Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

worked with them all! Now come with me. We’re having a minicrisis at the moment, but I
think your presence will help calm things down!”
They entered the house, which was filled with more staffers rushing around frantically
at full speed. “As you know, Mrs. Bing has spared no expense on this shoot. Oliver T’sien
flew in the top hairstylist from New York, the top makeup artist from London, and the top
set designers from Italy for this shoot. Everyone’s a top, and we’re having to compete for
space with all these tops. It’s not how I usually like to work,” Patric said with an arched
eyebrow. Climbing up the beautiful Arts and Crafts–style wooden staircase, he led Nigel
to the door of the library.
“Brace yourself,” Patric warned as he cracked open the door slowly.
Inside, Nigel could see a woman seated in a hairdresser’s chair in front of a bank of
lighted mirrors, her face streaked in tears, surrounded by half a dozen stylists.
“Kitty…Kitty…I have a little treat for you…” Patric cooed.
Kitty looked in the mirror and saw them approaching. “Nigel! Nigel Barker! Oh no, this
isn’t how I wanted you to meet me for the first time. Look at my hair! Look what they’ve
done! It looks terrible, doesn’t it?”
Nigel glanced at the floor quickly and saw that they had lopped off about ninety percent
of her hair. Kitty now had a pixie hairstyle that actually looked incredibly chic. “Kitty, it’s
a pleasure to meet you, and I think you look wonderful.”
“See? We wanted a radical change, and this is a terrific look for you. It’s very gamine,”
Oliver tried to reassure her in a calm voice.
“You look like Emma Watson. Wait till we do the color,” Jo the hairstylist said.
“No, no, I’m not desirable anymore. I look like…a mother! Nigel, what do you think?
Would you ever want to make love to me looking like this?” Kitty swiveled her chair
around dramatically and gave him a piercing stare.
Nigel hesitated for a moment.
“Now, don’t make things awkward for Nigel! He’s a married man,” said a blond woman
with a British accent.
“Hello, Charlotte, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Nigel said, giving the makeup artist a
quick hug.
Patric continued to reassure her. “Kitty, by the time Jo Blackwell-Preston is done with
your hair color, Charlotte Tilbury is done with your makeup, I’m done pouring you into
an amazing gown, and Nigel works his magic, you will look like the very definition of
MILF! All the husbands and teenage boys who see you in these photos will want to take
the magazine into the bathroom with them, trust me.”
“Kitty, remember what we discussed,” Oliver said. “The entire point of this photo shoot
is to reposition your image. You’re not supposed to look like a high-fashion temptress
anymore. You’re going to look like a supremely elegant hostess who’s not trying too hard
to impress. A cultural force and a rising civic leader. Charlotte, think of those photos by
Skrebneski of Jacqueline de Ribes in her Paris apartment. Or C. Z. Guest bending down to
pet her poodle. Or Marina Rust on her wedding day. We want young, regal, comme il