Actor in Hollywood

The atmosphere was slightly tense, with a sense of chaos and nervousness lingering in the air, though nothing had leaked out. It was as if everyone was holding their breath.

Although there were more than a dozen people on set, all eyes were on Anna Wintour as she moved. Everyone else was doing their best to stay out of sight.

This small detail made it clear—

Here, Anna truly held the power of life and death like a deity.

Even though the work started half an hour earlier than expected, making everyone a bit nervous, the team operated in a well-organized manner. Still, everyone was doing their utmost to avoid drawing Anna's attention, fearing they might be the next scapegoat.

Suddenly, Anna came to a halt and abruptly turned around. The unexpected movement froze the entire studio, as if someone had pressed the pause button. Even Anson and Edgar reflexively stopped in their tracks, only to realize that Anna was sizing up Anson.

Finally, Anna removed her sunglasses, carefully scrutinizing him without obstruction.

She tilted her head slightly, "A bit disappointing. Do you always dress this plainly?"

Her first words were an attack, showing that Anna was not concerned with anyone's feelings.

However, Anson wasn't nervous. Instead, he let out a soft laugh, "Always."

"I guess that's why I haven't become a trendsetter?"

He even made a light-hearted remark, but it was clear that Anna wasn't amused. She stared at him expressionlessly, her gaze as piercing as Medusa's.

Anson shrugged lightly, his expression relaxed, with a faint smile playing on his lips.

"In fact, I've always been curious about something. If Ms. Wintour could enlighten me, that would be wonderful—what exactly is fashion, and what is a trend?"

"The grotesque mask from *Scream* paired with a shapeless, colorless, and uncut black robe—due to people's curiosity—became a topic of conversation. Countless young people started wearing it to attract attention. Is that considered a trend?"

"An avant-garde and stylish outfit that doesn't suit anyone—can that be called fashion? The same outfit worn by David Beckham looks stylish and handsome, but on Charlie Smith, it looks awkward and strange. Is that fashion?"

Anna was puzzled, "Who is Charlie Smith?"

Anson spread his hands, "A nobody."

He had made up the name on the spot, highlighting the disparity between the expectation and reality of fashion.

Anna quickly understood that this was Anson's counterattack, but she wasn't about to be led by the nose. "Is this your rebellion? So you chose the scholarly combination of a shirt and sweater?"

"Rebelling against trends with tradition is indeed one perspective," Anson's eyes were full of mirth. "But unfortunately, no. I'm just following my own path."

"Clothes, before someone puts them on, are just pieces of fabric. It's the person who gives them life, making them meaningful. We love fashion, we chase trends, not to give clothes meaning, but to give our lives meaning, hoping to touch a bit of brilliance, a bit of beauty, and find the warmth of life."

"So, before blindly chasing trends, perhaps we should take a moment to ask ourselves: what kind of person do you want to be?"

His words were calm, steady, and simple.

But they carried a profound weight.

Anna quietly observed Anson, and suddenly, the answers to all her questions surfaced. Why was *GQ* magazine able to set fashion trends? Why did Dior, which had been languishing for so long, suddenly become vibrant? The mystery stood right in front of her—

Clothes, before someone wears them, are just pieces of fabric.

This was why Anson's simple and ordinary outfit was so striking. The answer was found in Anson himself.

There was no flamboyance or arrogance as she had imagined, nor the nervousness or unease she had anticipated. The composure and poise radiating from him exuded an unflappable strength, resilient yet warm, quietly shining.

Just as Anson had said, this outfit wouldn't stand out on the streets of Paris. It might belong to a student heading to the library, a professor just finishing a class, an ordinary architect, or a passerby flipping through a philosophy book in a bookstore. It wasn't special by any means; but on Anson, the layering of colors and the proportional design effortlessly caught the eye.

Fashion, trends, and life—who knew they could be interpreted this way?

Unconsciously, Anna felt a surge of excitement.

The vague and blurry theme that had been floating in her mind was starting to take shape, bit by bit. Finally, Anna began to truly see Anson, considering him as an equal, carefully evaluating the young man before her.

Anna had a premonition:

Perhaps, this boy in front of her could change the entire trajectory of men's fashion.

To others, such a thought might seem insane, but Anna knew that history often changes course quietly, without fanfare or drama—just like this.

However, Anna's exterior remained calm and unremarkable. After all, she was a seasoned and battle-hardened "Devil Wears Prada" type of figure.

She didn't even raise an eyebrow, as if Anson had just been discussing the weather in Paris—all of it was meaningless chatter.

"Then let's give it a try," Anna said nonchalantly.

Without acknowledging Anson's long speech, Anna seamlessly transitioned into work, once again taking firm control. The shock and surprise that had momentarily frozen the studio quickly dissipated, and everyone resumed their busy pace around Anna.

Edgar: …

Feeling a bit helpless, Edgar was once again amazed by Anson's words. Even though this wasn't the first time, he still felt the impact in his chest, as if his heart was slamming against his ribs. But to his surprise, Anna dismissed it so casually, leaving him with a sense of frustration, like a punch landing in soft cotton.

Then Edgar noticed Anson, who was calmly and confidently stepping forward, completely unfazed. This made Edgar clench his fists, regaining his focus. Facing someone like Anna—well, more like a boss—they had to stay sharp.

And then, Edgar saw the bewildering array of clothing racks in front of him—

Shirts, T-shirts, jeans, hoodies, short sleeves, long sleeves—everything imaginable, from jackets to tops to pants, from shoes to hats to accessories, from formal wear to casual wear to evening gowns. The variety was overwhelming.

At a glance, there were at least 600 pieces of clothing, if not more.

Even Edgar found himself holding his breath, unable to resist sighing in awe. Paris truly was the fashion capital; even a small studio like this could leave one dizzy with choice. It looked like they'd be here all day.

However, the real surprise was still to come.

"You'll pick and style the outfits yourself. I'll give you a theme—how about everyday autumn looks? Choose your daily wear based on your taste and style."

Anna's words made Edgar doubt his ears. His jaw almost dropped in disbelief, but Anna, as if unaware of the bombshell she'd just dropped, repeated her instructions.

"It's all up to you. Our theme is to showcase your reality. Your true taste, your true sense of fashion."