It was Sunday night or early Monday, during an interview that Jordi Basté gave to Juan Antonio Bayona, after the Oscars ceremony. Basté was interested in a kind of brooch that Bayona was wearing; At the time it wasn't clear to me where. The next day, looking at the photos, I assumed that it was the small and elongated badge that the filmmaker wore on the left lapel of his jacket. In any case, whatever it was, Basté asked him what it represented. Bayona told him that she didn't know, that she was wearing it because her stylist had told her to wear it.
I stood still. The situation reminded me of people who wear T-shirts with a slogan on the chest and, when asked if they know what it means, say they have no idea. The one that steals my heart - I've talked about it here several times - is the one that proclaims "Treat me like the slut that I am". If he does not have a minimum level of English, the person who wears it goes around the world offering himself without knowing it. There is a fotimer of similar cases.
I have never had a stylist tell me how I should dress and what accessories I should wear. Otherwise I would have lost my life if I had one. I would never have been hung up on the meaning of each piece I put on. I have never had dealings with stylists, but as a child I was fascinated by stylists, the Middle Eastern Christian anchorites we studied in religion class. Devoted to prayer and penance, they all lived alone on top of an isolated column and spent years there, without coming down even to pee. When I was older I saw the film Simón del desierto by Luis Buñuel, which narrates the life of the most famous of them all, and now I think that I would have loved to have a styling coach, and that his name had been Simón: Simón l 'stylist.
