Gunn's Golden Rules (22 page)

It’s all edited out in the final show, but one guest judge told the designers what she would have done had she been designing for the challenge. “I would have picked this fabric, instead! I would have designed it this way!”

That is not helpful. The competing designers didn’t use that fabric or that silhouette, so how can you judge them on what you would have done rather than on what they did in fact do?

In the finale of Season 3, Nina Garcia, not I, was scheduled to give the designers a critique early in the week. But because of the whole Is-Jeffrey-cheating debacle, she came in late on Thursday, instead. The Bryant Park fashion show was going to be held the following morning.

When I arrived after the critique, I asked the producers, “How did it go?” and they said Nina had given the designers a hard time. I was disappointed to hear that, because I thought,
What are they going to do? The show is tomorrow. At this point in the game, negativity isn’t helpful.

So I did my routine for the camera, and then I went back to the designers and said, “I heard the visit was hard.” Everyone shrugged. Laura Bennett looked up and wisely said, “As if we could do anything! We didn’t even listen.”

She was correct. Sometimes it’s just too late to rethink and rework, even if the advice is brilliant.

Which brings us back to something I keep finding myself saying in this book: Context is everything—for clothes, for behavior, and for expectations. Truth telling is good, but you also
have to accept the conditions as they are.

When someone is about to head onstage or on camera, do you tell her she has parsley in her teeth? Absolutely. That is helpful. But do you say, “That is a terrible dress”?

No! There’s no time to change, and she’ll just go out there feeling bad about herself. Similarly, I stop making comments, especially comments that suggest that an item should be reworked, the day before Bryant Park, because negative notes aren’t helpful at that point, unless you’re addressing matters of accessories or styling or the looks’ order on the runway. To suggest starting over is no longer feasible.

The question I ask myself before giving advice is: Is what you want to say really going to help them?

Sometimes it’s very clear. For example, recently I was doing an interview on camera. The interviewer’s lapel was sticking up, and I could tell it wasn’t just a jaunty affectation, so I said, “Before we start, let me fix this,” and I adjusted his collar.

“Thank you!” he said, rather relieved.

“I’d want you to do the same for me!” I said.

If you’re getting dressed with a friend, you can say, “You should rethink those shoes.” But you need to have supplies available! When Leah Salak, a colleague of mine at Liz Claiborne Inc., and I do shopping mall events together, and she asks, “How do I look?” I take the question seriously. People are videotaping these events, and there are thousands of people in attendance. I don’t want her to regret anything later. And we have a ton of options around here at the office, so I can say, “That cut’s not quite right for you. Let’s see what else we have.” Then we can pick out something truly gorgeous.

Also, I give her advice because—and this is an important
distinction—she
asked.
If someone doesn’t ask, you don’t have a moral obligation to say every thought that pops into your head. As I’ve mentioned, strangers are constantly saying to me, “I was so afraid of what you would say about what I’m wearing!”

As if I just go around analyzing the outfits of everyone I pass on the street! Certainly not. I never say anything unless I’m asked, and then if I’m asked, I consider the matter carefully and offer an honest opinion.

I try to phrase criticism in the nicest possible way, but I also never lie. If people ask, I assume it’s because they want to know. People are not dumb about these things; they can tell when a compliment isn’t sincere.

My grandmother had the most backhanded way of delivering compliments. She was always saying things like, “You look so much better than you did the last time I saw you.”

What in the world does she mean?
we were always wondering.
What did I look like the last time?
Her compliments always left us confused rather than proud.

W
HEN YOU PUT YOURSELF
out there, whether it’s by delivering a speech, acting in a play, or putting out a collection, you want feedback that’s positive, or at the very least helpful for the next time.

If you want to stay friends with people who put themselves out in this way, it’s often necessary to deliver vague praise that doesn’t actually address the specifics of the production. Examples include: “Congratulations!” or “That was quite a performance!” or “I’ll never forget that!” or the classic: “Oh,
you
!”

I find myself in the position of delivering a lot of these euphemisms. My favorite is “That was unforgettable!” For the right reasons? (Pause.) Repeat: “That was unforgettable!”

I
T’S VERY IMPORTANT TO
be totally honest when it comes to things that can be changed and that must be changed. As you know, I am passionate about education. When you expect a lot out of children, they will rise to the occasion. Education is so important, and I love when I see children at a school that’s right for them. Having a great teacher can change a child’s life. And while I know how busy parents are today, I love seeing families doing their best to support their schools and work as partners with their children’s teachers.

“Make it work” applies to all areas of life. If there’s something you hate about your school, or your neighborhood, or your child’s sports team, make it work! Get involved in the PTA, contact your representatives in the government, or offer to assistant coach.

Too many of the parents I dealt with in higher education seemed to feel that they had to start a fight to get what they wanted. As the chair of the Fashion Design Department, I was the enemy. If the students didn’t have top-of-the-line resources or materials, it had to be my fault. Well, I was working incredibly hard to improve those things and was making great strides, but with no help, things take a while. What I always loved to hear was, “We need to get the students X, Y, and Z. What help do you need to make that happen?”

It wasn’t like I didn’t know. Frequently, I would disarm students and parents by saying, “You’re right. There is a problem there.” There is no reason to try to hide things; it doesn’t work!
I could tell the complainers, “We need this amount of money added to our budget in this area,” or “We need a contact at this organization to get this grant.” If others besides me were advocating for something, it tended to happen much faster than it otherwise would have.

They would expect me to be defensive, but I would say, “You’re right. We need to fix that. Here’s why we haven’t fixed it so far, and here’s our plan to get it done.”

It gets a little trickier when you start talking about faculty. I couldn’t really say, “You’re right. She’s a lousy teacher.” It used to be that you could say, “This isn’t working out,” and let someone go. But when a faculty union arrived at Parsons, I couldn’t even use those sobering words, because I was “threatening” them. I asked, “Who are we serving? Answer: the students. If they’re being disadvantaged by a teacher’s failings, we’re at fault.”

Furthermore, under the new union guidelines, once a teacher had been there for a while, it was all but impossible to dismiss her.

I had one teacher who was a real problem and who was approaching the deadline after which we couldn’t let him go without a great deal of work. So I spoke to the Legal Department and I spoke with HR, and we were all in agreement that I could do the deed after the semester’s grades were posted. We had meetings. We were all set to go. And then both departments backed down. I said, “This appointment shouldn’t have been made to begin with, and I made it. I regret my mistake. Now we have an opportunity to get out of it, and you won’t stand by me?” I had a responsibility to the students. Ironically but thankfully, I left a month later to join Liz Claiborne Inc.

When I used to give tours of Parsons, it was a real dump. I
would proudly talk about all the positive aspects of the school and would avoid mentioning the poor facilities. With some frequency, parents would say, “This places looks … crummy.”

Antagonistic tour takers would make me crazy. Sometimes they’d be especially rude, and I always thought,
What if your kid winds up going to this school? He’s going to be the Son of That Jerk from the Tour.

But the ones who asked why the building looked so bad had a point. For a long time, I would try to ignore it, like that W. C. Fields line, “Get away from me, kid, you’re bothering me.”

Finally, I realized I had to address it, so I turned it into a joke. I would say, “I’m sure you’ve noticed the state of our building. Well, this didn’t happen overnight. It took years and years—and
years
—for us to get it to look this way. Ha-ha.”

It didn’t lessen the amount of peeling paint, but at least people would laugh. And it gets directly to my point about the monkey house. If you’re going to live in one, you at least have to keep reminding yourself that it still does stink!

“G
ET IT OFF YOUR
chest” is one of the all-time worst clichés. If you have done something shameful, the logic goes, you should confess and be forgiven.

Hold it right there. Think about it. Would revealing your mistake hurt others? If so, then hold your tongue. It may make you feel better to tell someone you’ve cheated on him, for example, but it makes the other person feel miserable. That’s not fair. He did nothing wrong, and yet he has to suffer while you get to feel cleansed.

I know a woman who said of her husband: “If he cheated on me, I would hope he had the maturity to keep it to himself. Let him suffer with the secret. It’s his penance for doing what he did.”

I’m with her. You hear people say, “I’ll feel better if I tell my spouse I was unfaithful.” Of course
you
will. But maybe you’re not supposed to feel better.

On one
Project Runway
home visit, I was struck by how the designer’s parents’ divorce was still weighing on her. Her mother and father had been separated for years and years and came together for the occasion of this home visit to celebrate
their daughter’s success.

I thought that was lovely, but I also felt so sorry for the designer’s mother. She was reminding her daughter of what her father had done, and you could tell she was still suffering years after the fact. Then the father walked in, happy-go-lucky and carefree. Clearly, when he revealed to his wife that he was a cad, he felt purged and had his catharsis. Meanwhile, his wife was destroyed by it.

That’s why “getting it off your chest” isn’t necessarily a good idea.

As you probably know, if you are familiar with any recovering addicts, those in twelve-step programs like Alcoholics Anonymous typically try to make amends to those whom they have hurt. But in my experience some people don’t pay attention to the second part of the step: “Make direct amends to such people wherever possible,
except when to do so would injure them or others.
”

I know someone who received an amends call that informed her that her friend had stolen from her for years. The friend said, “Sorry!” And that was the end of the amends.

Well, not good enough. My friend was furious, while the thief felt totally relieved that she’d unburdened herself of this secret. Who was really served by this? The victim had to suffer more, and the perpetrator was vindicated. If the apology had to happen, it should have been followed up with a great big check to make up for all that had been stolen.

When you’re thinking of volunteering advice, you also need to ask yourself this question: Will revealing my feelings on this subject actually help?

My friend Richard Thomas was in David Mamet’s play
Race
on Broadway, and one night in 2009 Anna Wintour was
in the audience. Richard called his teenage son, Montana, who is obsessed with fashion, and said, “Anna Wintour’s here! You should come over.”

“I’m afraid,” the boy said to his father.

He had reason to be. Anna took Richard aside after the show and said, “I have a note for you about your performance. You’re dressing very poorly. You need a much more expensive suit.”

The suit was Prada. How much more expensive does it get? I can’t believe that a costumer, a director, and all these other people would let an actor out onstage in a starring role if he didn’t look great. She apparently couldn’t help herself from expressing an opinion. In a case like this, if you have a criticism, you really should keep it to yourself.

This question of what to say or not to say is a running theme in my family. One tense holiday season, we had a family conversation about what we could do to have a better time together.

“We could all say a lot less,” I suggested. “Everyone in this family shares
entirely too much.
Before speaking, let’s ask ourselves if this is something people really need to know.”