The Greatest Showman

Chapter 121

Melvin was on the verge of exploding. The person in front of him, an unknown actor, had already tried on twenty-four suits, taking almost three hours, yet each suit had something he found fault with, requiring them to start over again. Even Anne Hathaway hadn’t been this troublesome.

Of course, it was common for an actress to try on fifty dresses for the Oscars, but this guy was only attending the Emmys. Why all the fuss? It seemed that with a little bit of success, he was already starting to show off. Melvin couldn’t help but roll his eyes, openly displaying his dissatisfaction. His time was incredibly precious; he had no interest in playing dress-up games with some nobody.

If it weren’t for Andy Rogers’ influence, he wouldn’t have bothered dealing with such an unsophisticated rube. Thinking of the Creative Artists Agency that backed Andy, Melvin exhaled a long breath and reminded himself to endure a bit longer for the sake of future opportunities.

“I think this suit is great—it’s youthful and full of energy, with very tailored cuts that fit your style well. Just slick your hair back with some gel, and you can’t go wrong,” Melvin said, his patience stretched thin, with a hint of indifference in his tone.

In the full-length mirror, the suit’s Scottish tartan pattern—bright red, deep blue, and black—felt dizzying, almost too much so. If they swapped the pants for a solid colour, it would improve the look considerably. This outfit might work for a fashion gala or an afterparty, but for the Emmys, it screamed desperation, radiating a “please notice me” vibe.

Hearing Melvin’s words, Renly frowned slightly. He could feel the stylist’s impatience, but the issue was that he was the one trying on the suits—he was more exhausted and impatient than Melvin. Plus, they were paying Melvin to style him, so he should be doing his job responsibly. After trying on more than twenty suits, LRenly was seriously beginning to doubt if Andy had been duped. Melvin’s professionalism was, frankly, questionable.

Renly maintained basic politeness and said, “Personally, I think this suit is too flashy and unsuitable for the Emmys.”

Melvin raised an eyebrow, a hint of sarcasm tugging at his lips—what did this small-town rube know, questioning his expertise? “Then which one do you think is appropriate?” Melvin stepped aside, gesturing toward the garment rack behind him. “Why don’t you try on that Vivienne Westwood? It’s a British brand; I think it’ll suit you well.”

Renly frowned and replied with a less-than-friendly tone, “Are you joking? I just said this one was too flashy, and now you’re suggesting Vivienne Westwood? I don’t see how that’s a wise choice. As a stylist, is this garment rack all you’ve got? Is this your entire selection—a stash of leftovers from fashion magazine storage?” Renly was typically reserved, but that didn’t mean he shied away from conflict or lacked temper. Politeness wasn’t the same as weakness.

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Vivienne Westwood’s designs were famously rebellious, bold, daring, and unconventional—essentially her signature style. Choosing this brand clearly showed Melvin’s lack of professionalism.

“Who’s the stylist here, you or me?” Melvin snapped, losing his cool. He was a top stylist with a well-regarded reputation, and here was this nobody criticizing his work with arrogance. All his repressed anger surged forth. “What do you know about fashion? What do you understand about suits? Who’s the expert here, you or me? Look at what you wore today—a T-shirt with jeans and those cloth shoes that no self-respecting fashion person would ever wear? It’s a slum outfit, and you dare to lecture me about my job?”

Melvin turned, his face flushed, and looked at Andy, lips quivering slightly from his outrage. “Andy, I’m sorry. I wanted to finish this job smoothly, but your actor here is completely uncooperative. He’s not only bossy but also insulting my professionalism, and that’s intolerable. I’m done with this job. The deposit is non-refundable, but I won’t charge for the remaining balance. Please leave now!”

Renly was slightly taken aback. Melvin was really putting on an act, playing the victim as if he had been wronged. But Renly didn’t rush to defend himself; instead, he looked to Andy, curious to see how his manager would handle the situation.

Andy kept his usual gentle smile as if he hadn’t noticed the tense atmosphere in the room. “Melvin, you’re the stylist, and you need to finish your job. I’m not entirely sure what’s happened here, but I’m certain that if the person standing here was Brad Pitt, you wouldn’t be losing your temper.”

To be honest, Andy didn’t fully understand the situation. To him, Melvin’s choices seemed fine, and the suits looked good on Renly. However, Andy’s position was clear: internal issues could be addressed later, but when facing outsiders, he would unconditionally support his artist.

“Andy, I’ll tell you what happened!” Melvin, like a cat with its tail stepped on, jumped up defensively. Ignoring the fact that he had been disrespecting a newcomer, as being called out by the agent was something else entirely. Naturally, he wouldn’t admit fault. “This guy, a total amateur when it comes to suits, has been questioning my work, refusing to believe in my expertise and dismissing my recommendations. He probably can’t even tell the difference between a notched lapel and a peaked lapel, yet he keeps throwing out these pointless opinions. I don’t see the point of me being here as the stylist.”

Hearing this, Renly couldn’t help but find it ironically amusing. In reality, he was quite the opposite of an amateur. For the past twenty years, he’d worn suits nearly every day. At home, he even had to dress formally for meals, not to mention formal occasions and the uniform suits required at his school. For him, suits were simply a part of his daily life.

All his suits were custom-tailored, and unless someone had that level of experience, they’d just assume they were plain, brandless designs from a local tailor. The truth was, that Renly didn’t particularly enjoy wearing suits, as high-end suits were notoriously complicated to put on.

A quality suit, for instance, is assembled piece by piece. Take a dress shirt: it consists of a front panel, a back panel, a collar, a placket, and two cuffs. No sleeves. After joining the front and back panels, the collar is attached, and then a tie is added if needed. For colder weather, an undershirt can be layered underneath, and finally, the cuffs are buttoned on to complete the outfit.

The reason for the sleeve-free design is simple. If a cuff gets dirty, you can easily swap it out by unbuttoning the cuff, rather than removing the entire shirt. This concept eventually evolved into casual, collarless shirts, which don’t require a collar unless attending formal events, and may even pair with a tie or bowtie.

Wearing a proper suit is no easy task; without assistance, it’s nearly impossible to dress oneself fully. This explains why noble gatherings are always such a hassle to prepare for. For daily use, their suits are modernized for convenience, with shirts consisting of just the collar and main body for easier wear.

Renly actually owned three sets of high-end custom suits, but he didn’t feel it necessary to wear them to the Emmys, which is why he left the styling arrangements to Andy.

Clearly, Andy didn’t know any of his background. Reflecting on it, this was only the fourth time they’d met: once when Renly wore a costume for St. Patrick’s Day, another time when he was headed for skateboarding, then just after getting off a flight, each time he was dressed casually and simply. So, this isn’t surprising.

“Your presence here is indeed meaningless.” Renly’s soft tone carried a calm yet biting chill, leaving Melvin momentarily speechless, unsure of how to respond. “First, you didn’t actually take my measurements. Every brand’s sizing differs slightly, and without reference data, none of your recommendations have truly fit. Second, you haven’t actually factored in who I am. What style suits me? My age, the event, my position—all should influence the styling choice, yet none of these aspects have been carefully considered.”

Melvin opened his mouth, attempting to argue, but Renly didn’t give him a chance.

“Lastly, I just tried on twenty-five suits—seven from Dior, eight from Armani. Interestingly, Dior’s cut is too slim, and not suitable for my shoulders and waist. Armani’s cut is rather generic, lacking definition and structure, and better suited for men over thirty-five. Clearly, neither works for me. If I’m not mistaken, you must have sponsorship deals with Dior and Armani, correct?”

Melvin looked as if he’d been dunked in an ice bath, his body stiffening, his face frozen in shock, rendered completely speechless.

“Oh, one more thing: I’m British. I have no issues with patterns like plaids or stripes, but grey pinstripes? Navy diagonal stripes? Dark grey checks? Good heavens, is there some misunderstanding between us? Do you think I am fifty?”

Renly’s sharp remarks left Melvin dumbfounded, and even the blonde assistant nearby was staring, wide-eyed and at a loss. Renly glanced around and delivered the final blow, “If this is all the attire you can offer, then I suppose I truly don’t need a stylist. Andy, how about we go somewhere else?”

Andy calmly nodded. “Sure.”

Renly flashed a bright smile. “Give me two minutes to take off this circus costume.”

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