This message is directed to all of you young Hollywood up and comers. It's commendable that you want to help your cousin Peaches get more exposure as a stylist, but sometimes it's best not let him style you for big events. That "deconstructed" cocktail dress he had you wear to your last premiere? He claimed the raw edges were reminiscent of conceptual designers, like Margiela or Rick Owens. The fact is that Cousin Peaches ran out of time and gave you his masterpiece as is.
Your last picture did fairly well at the box office and the makers of an over-the-counter zit remedy is interested in you for their next infomercial. You're going places and you need to look the part. Why are you even listening to Peaches? He's had far too many collagen injections. He's got Wanda (from In Living Color) lips. He insists on being a tragic fashion stereotype and he's trying to bring you down to Clueless Town with him. A two-year subscription to Us Weekly does not a fashion stylist make.
Cousin Peaches insists he doesn't pay any mind to the fashion shows because he likes to be organically inspired. In reality he's still using a dial-up modem and the pages of each designer collection simply take too long to load on his computer.
If you're unable to afford a Rachel Zoe, your publicist should be cultivating relationships with design houses so you're able to get items on loan. It wouldn't hurt to give your hairstylist mom the pink slip either. She's a wonderful woman with a big heart, but she's more adept at giving blue rinses to the seniors from the retirement community in your old neighborhood than giving Sally Hershberger a run for her money. And while you're in the midst of doing lay-offs, let's not leave out your brother's longtime girlfriend. When she started doing your makeup in the mall 5 years ago, you were at a different stage in your life. For one, you were in high school and had yet to develop your taste. Now the paps are shooting you from all angles, even on off-days during a Starbucks run. But when you have a red carpet event and your makeup "artist" insists on making you look like a corpse going to the club, it's time to reconsider your entourage.
They're going to tell you that you've changed since you've become a big star and that you need to keep family close. Tune them out. The more successful you get, the bigger the perks are for them. You can refer your nemesis to Cousin Peaches, get work on a horror film for the brother's girlfriend, and send your mother to Florida for early retirement. They have absolutely nothing to complain about. You're helping them by helping yourself.
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