would think they were just untailored products without brands. The fact was, Renly didn't particularly enjoy wearing suits because real high-end suits were extremely cumbersome to wear.

High-end suits were actually pieced together. Take a shirt, for example. It was divided into a front piece, a back piece, a collar, a front placket, and two cuffs. No sleeves. After piecing together the front and back pieces, attaching the collar, and tying the tie, if it was cold in winter, you could wear a base layer underneath. Finally, button up the cuffs, and you're done wearing it.

The reason there were no sleeves was simple. When the cuffs got stained, you could just unbutton them and replace them with new ones without taking off the entire shirt; no need to remove the entire garment. Shirts without collars gradually evolved into a style of casual shirts because collars were only needed for formal occasions, even to match ties or bow ties.

So wearing a suit was extremely cumbersome; without help, it was impossible to complete. This was also why every preparation for a nobleman's banquet was extremely cumbersome. Normally, their suits were also modernized; shirts were only divided into collar and body, making it much easier to wear.

Renly actually had three sets of bespoke suits in his wardrobe, but he didn't think it was necessary to wear them to the Emmy Awards, so he handed the styling issue over to Andy.

Obviously, Andy didn't understand the situation like this. Upon careful recollection, the two had only met four times today. The first time, Renly was wearing St. Patrick's Day attire, the second time he was preparing to go skateboarding, the third time was just after getting off the plane, and each time Renly was wearing casual and simple clothing. So, it wasn't surprising.

"In fact, your presence is indeed meaningless," Renly's mild voice said calmly, but it carried a chilling coldness, leaving Melvin stunned, not knowing how to respond. "First of all, you have never truly measured various parts of my body. Sizes can vary slightly between brands, and without reference data, none of your recommendations fit me properly. Secondly, you have never truly taken me into consideration. What style suits me? My age, the occasion I'm attending, my position, etc. What style should I choose? You haven't thought about it carefully."

Melvin opened his mouth, wanting to retort, but Renly didn't give him a chance.

"Lastly, I tried on a total of twenty-five suits just now, seven of which were Dior and eight were Armani. Interestingly, Dior's cut is always too narrow, and the proportions of the shoulders and waist don't suit me. Armani's cut is always too generic, lacking lines and tailoring, and the overall effect leans towards men over thirty-five. Obviously, neither is suitable for me. If I'm not mistaken, you should have received sponsorship from Dior and Armani, right?"

Melvin seemed frozen, unable to utter a word, as if he had been thrown into an ice cave.

"Additionally, I'm British. I have no problem with checks or stripes, but grey pinstripes? Navy diagonal stripes? Dark grey houndstooth? My God, is there a misunderstanding between us? Do you think I'm fifty years old this year?"

Renly's sharp words left Melvin dumbfounded, even the blonde woman standing beside him was stunned and at a loss. Renly looked around and continued, "If this is all you can offer in terms of clothing, then I think I don't need a stylist indeed. Andy, shall we go somewhere else?"

Andy nodded calmly. "Sure."

Renly flashed a bright smile. "Give me two minutes; I'll change out of this circus outfit."