<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"FacebookPinterest\n\nThe young actor Miles Teller looks like someone who was popular in high school. He's 25 years old and handsome in a pulpy, scarred-up way\u2014think Brando by way of Tampa. Very mammalian. Also hungover from a late night at a sports bar and in need of physical therapy from being run over by a golf cart. When I meet Miles, he is standing in the back room of Confederacy, a Los Angeles boutique co-owned by the stylist Ilaria Urbinati. Ilaria is plucking J.Lindeberg cardigans and Simon Spurr suit jackets from four bulging racks while Miles chugs from a plastic cup. (\"This water is delicious.\") \"Try these,\" Ilaria commands. Miles jams a pair of cudgel-shaped arms into the Lindeberg cardigan and looks at Ilaria for a verdict. Nope\u2014she shakes her head. Miles is not a cardigan guy. \"The rule,\" she explains to me while handing her client a cream shawl-collar sweater, \"is he doesn't have to like it, but he has to try it on.\"\n\n The cream sweater has a louche, post-colonial vibe, and Miles\u2014who is still new enough in Hollywood to gamely endure the styling process\u2014obediently puts it on. Unknown until he was cast as Nicole Kidman's baby killer in 2010's Rabbit Hole, Miles went on to pick up a role in the remake of Footloose, where his character has a triumphant dance montage in a high school hallway and throughout the town. For a few months now, he's been performing the ill-defined-but-high-stakes role of a young actor \"poised\" for Hollywood success. He wants better roles in bigger movies, and this week's docket of parties, timed with the opening of awards season\u2014the CAA party, the Warner Bros./InStyle party, the New York Times T Magazine party\u2014counts as a series of informal auditions. Over tequila shots and beneath the stars on rooftop terraces, Miles will make a visual case for his talent before the kinds of people in a position to do something about it. He understands that leading roles go to actors who look like leading men, and he also understands that he has neither the taste nor the access to dress himself like one. Most actors don't.\n\nTechnically, Miles hired Ilaria\u2014but only after she agreed to take him on. If a publicist has a client who she thinks could benefit from Ilaria's help, she'll shoot an e-mail to see if Ilaria is interested. If the answer is not an obvious yes, Ilaria will open her laptop and do pretty much what a freshman stock analyst does, which is research the commodity and try to figure out whether it's undervalued or overvalued or what. (Example of an overvalued commodity: Alex Pettyfer, the guy from I Am Number Four. A year ago, any stylist would have agreed to dress him. He was on magazine covers and dated starlets. Then he was on too many magazine covers. Then he failed to follow up with plum roles, acquired a reputation as \"overhyped,\" started calling Hollywood a \"shithole\" in interviews, and now elicits a one-word reaction from people like Ilaria: \"Oof.\")\n\nMiles turns around in the cream shawl-collar sweater. He looks like a blister.\n\n\"Off,\" Ilaria instructs, picking a Calvin Klein suit jacket from the racks. Miles slides into it, and this one is a hit. It fits the way a jacket should, which is tighter than you'd expect. (Hint: You should not be able to throw a football in your jacket.) Ilaria buttons Miles into a matching vest and then steps back to take a look; it works so well there's a near-audible click. Ilaria smiles, and Miles glances into the mirror to make the pained appraisal face that men make when they try on a sick suit. A tie bar is located and clipped into place. He looks like a rich man's problematic son.\n\nIlaria beams with approval. \"Do you like it?\" she asks, hands clasped in hope. (She loves it.)\n\n\"Huh? Yeah. It's cool.\" (He loves it.)\n\nBefore Miles ducks out, the suit must be tailored. Ilaria orbits him, pinning and tucking and swatting his hand when he fidgets. The scene has a Madonna-with-child kind of ritual sweetness about it\u2014the custodial female preparing a helpless young man for the world. When the actor first arrived, he was dressed like a fog bank, in head-to-toe gray. Now he looks worthy of a commemorative coin. Ilaria finishes and steps away once more, arms folded across her chest. The thesis of her stance is clear: This, she's saying, is why a man needs a stylist.\n\n\u00B7\u00B7\u00B7\n\nEverything I know about the styling industry I've learned from watching The Rachel Zoe Project, which is exactly like Moby-Dick but with a tiny bronzed woman instead of Ahab, and Anne Hathaway's Oscar dress where the whale ought to be. Zoe shudders and sermonizes over detachable taffeta trains, and her monomania is equally consumptive of everything that crosses her path (like, other people). It is a show in which viewers feel the dire consequences of each decision even as they know that no decision carries any consequence at all. That atmosphere of mid frivolity and dread is one that seems to characterize a very broad strain of modern experience (the possibility of getting fired for a tweet, being self-conscious about your socks at a TSA screening, the News Corp. hacking of Jude Law's cell phone). When I fly to L.A. at the start of awards season to learn about the styling industry, I am not expecting to find God in a Patrik Ervell \"winter jean.\" But it would be neat to see someone else find God in this way.\n\n Awards season is the year's densest concentration of styling activity. It takes place over a six-week stretch between the Golden Globes and the Oscars. This period also includes the SAG Awards, the BAFTA Awards, the Independent Spirit Awards, plus additional lesser-known award shows and a whole raft of ancillary luncheons, presentations, and parties. Stylists dress their clients year-round, but awards season is when their work receives the glare of global scrutiny. One false move (an appearance on a worst-dressed list, say) is enough to wipe out a stylist's market value. The opposite is also true.\n\nThis season I will be tagging along with Ilaria, whose roster includes Bradley Cooper, Chris Evans, and Armie Hammer, among others. Armie, a SAG nominee for his role in J. Edgar, has agreed to be the lab mouse for this piece, and all week long I will follow Ilaria as she attends to the scouting, fitting, and tailoring of Armie's outfit.\n\nWe meet for dinner at the Chateau Marmont on the night I arrive. The venue is Ilaria's choice, and because it favors the modern speakeasy aesthetic of subtle elevators and misleading staircases, I am instantly lost on my way to the dining patio. Adrift in the lobby among lozenge-shaped tables and the kind of burnt lighting calibrated to flatter a tan, I ask for water and wait. Lindsay Lohan sits nearby with phosphorescent hair, smoking. (Strictly in the literal sense. Sadly.)\n\nFacebookPinterest\n\n Nip tux: Ilaria Urbinati will do all the texting, shopping,\n\nand fitting required to get Armie Hammer into black tie.\n\nIlaria, who is 32 years old, arrives dressed like an urban sorceress, in swirling skirts and pointy boots. She has auburn hair, a sweet matryoshka-doll face, and an apple-pie friendliness not typically associated with multilingual European women. (She was born in Rome, raised in Paris.) We exchange less than one (English) word before she's flagged down by a trio of airbrushed-looking women at the next table over, who chatter and fling compliments (\"You look uh-mazing\") at Ilaria until she is able to extract herself and flutter back. \"I'm so sorry,\" she mutters, taking her seat. \"Publicists.\"\n\nPublicists in L.A. get the kind of rote censure that Monday mornings get in Dilbert comics, but they are also feared and taken seriously. When I make her guess, Ilaria estimates that there are about 300 A-list celebrity clients, total. Most are funneled to stylists through the same handful of PR people\u2014a group that includes the ladies seated next to us. \"Publicists are God when it comes to getting work,\" Ilaria tells me. But they also play hardball. A publicist with an A-list client will sometimes, for example, make a stylist agree to dress a couple of the publicist's corny TV clients if she wants the A-lister. (Stylists: Consider unionizing?)\n\n After a publicist makes the introduction, sometimes Ilaria will arrange to meet with a client to discuss what kind of image he wants to project. He'll usually cite other actors (mostly Ryan Gosling and Cooper) and bat around words like \"effortless,\" \"rugged,\" and \"classic.\" It doesn't particularly matter what a client says, because pretty much all stylists have the same reference points. It's like one of those charts at the barbershop with the basic hairstyles diagrammed on it: You've got your crew cut, your Caesar, your Ivy League. In styling, you've got your James Dean, your Marlon Brando, your Steve McQueen, your Paul Newman. When you see ten stars on a best-dressed list looking vaguely alike, it's because their stylists all Googled the same images. \"Everything I learned about menswear, I learned from researching online,\" Ilaria tells me. \"I'm very referential.\"\n\n\u00B7\u00B7\u00B7\n\nIlaria's ticket to A-list status, she tells me, came in the form of Bradley Cooper, whom she partnered with when The Hangover was released. In the time they've worked together, Cooper has transformed himself from a TV actor with a fake-sounding name into someone in the position to dump Ren\u00E9e Zellweger. It would be a stretch to say that Cooper's stylist is the architect of his success, but it would be wrong to say she had nothing to do with it.\n\nWhen I ask Ilaria how, precisely, a stylist can be instrumental to an actor's ascent, she says a bunch of stuff about Hollywood icons and how \"looking like a movie star makes a difference.\" Later, however, she gives me as good an answer as I'll get: \"There's no way you can wear Ed Hardy and be cool in other parts of your life.\" Translation: A man's clothing is the window to his soul, and a jeweled viper with kanji detailing does not reflect well of that soul.\n\nShe's right, in a way. A star's outfit is ontologically distinct from an outfit you or I might wear. In the surface-oriented world of a Ryan Gosling or a Jake Gyllenhaal, clothing is less body shelter than elevator pitch\u2014a case to be made in a time period measured by red-carpet lengths. Gosling's outfit must convey the essence of Gosling. Ditto Gyllenhaal's ensemble. Jeanne Yang, a blue-chip stylist whose clients include Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise, later put it to me in this context: \"Anyone can make an occupation of celebrity. Making it a job is what separates the wheat from the chaff.\" A good celebrity is at all times pitching a concept of himself.\n\n That's why clients will shell out between $500 to $1,000 per event for Ilaria to dress them. She's an investment. (And also, technically a business expense, which made me wonder whether actors deduct her on their tas. I e-mailed Miles to ask. His reply: \"I certainly hope so! She's quite the luxury.\")\n\nThing is, even in the age of the J.Crew Ludlow suit jacket and the populist skinny tie, most actors\u2014most men\u2014have no idea how to dress, much less how to distinguish a peak from a notch from a shawl lapel. \"That,\" Ilaria tells me, circling a blob of mozzarella at dinner, \"is where I come in.\"\n\nThough most actors want to be styled, most actors don't want to look styled. Actors tend to be jocks; put them in a slim pant at the beginning and they're all, \"This feels weird\" and \"You can see my balls.\" They want to look, Ilaria says, \"like the sharpest guy in the room who can also go out in the alley and kick someone's ass.\" In fact, actors tend to be twitchy about even admitting they keep a stylist in their employ. \"It's seen as unmanly to have someone sitting there and telling you what clothes to wear,\" Eli Roth, who was one of Ilaria's clients, told me. \"It's like women and Botox. They don't want to cop to using Botox; they just want you to think they look young. Styling is the man's version of Botox.\"\n\nRoth also told me how one's opinion of stylists changes. \"Fashion, for me, used to be a girlfriend dragging me kicking and screaming into a mall,\" he says. \"But Ilaria got me into a cardigan one time, and I instantly met a girl who I started dating. This girl said to me, 'You know why I like you? Because you're in a cardigan.' I mean, she wasn't dating me for a sweater, but the sweater started it.\"\n\n\u00B7\u00B7\u00B7\n\nThere's no door to Prada, which just sort of begins at the edge of Rodeo Drive. The omission is thrilling and passive-aggressive, which makes it a very Prada thing to do. \"I've had male friends tell me that in order to wear a Prada suit, you can never have gone to the gym and picked up a single weight,\" the Pulitzer Prize-winning fashion journalist Robin Givhan told me. And she's right: Confidence may get you through Prada's non-door, but only an aberrant sort of frame\u2014youthfully wizened?\u2014can make the clothes look perfect.\n\nBy the end of our tour through the store, I am wondering how Ilaria could possibly not dress Armie in Prada. It must be a symptom of effective merchandising, because the same feeling recurs forty minutes later when we're at the Armani store, which is splendid in a different way\u2014cashmeric, which is not a word, but that is how it feels. At Armani, the beanies stand on plinths and the carpet looks like raked sand. It's a conservative label: classic. The tus we browse have a seductive \"Step into my office\" quality\u2014they seem constructed with the sole aim of conveying power. Prada tus, by contrast, are built to show off the body. Two different kinds of sexiness.\n\nFacebookPinterest\n\n It seems fair to note here that no one in Hollywood buys his own clothes. No actor does, I mean. They don't. \"They won't even buy a fucking T-shirt,\" Ilaria marvels. She means this in two senses: One, actors don't physically go shopping (their stylists do), and two, they do not pay money for the clothes they wear. At Ferragamo, for example, I watch a PR woman show Ilaria a butterscotch suede bomber jacket, to which the stylist's one-word reply is: \"Bradley.\" And that's it\u2014that's all it takes. Later in the day, an assistant will be dispatched to drop the item off at Bradley Cooper's place. Maybe he'll like it, maybe not. The piece retails for $4,700.\n\n Back at Armani, Ilaria is trailed by a PR guy. At one point, he pauses and holds up a velvet jacket. \"So rico suave,\" he says. \"For Armie?\"\n\n \"It's beautiful, and I get it,\" Ilaria says, \"but no. For Nic Cage, yes. Not for Armie.\" Nic Cage likes deep, lordly colors. And velvet. \"I think it's good to have a, uh, velvet selection for Cage,\" she remarks.\n\nBut Ilaria knew that Armani wasn't lending to Cage. She'd received an e-mail from Armani that afternoon saying as much. I'd asked her why\u2014had his stock as an actor fallen? Is that how it worked? \"Not really,\" Ilaria said. When a brand refuses to dress a person, she explained, it's because that person doesn't mesh with the brand's conception of itself. The rest was implied. I guess Armani doesn't conceive of itself as a turbulent and possibly bankrupt label that collects classic comic books.\n\nAfter outfits for Armie are pulled, the PR guy pauses for a brief time-out period for awards gossip and speculation. He distributes Red Vines from a tub, which prompts everyone to say, \"Ugh, I shouldn't,\" and then guiltily eat some. (People in L.A. talk about their bodies the way people in New York talk about their work, which is fucking constantly. The next day I will hear Armie Hammer's publicist tell him with zero irony: \"Your dog is in great shape.\")\n\n\"You're gonna put Armie in Armani, right?\" I ask Ilaria as we leave. For a traditionally formed (read: man-shaped) man like Armie, there seems to be no choice but Armani, and I am still drunk on luxury. But Ilaria shrugs: \"May the best tux win.\"\n\n Not that the best tux is necessarily the most memorable tux. To put it simply, dressing well is a matter of calculated risks, and most people are bad at risk assessment. Dinner at the Chateau Marmont provided three vivid illustrations of why the average man should not fuck with formal pajamas. In the hands of a professional, slovenly is insouciant and lands you on the best-dressed list. In the hands of an amateur\u2014well, look around. Stylists know about risk, and they know that men don't want to look as though they've been tinkered with. \"My signature,\" Jeanne Yang said, \"is for it to look like I'm not there.\"\n\nOn the way home, we make a quick stop at the tailor's, which is located in a West Hollywood mini-mall. Ilaria needs to pick up some clothes for another client. A handful of Russians toil in the back, each woman knish-shaped and displaying feats of small muscle control. At our entrance, one points to another and says, \"Brad Pitt's jacket.\" The one with Brad Pitt's jacket gives us a call-someone-who-cares look and says \"Gucci\" without pausing from her work.\n\n While we wait, an e-mail pings into Ilaria's phone. She reads: \"Do we want chunky, slim, or technical?\" The message is from a watchmaker. Obviously the answer is slim. Always slim. Ilaria lists droopily to one side as she thumb-types a response; she's been going on four hours of sleep for more than a week, and it's starting to catch up with her. \"The fact that I'm allergic to coffee is like God's evil little joke on me,\" she says.\n\nTomorrow, Ilaria will swing by the shops we visited today in order to pick up the chosen items, which at that point will be packaged and ready to go. This is the moment, inevitably, when a PR rep will slyly pitch the items, knowing that her label is in competition with others. Because red-carpet exposure is cheap and effective advertising, salespeople are inclined to get pushy. As Ilaria hoisted Armie's tudo options at Prada, I heard a PR person murmur, \"We're only dressing three people for the [SAG] Awards this year.\" It wasn't a hard sell, but the woman's timing was deft, with the line delivered at precisely the moment Ilaria's professional debt was actualized in the form of cumbersome garment bags. Ilaria smiled and made her way from the doorless store without making any promises, but her doll face clouded over. Nonetheless, she stands firm: The best tux will win.\n\n\u00B7\u00B7\u00B7\n\n Armie Hammer's fitting is scheduled on a Saturday at Ilaria's house. He arrives at her West Hollywood bungalow around noon to try on tudos, a shrieking Welsh terrier named Archie in tow. At six foot five, Armie is taller than Ilaria's front door, with thick hair and teeth as white as table sugar. (His particular kind of handsomeness, which magazine writers like to call \"retro\" or compare to Gary Cooper's, is actually just the complete absence of feminine traits. Rare for actors today.)\n\nArmie is starving, in the way that giant men are always starving, and quickly homes in on Ilaria's snack selection.\n\n\"There's coconut water in the fridge,\" she tells Armie. At this particular instant in L.A., there is always coconut water in the fridge. On the kitchen counter: Pirate's Booty, fruit plates, cheeses, and fancy crackers.\n\nWhen it comes to styling a man, snacks are an important diversion. Women, in general, don't mind fittings and can withstand hours of pinning without complaint. Not so much men. And while Armie is too polite to admit that he hates fittings, his face does not exactly blossom with zeal at the sight of twenty tudos, fourteen bow ties, twenty-seven pocket squares, ten tie bars, four Jaeger-LeCoultre watches, and three cummerbunds. \"This cheese is delicious,\" he says uneasily, carving out a third slice of Cheddar.\n\nFacebookPinterest\n\n It is important to point out\u2014because no one will come right out and say it\u2014that the purpose of a day like today is to steer a guy like Armie toward the fashion-icon status of a guy like Ryan Gosling. Gosling is now the gold standard of personal style. In May of last year, he showed up at a dinner in Cannes wearing a custom Ferragamo Prince of Wales suit with two-tone shoes, all of his own choosing. Two days later, he was in a navy pajama top, cream slacks, and wingtip shoes. That evening, he walked the red carpet in an azure Ferragamo tux that shimmered like a tuna fish. Amazing. The Gosling phenomenon is curious, though, because he achieved the status without going through any transitional phase whatsoever. One day he was in a Harley- Davidson-logo tee, sporting a floppy forelock. The next he was in brocade Ferragamo with velvet lapels. He became iconic by looking iconic, and now every publicist wants her client to have a closet like Gosling's, in hopes that a career like his will follow.\n\nAttributing causality to violent changes in dress is usually easy: It's a new girlfriend, entry into a new weight class, or, in the case of actors, a new stylist. But none of this applies to Gosling, who enjoys an active dating life, maintains a steady BMI, and doesn't employ a stylist. It's as though he skipped puberty. Whatever the secret, he's the actor who best represents how powerful the mantle of style icon can be. Ilaria sums up the GoslingTouch in this way: \"He has that mix of not giving a fuck and at the same time really giving a fuck.\" Sartorial charisma, you could call it. Good luck replicating that at home.\n\nArmie is not yet a Gosling, but with light coaxing he is maneuvered from buffet table to clothing rack, and that's a start. At least there's only one pair of shoes to choose from this time around\u2014Prada was the only label, it turns out, with size 14 in stock.\n\n\"How's this?\" Ilaria asks, extracting a flannel Armani jacket. \"Nah,\" Armie says. She moves on. What about a charcoal Calvin Klein tux? The charcoal will show up well with a flash. Armie tries it on, but the jacket fits weird, and then Archie is barking and humping Armie's publicist, who gamely repulses the terrier. Now distracted from the task at hand, Armie starts telling everyone how he conditioned Archie against eating human food by feeding the dog tiny daubs of hot sauce whenever he nosed onto his master's dinner plate. Everyone agrees that this is a good tactic. Then the actor is striking Laurel-and-Hardy poses and checking out the pantry (\"Dude, it's huge!\") like the amiable 25-year-old that he is. For a celebrity, he's fairly normal. His name could be Josh. He starts making penis jokes.\n\n \"I'm so well-hung it hurts my back,\" he tells Ilaria, who can't pin because she's cracking up. \"I have to wear six pairs of Speedos when I run.\"\n\n \"Stop moving and this'll go faster,\" she says, recomposing her work face. \"You haven't stood still for two minutes.\" Next she puts him in a midnight blue Gucci tux. When he turns to face the room, there is, once again, a tangible click. His publicist loves it. Ilaria, too. But as everyone coos over the Gucci, a problem occurs to me.\n\n \"Wait,\" I say, unaware that I'm asking a stupid question. \"If we're not allowed to mix labels\u2014doesn't he have to wear a Prada tux?\"\n\n There's a long and destabilizing get-a-loadof- this-genius pause.\n\n \"Not necessarily,\" Ilaria answers carefully. \"If he buys the Prada shoes, he can wear them with the Gucci suit.\"\n\nSo, celebrities do pay for clothes?\n\n\"At a discount,\" Ilaria clarifies. (The VIP discount is usually between 30 and 50 percent.) Armie doesn't look thrilled about the possibility of paying for his own shoes. A minute later, he's asking Ilaria about whether she can get him some complimentary Rainbow flip-flops. He loves those flip-flops.\n\n\"Oh yeah, totally,\" she says.\n\n\"Let's do that.\"\n\nMaybe they don't pay for anything.\n\nIn Armie's case, not even the styling. Most of Ilaria's business comes not from single clients but from studios, where the pay rate is much higher\u2014$10,000 or $20,000 for a press tour, say. In the case of a press tour, Ilaria will pack individual outfits together, mark each one for its event (\"Letterman Appearance\"), and include detailed instructions for her client to ecute. (\"Tuck the shirt and roll the sleeves.\") Socks are included; everything is labeled. It's like a mother packing her kid's duffel for summer camp with his name sewn in all the underwear.\n\nFacebookPinterest\n\n Hammer don't hurt 'em: the finished product at the SAG\n\nawards.\n\nThe Gucci looks great on Armie, but Ilaria wants to see him in a couple more tus to compare. By now it's been ninety minutes, and her client is squirming. Ilaria: \"He literally wants to kill himself right now.\"\n\nArmie: \"Not myself.\"\n\nUnlike Miles Teller, Armie's charm has a sheen to it\u2014the charm of someone raised among adults who expected him to pull his weight at the dinner table. His next big movie is a remake of Snow White that stars Julia Roberts as the Evil Queen. Armie plays Prince Charming, which is such an obvious bit of casting that his name ought to be followed by duh on the movie poster.\n\nIlaria persuades the actor to try on an Armani tux, but it's not right for him. Strange buttons. Then Ferragamo. Close, but not quite. Finally Zegna, which is too small. Teeny. \"It's a midget jacket,\" Ilaria squeals.\n\n\"Please,\" Armie corrects her. \"Little-person jacket.\"\n\nOnce the decision (Gucci tux, Prada shoes) is final and the tailoring complete, Ilaria reminds Armie to button the top button of his jacket for photos. When she tailors a suit to the millimeter and then some dude goes on the red carpet with his suit jacket hanging open? It kills her. Kills her. Armie promises to button, and then it's time for Ilaria to hand down the verdict, which means phoning the winning store to let them know her client will be wearing Gucci. That's a fun call to make. It's not as fun to reject a label, which she does by e-mail. Afterward, Ilaria's assistant will repackage the unpicked garments and return them to their proper stores. The entire process generally takes seventy-two hours. Multiply that by the number of client events Ilaria juggles at any one time\u2014fifteen, say\u2014and you've got a job customized for type-A individuals who live to make lists and keep reckless sleep schedules. If gossip bloggers had any idea how punishing the job is, they'd stop giving Rachel Zoe grief for looking haggard.\n\n\u00B7\u00B7\u00B7\n\nArmie Shows up at the SAG Awards two weeks later, buttoned and princely. The midnight blue Gucci tux has merged with the person inside of it to form an indivisible image of manhood. The bow tie is black grosgrain; Armie's hair is slicked back to form a little dust ruffle at his neck. And I wonder whether it's a coincidence or a beautifully coherent episode of brand building that for the twelve months or so since he was cast in the Snow White remake, he has appeared to be playing Prince Charming every time he steps onto a red carpet. At SAG, his wife is by his side, a wisp in cream silk jersey, beaming. They look like figures on a cake. It's a classical composition, but it's about as far from a genius fashion moment as you can get, which, in a way, means that Ilaria has done her job. The Gucci tux gets Armie on a couple of best-dressed lists.\n\nThis, in the end, is the puzzling thing about stylists. Their job is about delivering a flawless rendition of what the world expects to see. It's like singing the national anthem at an MLB game. A publicist conscripts someone like Ilaria to provide technical expertise (pinning and fitting), access to designers, and a working knowledge of trends, not to create a game-changing fashion moment.\n\n\"Image consultant,\" perhaps, would be a better name than \"stylist.\" In the cautious universe of branding, appearance is an expression of discipline, and there's simply too much money riding on a star to make actual stylishness worthwhile. \"Taking risks is not profitable,\" the style journalist Cintra Wilson said, spelling it out for me. \"To anyone.\"\n\nArmie, with his perfectly symmetrical, khaki-colored charm, is what young men like Miles Teller hope to become. And it's the antithesis of what a guy like Mickey Rourke represents when he rolls through the Oscars in a white pimp suit and Chihuahua necklace. If Rourke were in politics, we would call him unelectable. But apparently we like our celebrities the way we like our politicians: plausibly human, not too human. Every generation gets the famous people it deserves.\n\nMolly Young is a writer living in New York City."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.gq.com/story/ilaria-urbinati-celebrity-stylist-armie-hammer-leading-mannequins-gq-april-2012?currentPage=5>