Melvin was teetering on the edge of eruption. The insignificant underling before him had already tried on twenty-four suits, taking nearly three hours, yet each set had some flaws that could be nitpicked, forcing him to start over again. Even Anne Hathaway in her early days hadn't been this much trouble.
Of course, it was normal for actresses to try on fifty dresses for the Oscars, but this guy was just attending the Emmys. Why the solemnity? With just a hint of accomplishment, he was already strutting around like a peacock. Melvin rolled his eyes, openly displaying his discontent. His time was incredibly valuable; he had no room to play the boasting game with a mere child.
If it weren't for Andy Rogers' sake, he wouldn't bother dealing with this inexperienced bumpkin. Thinking of the innovative artist management company behind Andy, Melvin let out a long sigh, advising himself to endure a little more for the sake of future work.
"I think this set is excellent. It's youthful, vibrant, well-cut, and suits your style very well. Just use some hair wax to style your hair upwards, and it won't go wrong." Melvin suppressed his waning patience as he spoke, but his words already held a trace of impatience.
Looking at himself in the full-length mirror wearing the Scottish plaid suit, the red, deep blue, and black plaid patterns dazzled the eyes. The uniform plaid design from top to bottom seemed excessive, as if it had been overdone. Changing the pants to a solid color would improve the overall look. Moreover, this outfit would be suitable for a fashion event or a celebratory party, but for the Emmys, it was too eager, emanating a "look at me" vibe.
Hearing Melvin's words, Renly's brows furrowed slightly. He could sense the stylist's impatience, but the issue was that he was the one trying on the clothes. He was more exhausted and irritable than Melvin, and after all, they were paying Melvin to do his job properly. Renly began to genuinely wonder if Andy had been deceived. Melvin's professionalism was quite questionable.
Still, Renly maintained basic courtesy and said, "Personally, I think this suit is too flashy for the Emmys."
Melvin arched an eyebrow, a hint of mockery crept onto his lips. What does this country bumpkin know? He dared to question his expertise. "So, which suit do you think is more suitable then?" Melvin stepped aside, revealing the clothing rack behind him. "How about you try on that Vivienne Westwood set? It's a British brand, and I believe it will suit you perfectly."
Renly's brow slightly furrowed, and his tone grew less friendly. "Are you joking with me? I find this set too ostentatious, and you're recommending Vivienne Westwood to me? I don't think that's a wise choice. Do you only have one option in your repertoire as a stylist? Is this all your trump card is, a bunch of forgotten issues from the fashion magazines' storeroom?" Renly had always been low-key and reserved, but that didn't mean he feared conflict or lacked a temper. Politeness didn't equate to weakness.
Vivienne Westwood's designs were characterized by rebellion, flamboyance, boldness, and nonconformity—almost her trademark. Melvin's choice of this brand was obviously an unprofessional move.
"Are you the stylist, or am I the stylist?" Melvin snapped, his irritation bubbling over. He was a highly regarded top stylist in the industry, while this guy had appeared out of nowhere and dared to point fingers at him. That nitpicky and arrogant demeanor was truly laughable. All the pent-up anger finally erupted, "What do you know about fashion? What do you understand about suits? Are you the professional, or am I? Look at what you're wearing today—a t-shirt paired with jeans, and you've even chosen canvas shoes that fashionable people would never touch? That's a slum outfit, and you're here to advise me on my work?"
Melvin turned around, his face flushed red as he looked at Andy. Outraged anger caused his lips to tremble slightly. "Andy, I'm sorry. I really wanted to complete this job smoothly, but clearly, your actor is not cooperating at all. Not only is he giving directions, but he's also insulting my professionalism. That's absolutely unacceptable. I'm not taking on this job. The initial deposit is non-refundable, but I won't be taking the rest of the payment. Please leave now!"
Renly found this situation somewhat amusing and frustrating. Melvin was actually preempting the situation, portraying himself as the victim, as if he was the one who had been wronged. However, Renly didn't rush to defend himself. Instead, he looked at Andy, curious about how his agent would handle this.
Andy still wore his kindly smile on his face, seemingly completely oblivious to the tense atmosphere in the room. "Melvin, you're a stylist. You must complete your job. I'm not quite sure what happened here, but what I can say is that if the person standing before you were Brad Pitt, I believe you wouldn't be getting angry."
Honestly, Andy didn't fully grasp the situation. He felt that Melvin's work was on point, and the suits looked good on Renly. However, Andy's stance was crystal clear. Internal issues could be resolved later; now, in front of outsiders, he unconditionally chose to support his artist.
"Andy, let me tell you what happened!" Melvin exploded like a cat with its tail stepped on, jumping up. Dismissing a newcomer was one thing, but being exposed by the agent was another. Of course, he wouldn't admit it. "He's an outsider who knows nothing about suits, yet he's pointing fingers at my work, refusing to believe in my expertise, rejecting my advice. He might not even know the difference between a small notch lapel and a wide notch lapel, yet he's been spewing meaningless words. I don't understand my purpose as a stylist here."
Hearing this, Renly couldn't help but find some absurd amusement in it. Ironically, his life had been filled with suits for the past twenty years. Even eating at home required him to be dressed formally, not to mention formal occasions. The school uniforms were also suits. In his life, suits were the norm.
However, all his suits were custom-made, and unless one had reached that level of discernment, they wouldn't be able to tell the quality difference. They would simply assume it was tailor-made without a recognizable brand. The truth was, Renly didn't particularly enjoy wearing suits. Genuine high-quality suits were intricate to put on.
High-quality suits were essentially assembled pieces. Taking the example of a dress shirt, it was composed of a front piece of fabric, a back piece, a collar, a front panel, and two cuffs. No sleeves. After joining the front and back fabric pieces, the collar was buttoned on, and then a tie was tied. In colder weather, a base layer shirt could be worn underneath. Finally, the cuffs were secured with cufflinks. This completed the ensemble.
The reason there were no sleeves was simple. When the cuffs got stained, unbuttoning the cufflinks allowed for the direct replacement of a new cuff, without needing to remove the entire shirt. Dress shirts without collars gradually evolved into a style of casual shirts, known as collarless shirts, as collars were only necessary for formal occasions, and even then, only when wearing a tie or bowtie.
So, the process of wearing the entire suit was extremely cumbersome; without assistance, it was nearly impossible to accomplish. This was why preparing for a noble's banquet was always exceedingly intricate. Normally, their suits had been modernized, with shirts divided into just the collar and the body, making them much more convenient to wear.
Renly actually had three sets of custom-made high-quality suits in his wardrobe, but he didn't think it necessary to wear them for the Emmys. That's why he left the styling matter to Andy to handle.
Clearly, Andy wasn't aware of this situation. Upon reflection, the two of them had only met four times today. The first time, Renly had been wearing his Saint Patrick's Day costume, the second time he was preparing for skateboarding, and the third time was right after getting off the plane. On each occasion, Renly had been in casual and simple attire. So, this wasn't particularly surprising.
"Truth be told, your presence is quite pointless," Renly's mild voice opened flatly, yet it carried a chilling, icy undertone that was shockingly composed. For a moment, Melvin actually froze, unsure how to respond. "Firstly, you haven't truly measured the dimensions of various parts of my body. Sizing can vary slightly between different brands, and without reference data, your recommendations each time are not quite fitting. Secondly, you haven't genuinely taken me into consideration. What style suits me? My age, the occasions I attend, my role—what style should I choose? You haven't pondered this deeply."
Melvin opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but Renly didn't give him a chance.
"Lastly, just now I tried on a total of twenty-five suits. Seven were from Dior, and eight were from Armani. Interestingly, Dior's cuts are always too narrow, the proportion between shoulders and waist doesn't suit me. Armani's cuts, on the other hand, are too generic, devoid of lines or tailoring, and the overall effect leans more toward men over thirty-five. Clearly, neither suits me well. If I'm not mistaken, you probably have sponsorships from Dior and Armani, right?"
Melvin seemed as if he had been thrown into an ice-cold chamber. His muscles stiffened, his expression was wooden, and not even a sound could escape him.
"Furthermore, I'll add this: I'm British. I have no issues with checks or stripes. But gray vertical stripes? Navy diagonal stripes? Dark gray houndstooth? My goodness, is there some kind of misunderstanding between us? Do you think I've turned fifty this year?"
Renly's sharp words left Melvin dumbfounded. Even the blonde woman standing nearby was already gaping and bewildered. Looking around, Renly continued to strike, "If this is the entirety of what you can provide, then I believe I don't need a stylist. Andy, how about we find another place?"
Andy calmly nodded. "Sure."
Renly broke into a brilliant smile. "Give me two minutes, and I'll change out of this circus costume."