belamy20
patreon
1807-1810
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 17:25:47 +0000 UTCChapter 1807: Going with the Flow
Hedi Slimane was stunned.
Even though he already knew Anson’s capabilities, every time he experienced it firsthand, the amazement still hit like a geyser.
In that moment, he was utterly speechless, reduced to a listener as the images in his mind grew vivid with Anson’s descriptions.
And this wasn’t even the whole story—obviously not. Anson’s creative ideas always seemed to flow endlessly.
“Also, besides the sunflower, we could add a serial number in a subtle spot—like the collar or the hem. From one to a thousand, or maybe ten thousand, each shirt gets a unique number. And when someone buys it, each Dior store could include a special card noting which store it came from and that it’s the first limited-edition piece, guaranteeing authenticity.”
“For example, Paris could have numbers one to fifty; London, fifty-one to a hundred.”
“That way, if someone buys a shirt with number fifty-three in Paris, it’s a fake. It’s counterfeit.”
“On top of that, you could add your own anti-counterfeiting measures—special threads, hidden tags, whatever ensures these products are one-of-a-kind. I’m sure you guys are way more experienced at this than I am, so you can tweak it as needed.”
“We could totally turn this into a special marketing campaign.”
“In fact, if you’re up for it, you could even interact with customers. Let them choose to stay anonymous or have their names displayed.”
“First, on Dior’s official website, list the initials—like, shirt number one, AW, Anson Wood.”
“Second, those initials could be embroidered into the shirt and noted on the card.”
“That way, every shirt is truly unique and impossible to replicate or pirate. Sure, counterfeiters are good—they can copy any pattern or cut—but if the official website lists every number and the buyer’s name, a fake will always be a fake.”
Hedi stared at Anson, his mind swirling with countless thoughts, but words failed him. He’d never been great with words anyway.
Finally, he managed a single, “Wow.”
Anson shrugged lightly. “Just going with the flow. Since we’ve already lost the upper hand, why not flip the script and take back control?”
Hedi let out another, “Wow.”
“Even though we’re friends, I’m always blown away by your magic.”
“But, Anson, are you just trying to dodge shooting the product catalog?”
Anson burst out laughing. “Haha, busted.”
A hint of exasperation flickered in Hedi’s eyes. “Anson, I owe you one again, but this has gone way beyond expectations…”
Anson waved it off. “That shirt was a gift to begin with. My suggestions are just a way to give back. If friends keep score, it’s no fun anymore.”
“Besides, neither of us saw this coming, right?”
“God, have people completely lost their minds? It’s just a shirt.”
Hedi looked at Anson quietly, feeling a wave of gratitude.
Clearly, Anson understood the pressure he was under. In the world of menswear, Dior was already miles ahead, climbing to new heights. Every move Dior made was under a microscope, scrutinized endlessly, and Hedi faced challenge after challenge.
A bottleneck was starting to emerge.
Hedi had seized this opportunity to break through that bottleneck, and without a doubt, Anson was the spark of inspiration.
Anson knew it too, which was why he quietly offered help in his own way.
A word of thanks lingered on Hedi’s tongue but stayed unspoken—words felt too light to capture the depth of his feelings.
Hedi grinned. “A shirt’s just a shirt, but a shirt worn by Anson Wood? That’s something else.”
Anson’s lips curved upward. “Yeah, I know.”
Hedi wasn’t surprised. “But there’s a problem.”
“Now that the sunflower shirt is a full-blown trend, everyone wants to be Anson Wood. But if we pivot to a marketing strategy, two things could happen: one, we might not meet the public’s demand, and two, we’ll definitely face backlash. People might think this was a planned stunt and push back.”
As a designer, Hedi wasn’t an expert in marketing, but he wasn’t clueless either.
Anson, however, wasn’t fazed. “Whether this was a planned campaign or a happy accident doesn’t matter. What matters is that they see the trend.”
“Backlash is always there—jealousy and envy never go away. We should focus on ourselves.”
“But not meeting public demand is a real issue. Dior still needs those sales numbers.”
“I have an idea—not fully fleshed out, and I’m not sure if it’s feasible, but maybe it’ll spark something for you.”
“Have you thought about launching a series?”
Hedi looked at Anson. “What do you mean?”
Anson continued, “It’s simple. Where did you get the inspiration for this shirt?”
Hedi pointed straight at Anson.
Anson laughed out loud. “Then draw from that inspiration again and design a few more shirts. I don’t know—maybe an anchor logo, a spider logo. The golden retriever merch we gave out at the movie premiere was a huge hit, even if I don’t get why. Maybe a dog logo could work too.”
Hedi’s expression turned odd, his slightly furrowed brows silently conveying confusion and skepticism louder than words.
“Haha,” Anson teased. “What’s with that face?”
Hedi replied, “I don’t know—teddy bears? Ralph Lauren? Fred Perry? Their series of shirts and tees just slap a logo on the left chest and switch up the colors. Anson, we’re not doing that.”
Anson spread his hands. “Then why didn’t their designs become a trend, but this sunflower logo sparked a frenzy?”
Hedi didn’t react right away, caught up in Anson’s rhythm. He blurted out, “Because of me.”
But to his surprise, Anson shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
Hedi was baffled. “What are you talking about?”
Anson laughed again, but this time he was serious. “Hedi, think about it. If I wore a basic Ralph Lauren or Nike tee—a plain white one with a logo on the left chest—would people still go crazy over it?”
Hedi froze. He wanted to say, Of course not, but he wasn’t sure. Then he thought, Maybe they would, but he wasn’t certain of that either.
That hesitation caught Anson’s eye. “Exactly. Neither of us knows the answer.”
“This shirt became a trend because it’s fashionable.”
“On one hand, the sunflower logo is a unique design. On the other, the cut, the fit, the design we’ve been emphasizing—it’s one-of-a-kind.”
“In the fashion world, they always say a white tee is the ultimate test of skill. A tee might look the same, but there are hundreds of variations in cut, line, even shades of white. The way it fits on the body is totally different. True fashion insiders are always hunting for the perfect white tee.”
Now in familiar design territory, Hedi’s eyes lit up. “So, you’re saying I should design a one-of-a-kind white shirt?”
Chapter 1808: True Friends Are Rare
Finally, in the familiar realm of design, Hedi found his rhythm. “So, you’re asking me to create a one-of-a-kind white shirt.”
Anson snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”
“The sunflower shirt is limited edition—maybe a thousand pieces worldwide, or, say, 1,111. But next, Dior will launch a series of shirts. Could be one design, could be ten, all with the same style and cut, but with different logos on the left chest.”
“Then, this series won’t be limited. It’ll hit the market wide open.”
“With the sunflower shirt, we lost the lead—knockoffs got there first, so we’re going limited edition. But the copycats definitely aren’t expecting a whole series of shirts. No one knows you’re working on this—not even you, until just now.”
“So, we win with creativity.”
“Once the series launches, those knockoff sunflower shirts will lose value, maybe even pile up in warehouses. Next time they try copying, they’ll think twice.”
Hedi felt like a door to a new world had swung open. He forgot to marvel, simply staring at Anson.
Anson raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just a suggestion, that’s all. I’m sure running a brand and planning a market rollout is way more complex. You guys should discuss it internally.”
Hedi’s lips twitched. “Suddenly getting humble?”
Anson grinned. “Humility’s never too late.”
A spark of amusement flickered in Hedi’s eyes. “It could work. But we need you to wear the shirt.”
Anson looked at Hedi, saying nothing, waiting for more.
Hedi let out a soft breath. “Anson, I need you at Paris Fashion Week. If your schedule’s packed, just come for an afternoon to sit front row. If you’ve got time, I’d love for you to walk the runway.”
He said it calmly, then reflected. “Wow, picturing it in my head was wild enough, but saying it out loud? Even crazier.”
His muttering made Anson burst out laughing. “Haha! Why?”
Hedi: “Because you’re Anson Wood. One move and you shake the fashion world—not just fashion, but movies, music, everything.”
Anson took a deep breath. “Sure, I’m Anson Wood, but I’m still your friend, right?”
Hedi froze.
Anson: “Or is that just what I think?”
Hedi smiled. “No, we’re friends. That’s why we’re sitting here chatting, aren’t we?”
Anson shrugged lightly. “Good.”
Hedi: “…What?”
Anson: “Fashion Week? No problem, I’ll be there. But whether I’m in the audience or on the runway, you’ll need to check with the captain about my schedule. I’m clueless about it.”
Hedi knew February’s Fashion Week fell during awards season, the busiest and most intense time for Oscar campaigning. Anson’s schedule was likely packed, yet he’d agreed so easily.
Sure, it was business, but to say Hedi wasn’t touched would be a lie.
Hedi: “Anson, you sure?”
Anson: “We’re friends, right?”
Hedi looked at him.
Anson: “You know how rare real friendships are in this cutthroat world? We should cherish this before we end up at each other’s throats.”
The mood had been serious, with emotion hanging in the air, but that last line flipped the vibe. Hedi, usually so reserved, let out a rare smile.
“You’re not gonna ask why?”
Anson: “Do I need to know why?”
Open, honest, and generous.
Anson was still Anson, unchanged even at the top of the fame pyramid. It eased Hedi’s tension just a bit.
Always shy, always reserved, always proud—Hedi could let his guard down around Anson, showing a vulnerable side.
Hedi: “If I said you had time to listen, would you?”
He thought he’d hesitate, but the words slipped out naturally, without a moment’s doubt.
Hedi felt a flicker of unease. He’d buried these pressures and worries for nearly a year, never sharing them with anyone. He hadn’t expected to let them slip today. He’d only come to London to… wait, why had he come to London?
Anson didn’t miss a beat. “Need a drink? Your choice—tea, milk, orange juice? Or beer, wine, whiskey?”
Light but sincere, humorous yet polite.
Hedi relaxed. “Whiskey.”
Anson raised his chin with a knowing look. “That heavy, huh? Alright, I’m bracing myself.”
Just one sentence, and Hedi felt not only at ease but lighter. “Double whiskey, no ice.”
Anson let out a soft sigh. “Oof, someone’s wound tight.”
Hedi’s smile widened.
In truth, Hedi Slimane was facing a career-defining challenge.
On one hand, criticism from the public.
While Dior menswear was a sensation in fashion circles, for most people, it was unattainable. Price aside, Hedi’s sleek, slim designs didn’t fit over 70% of the general population—especially in North America, where conservative values and body image issues were prevalent.
Naturally, some traditionalists protested, calling Dior’s ultra-slim aesthetic unhealthy.
If they couldn’t wear it, they’d tear down the trend. “Reject body shaming,” they said.
On the other hand, challenges from within the fashion world.
Magazines like Vogue still praised Hedi’s designs and vision, but they were starting to question whether everyone should follow his lead.
Recently, practical menswear for British and American white-collar workers had been quietly gaining traction—more accessible, more everyday. The fashion world was shifting, and Hedi, ever the maverick, faced mounting pressure. His design philosophy was under fire.
After Dior sparked a menswear revolution, editors, designers, and fashion insiders began to cool off, questioning for the first time what menswear fashion should be and where it should go. Menswear wasn’t women’s fashion, but how exactly was it different?
At the recent Big Four Fashion Weeks in October, this was the hot topic. Hedi Slimane and Dior, as pioneers, were at the center of it all—loved or hated, supported or opposed, everything revolved around them. Hedi was caught in a storm of criticism.
If that were all, it wouldn’t be a big deal. That’s just fashion, that’s trends—
Everything changes, everything moves forward, and at some point, it circles back to retro. Rinse and repeat.
Clashes over design and philosophy are part of art and fashion. The pressure’s always there; everyone deals with it.
The real issue? The parent company. The pressure from the corporate giant.
Chapter 1809: Stepping Up
The LVMH Group is a titan in the industry, overseeing luxury brands like Louis Vuitton, Givenchy, Tiffany & Co., and, of course, Dior. For these conglomerates, design, innovation, art, fashion, and culture take a backseat. Profit is the only thing that matters.
Dior Men’s had been a trailblazer, cracking open the men’s fashion market. During Anson’s tenure as brand ambassador, it saw explosive growth, earning reverence across the fashion world. Naturally, the group’s expectations for Eddie and Dior Men’s skyrocketed, banking on ever-climbing profits.
Since Anson stepped down, Dior Men’s market share and annual profits have kept growing, solidifying its industry-leading status. But compared to the volcanic surge during Anson’s ambassadorship, the numbers paled. The group deemed the growth “below expectations.”
Now, with top-tier luxury brands increasingly eyeing the men’s fashion market and trends shifting, a reshuffling of market shares was inevitable. Yet, Dior Men’s still managed to grow and even expand its slice of the pie—a rare feat.
The problem? The group’s executives and board expected 10% or 20% profit growth. When Dior Men’s delivered a “mere” 5%, it was branded a failure. Success, it seems, is relative. Anything short of the group’s lofty projections isn’t success at all.
These top-tier conglomerates play by different rules.
LVMH wanted Eddie Slimane to tone it down, to make designs more accessible, to bring Dior Men’s into the everyday lives of ordinary people. To Eddie, this was tantamount to abandoning his edge, his signature weapon. He refused to compromise his avant-garde, boundary-pushing style, which put him in the crosshairs of relentless criticism and immense pressure from the board’s overt and covert attacks. Eddie was exhausted, his energy drained.
In truth, Eddie and LVMH’s head, Bernard Arnault, had a good personal rapport. It was Bernard who personally invited Eddie to take the reins at Dior Men’s, giving him the green light to create those groundbreaking designs that birthed the Dior legend. But in the face of profits and reality, even their friendship couldn’t hold. Bernard turned his sights on Eddie, pushing for change.
Eddie didn’t get it. If he changed, he wouldn’t be himself anymore. And Dior Men’s wouldn’t be the pioneering force it had become. The very formula that got them here was now shackling his hands under corporate pressure.
Still, Eddie’s creative spark hadn’t dimmed. He even pitched expanding into women’s fashion, eager to infuse his vision into a new line and shake up the industry with fresh energy. But Bernard brushed it off—polite small talk, vague promises to “consider it.” Eddie wasn’t a social butterfly, but he wasn’t clueless. He heard the subtext: Bernard was stalling, and the group had no intention of backing him.
The pressure, the frustration, the struggle—Eddie bore it alone, with nowhere to turn.
Anson was completely in the dark about all this. But he wasn’t surprised. He’d faced similar battles with Sony Columbia. When it came to the level of capital, the game was always the same.
No wonder Eddie had been so eager, practically itching to dive in when Anson made his suggestion: design a one-of-a-kind white shirt.
It wasn’t just about leaning on Anson’s star power. This was a chance for a frontal breakthrough. Anson’s involvement might boost sales and help Eddie weather the storm, but they couldn’t rely on him forever. Anson wasn’t a cure-all. Ultimately, Eddie had to stand on his own.
So, a white shirt—not the experimental, avant-garde kind you’d see at London Fashion Week, but a classic Dior cut. It would hide its bold, adventurous edge in the tailoring and silhouette, with a spark of genius as the finishing touch.
Like a sunflower.
This design could satisfy Eddie’s vision, meet the group’s demands, and fulfill the fashion world’s expectations, making Dior Men’s a part of everyday wardrobes for countless men. After all, everyone needs a white shirt.
Plus, Anson’s willingness to attend Fashion Week—whether as a guest or a model—guaranteed attention. Eddie believed they could use the sunflower shirt as a springboard for a campaign that would carry through to February’s Fashion Week. By then, he might turn the tide or even shift the entire game.
For a whole year, Eddie had been weighed down by these pressures. He never imagined relief would come in such a way.
As the tension eased, Eddie, in a rare moment of vulnerability, let his frustrations and struggles spill out. For the first time, Anson heard Eddie open up, cautiously lowering his walls to let someone into his world. Anson reciprocated, sharing his own battles with Sony Columbia and, for the first time, talking about the years marked by unexpected injuries.
In the face of true capital, they were insignificant. LVMH, Sony Columbia—it was all about profit, just numbers on a ledger. But here’s the thing: they weren’t the only pawns. CEOs, boards, executives—they were all pieces on the board, too. Capital could hurt Anson and Eddie, just as it could hurt Michael Lynton or Bernard Arnault. It was a level playing field.
So, by mastering the rules, Anson and Eddie could fight back, leveraging profit to seize control of their fates. At its core, profit was just a tool.
By the time they snapped out of it, night had fallen. The city glowed with countless lights, propping up the pale gray sky, painting London in warm orange hues. The Thames reflected the towering buildings, almost as if the stars themselves were cascading down.
On the table sat takeout boxes from a Chinese restaurant, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and scattered candy wrappers—a snapshot of a carefree, joyful day.
Eddie knew that for Anson, this was just a small gesture—whether it was attending Fashion Week or brainstorming today. Nothing to make a fuss about. But Eddie couldn’t take it for granted. He, more than anyone, understood what Anson’s stepping up meant.
He never imagined he’d become true friends with Anson. But now, it didn’t feel half bad—especially in a cutthroat world where people say friendship is dead, where everything is just a means for exploitation or betrayal.
It only made this moment all the more precious.
And wasn’t that what made life beautiful and happy?
Chapter 1810: Doing It My Way
For Eddie Slimane, everything felt unfamiliar. Even sitting cross-legged on the floor, casually chatting about his troubles and opening up about his struggles—that was entirely new.
It couldn’t help but stir memories buried deep in his mind, those student days filled with worries like what theme to choose for a final project, not being invited to a friend’s party, the crush who seemed to like someone else, or the favorite shirt ruined by a ketchup stain.
Everyone knows time changes a lot, but no one expects it to change this much.
Eddie glanced at Anson, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “So…” He paused, dragging out the word. “This project is your comeback, right?”
Anson raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
Eddie added, “The Academy. You know, the Oscar Academy.”
First Sony Columbia, now the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences—Anson was definitely on an unpredictable, extraordinary path.
Anson chuckled and waved it off. “No, no plans like that. Don’t give me too much credit. I’m not that impressive—just a small fish in a big pond.”
Eddie smirked, saying nothing, his eyes throwing some playful shade.
Anson’s grin widened. “To be precise, I’m not out to prove myself to them. You know, trying to prove something to them means playing by their rules.”
“Starring in a biopic. Jumping through PR hoops. Catering to their tastes. Not to mention the endless socializing, small talk, and flattery.”
“That’s their game, with its own polished set of rules.”
“I’m not playing their game. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not James Dean with some Rebel Without a Cause vibe. I’m not trying to upend Hollywood.”
A quip, and both Anson and Eddie burst out laughing.
“I’m going to do it my way, at my own pace. I want to make a film that balances commercial and artistic vibes—something that sparks thought but, most importantly, gives audiences a thrilling, unforgettable ride in the theater.”
“Years from now, when people think of this movie, I want them to remember shouting and cheering with friends or strangers in a theater, that heart-pounding moment shared in the dark. But it should be more than just that.”
“But I know it’s not that simple. The vision in my head is perfect, but turning it into reality? That’s a long, bumpy road. It could soar, or it could crash and burn.”
“So, I’ve been diving deep into the character. It’s not easy, but so far, it’s been pretty fun.”
Eddie looked surprised, giving Anson another glance. “So, does that mean you don’t want an Oscar?”
“I mean, I get that the Oscars are just a game, nothing special. But for casual moviegoers like me, it’s still the award everyone knows and respects.”
“If you tell me a movie won a César or a Palme d’Or, I might panic, worried I’ll look clueless. But if you say it won an Oscar, even if I’ve never seen it, I’ll nod like I totally get it.”
Anson laughed out loud. “I had no idea you were this funny. That impression could land you on Saturday Night Live.”
Eddie gave him a deadpan, fish-eyed stare, unimpressed.
Anson’s smile grew brighter. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t clear enough.”
“I’m not cutting ties with the industry. Like it or not, I’m part of this world, part of the game.”
“I’m not a pioneer or a rebel. I’m not here to break the rules or dismantle the system. I don’t think I have that kind of power. Sure, I play a superhero, but I don’t believe I can save the world.”
“Or maybe, because I play a superhero, I know how tough and exhausting saving the world is. I don’t want that weight on my shoulders.”
Now it was Eddie’s turn to crack a smile. Was Anson just throwing shade at his own Peter Parker?
Anson’s eyes twinkled with a knowing glint, and he continued without missing a beat. “To be clear, I’m not begging for an Oscar. I don’t want to schmooze, smile through endless PR, or pin all my hopes on that one prize.”
“If they want to give me a little gold statue, hell yeah, I’ll take it with a big smile.”
Eddie burst out laughing. “Haha!”
Anson spread his hands. “I’m not that noble or righteous. If they offer it, I’m 100% taking it.”
“No, scratch that—I’ll show up to the ceremony in my sharpest suit, looking my absolute best, and deliver a tear-jerking acceptance speech.”
As he spoke, Anson took a deep breath, gazing skyward like he was holding back tears ready to spill.
But Eddie, watching from the side, saw only dry amusement in his eyes, like a desert.
Anson didn’t notice. “But if they don’t give it to me, I’m fine with that too. I’ve got a solid career. That statue won’t give me the validation I need or change how I see this job. I’m just going to keep pushing forward.”
“If the price of a little gold man is a deal with the devil, I’m saying no.”
He turned to see Eddie’s eyes—full of disdain.
Yes, disdain.
“Haha!” Anson laughed. “Eddie, you regretting being my friend yet? Don’t worry, there’s still time to bail. You can cut me off right now.”
Eddie ignored the jab, calmly saying, “You’d say no because you already sold your soul to the devil, didn’t you?”
Anson didn’t deny it. Instead, he pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. That’s a secret.”
Eddie’s lips twitched, unable to hold back a grin, and he shook his head. “Too late. It’s all too late.”
After the jokes and teasing, Eddie steered the conversation back. “So, everything going smoothly with the prep so far?”
Anson tilted his head, not answering right away, thinking it over. “It’s all up in the air.”
“All the planning and talk is just theory. You don’t know the real result until you’re in front of the camera.”
Eddie shrugged lightly. “You could be a bit more confident. You’re a great actor. You’ve always known what you want and you’re heading in the right direction.”
Anson smiled. “How do I know it’s the right direction?”
Eddie met his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes. “That’s what makes you smarter than the rest of us, isn’t it?”
