Chapter 58: **Chapter 57: Fashion Styling**
In a fleeting moment, Anson's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a pale, slender figure, slightly awkward and shy, evoking the eerie sensation of "The Grudge." Startled, Anson nearly jumped.
Once he calmed down, Anson realized that the figure in front of him was a real person, not some ghostly apparition. In fact, it was his presence that had intruded on the other person's quiet little world.
"Ah, sorry about that."
Though still slightly shaken, Anson politely apologized, only to realize the absurdity of the situation, which made him chuckle a bit.
However, before Anson could continue, the man's gaze fell on Anson's right hand. In a soft, delicate voice, he said, "The cut of those pants is quite a challenge."
Pants?
Anson glanced at the jeans in his hand. "Oh, I like the washed-out color, but the cut… I haven't tried them on yet, so I'm not sure how they'll look."
In truth, the jeans were straight-cut but leaned towards a slim fit. Twenty years later, this style would be ubiquitous, nothing special at all. Anson was more interested in their color and craftsmanship. What he didn't know was that in the year 2000, this cut was still relatively uncommon.
The man before him appeared especially frail and thin, with a frame that seemed barely more than a skeleton, naturally exuding a rock-and-gothic vibe. Yet his outfit was simple, with a white shirt paired with jeans, subtly carrying an air of academia.
He looked Anson up and down.
His gaze was clear and professional, not uncomfortable, but it had an oddly revealing quality. Was this what being scrutinized by a professional tailor felt like?
"This cut is rather snug, suitable for someone with long, straight legs, like yours."
"You could try rolling up the cuffs twice, using the lining to create a contrast, which will add layers, then pair them with sneakers, low-cut and flat."
"The proportions will look great and showcase your strengths."
Anson's eyes lit up with interest. "Wow, you gathered all that from just a glance?"
The frail man responded with a faint smile but said nothing.
Anson raised the jeans in a gesture of thanks. "Thanks."
Then, he turned back to the clothing rack, continuing to select a top—shirt? T-shirt? Polo shirt?
In his mind, Anson was leaning towards a white shirt—not the formal kind, but something more casual and laid-back, with sleeves that could be rolled up, paired with sunglasses and a watch, presenting an effortless look while hiding subtle details, exuding confidence in front of the media.
After all, Monday's visit to the studio was for a shoot, so there was no need to be too dressed up.
Or perhaps he could go in a different direction, choosing a sporty style—short sleeves, shorts, sneakers, long socks, and a skateboard, fully embracing the youthful vibe of an eighteen-year-old. It would create a stark contrast with Brad Pitt's style, giving the media an unconventional impression.
But then again, this might come off as too street-style and childish, making it hard to be taken seriously by the media.
"Excellent choice."
The frail man's voice came again.
This time, Anson wasn't surprised. He looked down at the cream-colored shirt he had chosen—
"This is cotton twill."
"Like oxford cloth, it's woven with differently colored warp and weft threads, usually with a colored warp and white weft. This one has a cream-colored warp, creating a layered visual effect with its final checkered pattern, bringing a touch of casualness to an otherwise formal look."
"You could pair it with a scarf, which would give you that classic Parisian afternoon tea look."
The words were spoken slowly, without haste, but each one was clearly heard.
Anson raised an eyebrow slightly. "So, you're a professional?"
The man merely shrugged, smiled, but didn't answer Anson's question.
Anson didn't mind. "I think it's a bit too formal. Not that the outfit itself is meant for formal occasions, but it shows signs of having put in too much thought."
"Looking like you haven't dressed up when you clearly have" is the most popular style on future social media platforms. There's a fine line here.
Right now, Anson needs to find that line and ensure that the media can't tell he's fully prepared.
Even so, Anson decided to keep the cream-colored shirt. As the man in front of him mentioned, this outfit would be perfect for afternoon tea. If no better option presented itself, he could go with this ensemble, but put some thought into the accessories to achieve the desired effect.
Then.
Anson picked up an indigo shirt.
He wasn't an expert on fabric, style, or other details—after all, he'd never worked in the fashion industry. However, he had studied painting from a young age, giving him his own understanding of colors and lines, which shaped his thoughts on aesthetics. He simply found himself drawn to the layers and vibe of the shirt.
"Oh."
A soft murmur reached his ears. Anson looked over, noticing the man's eyes light up with interest. It was the most animated expression Anson had seen from him so far, which caught him by surprise. "What is it? Is there something wrong with this shirt?"
The man supported his chin with his right hand, scrutinizing the shirt carefully. "Wow, you've got your own taste. I like it."
Straightforward and direct.
Anson let out a cheerful laugh.
The man continued speaking.
"This is mélange fabric."
"During the spinning process, different colored fibers are blended together, creating irregular color variations within a single thread. The fabric woven from such threads produces a visual effect similar to noise, enhancing the sense of depth. This irregularity is a style much loved in Italian shirts."
"Hmm… I have an idea…"
The man lifted his eyes to meet Anson's gaze. The eyes that had been assessing Anson's frame, proportions, and physique were now finally directed at him.
Clear. Bright. Like a field of reeds under a cloudless sky, with a gentle breeze stirring up shallow waves.
"Sorry, may I try something?"
At that moment, his eyes revealed a spark of excitement, and his entire face seemed to brighten.
Anson raised an eyebrow, "Of course, no problem."
Before the words were even fully out, the man quickly busied himself. In just a few seconds, he grabbed a pair of pants and swiftly handed them to Anson.
Muttering to himself, "Yes, just like that. You can create different styles depending on your choice of shoes. Wow, I hadn't thought of that before."
He was muttering because he didn't expect any response from Anson. After speaking, he lifted his eyes again.
"Hedi Slimane. Maybe you could try a combination like this."
Uh.
After saying that, the man seemed to realize his own boldness. He quickly stepped back, putting some distance between them, but didn't say anything further.
The expression of struggle and hesitation on his face made it clear that he was debating whether he should apologize or explain his actions. Different thoughts were pulling at him, leaving him momentarily unable to organize his thoughts. In the end, it resulted in this—
Silence.
An awkward tension filled the air.
Anson didn't mind, though. He simply offered a smile. "Anson Wood."
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone