"Stylist", the word recalls red carpet events and Hollywood starlets who need to hit the covers of the tabloids looking like Gisele, not Bjork. And now, thanks to shopping centre stylists, everyday women can pay for the attentions of a style savvy fashionista who can tell them what works and what doesn’t.
At this point, I’ll declare what I ought: Westfield Woden want to promote their stylists and so invited journalists including myself to try out this $70 per hour service.
I was intrigued. Would it be possible that, in the hands of a capable stylist, I would exit the mall looking like a Botticelli masterpiece rather than a Munch masterpiece? Would my stylist be camptastic like Queer Eye’s Carson Kressley? Or more hands-on like bitchy British style duo Trinny and Susannah, apt to prod me in the chest and say “tits” a lot?
The truth is, I couldn’t really imagine who would want this service. There are only a handful of shopping centres in Canberra and any passionate shopper is likely to be familiar with them all already, needing no one to take her by the hand and guide her through them. If it’s style advice you’re after, aren’t you better off taking your best girlfriend and asking her to be brutally honest? Or dragging a long-suffering male behind you? Men often have a good eye for what looks good on women. They also tend to hate trends. “Nu-rave”, “bias cut” and “Louboutin” mean nothing to them and this can be healthy.
I went to meet Samantha West. She’s a fabulous 40-something who despairs that one of her teenage daughters has a penchant for pink skull embellished accessories. West is trim, tanned and well-coiffed. She was dressed casually but impeccably. She was also very approachable. I once met a stylist who wore a giraffe print wrap dress, high heels, plenty of make up and toted a Jimmy Choo handbag – I was a little afraid to talk to her.
West and I started out at a coffee shop with a questionnaire that sounded like a Cosmo quiz: What do I like about my body? What do I dislike about it? Where do I shop? What is my budget?
If you’re the sensitive sort, it could be worth conveying this to your stylist. Women often have enough hang ups already without experts comparing them to fruit (“You’re an apple!” You’re a pear!”) or telling them that parts of their body don’t come up to scratch. Here I was merely worried about being short, but now I’m concerned about being a short-necked, slim rectangle.
Not to worry, though, stylists are there to identify the problems and offer solutions. To create the illusion of height, West suggested monochromes for a long, lean, unbroken look. She also suggested three-quarter length sleeves, and, of course, heels.
We studied the veins in my wrist and as they looked bluish rather than greenish she said I had a “cool base”.
Anyone can wear just about any colour, West explained. It’s all about whether their base is cool or warm. Cool bases ought to seek out colours with cool undertones. For me, she recommended shades of turquoise, electric blue, hot pink, strong colours, jewel tones, blues, purples, and the shades of peacock plumes.
I was also advised to avoid empire lines so as to avoid looking pregnant. For me, it was all about emphasising the waist, often with a 1950s style silhouettes which would offset my rectangular shape nicely.
West put me in a rich blue halterneck frock at Diana Ferrari. It cinched in at the waist, emphasised the bust and flares out with a full skirt, the effect being sophisticated and saucy in a Marilyn Monroe kind of way.
As we talked, I was thrilled to learn that she hates trends.
Gladiator sandals? Will be so-five-minutes-ago in about five minutes. And, the longer ones tend to chop up the line of the leg for a stumpy effect.
Jumpsuits?
“No. Not even on ABBA. I liked it then, I don’t like it now.”
“I know! How do you even go to the bathroom in those things?”
“You have to strip off in the stall,” she said, and we made simultaneous “ick” gestures.
I had heard a lot of West’s style advice heard before was sometimes able to beat her to the punch.
“I should train you up as my little assistant,” she said.
We headed off to the Body Shop in the direction of a 10 minute mini mineral make up make over. Ah, I thought. Here comes the Botticellian bit. The sales assistant swirled on foundation, concealer, blush and some eyeshadow for a daytime look. The whole business of having a total stranger swirl big brushes loaded with powder on to my face was strangely pleasurable. I was happy to see the result was so subtle that I looked roughly the same, except later my colleagues observed I looked “different” and “shiny”.
West had a knack for selecting pieces for me that I would have chosen for myself. I’m unsure of whether this is because she’s a good stylist or because she and I have similar tastes.
Was it fun? Absolutely.