In our ongoing series, From Nada to Prada, we explore the transformative power of a hair switcheroo, as seen in the competitive world of Model Land, where an agency-mandated bang cut or a bleach job can make the difference between booking a Prada campaign or slaving away in the gray ether of e-commerce for the rest of your livelong days.
In fashion, it’s all about the subtle differences. It’s about where the dart on a dress hits in just the right place, the knit of a sweater is the precise intricate weave, the blue dye of a jean is that just-absolutely-perfect blue. Everything is measured in the metrics of minutia, crowding the industry with a bunch of anal-retentive Virgo perfectionists. And thank god. Otherwise we’d all be walking around wearing some ill-fitting, mail-order garb from Orwellian department store. Yay, fashion. Yay, subtly.
Such is the case with Estonian model Harleth Kuusik, who is so fresh to the biz she’s still got that new car smell (a Jaguar, natch). When she started, like, four and a half minutes ago, she washed on the fashion shores a wonderfully pretty, wonderfully plain dirty blonde. Then, faster than her first set of Polaroids had finished exposing, she went uber platinum, her hair and eyebrows and everything reconstituted in a blonder, sci-fi-ier version of what so briefly came before. A perfect piece of fashion plastic.
I’m not going to lie. I love this girl, not because she reminds me of my friend Jamie, or because she brings back wistfully nostalgic recollections of Karen from the first grade with the blonde hair and the blonde eyebrows and those Chinese therapy balls I couldn’t help but stealing. And though I’d like to, my fondness of her is not smudged in the slightest knowing this precious thing was born in the ‘90s. No, I’m not jealous a tick. I’ll just cry a little. Right here. In the corner.
Enough about me. Back to my totally professional task as an extremely serious journalist.
With her new, perfect plastic hair, Harleth began hitting the international runways hard. And for good reason. Bleach notwithstanding, she has that aloof, vaguely sullen look that just screams wealth. The type of girl you want to shower with gifts and buy things for. I recently read a quote “Everyone else is boring and you’re the burning house I want to live inside” or something like that. That’s how I feel about Harleth. And that’s apparently how Carven, Acne, Celine, Louis Vuitton, Valentino, and Prada all felt about her, too.
For me, the greatest signifier of Harleth’s future success was when the fashion deity known as Proenza Schouler used her in their latest SS14 campaign. Not to out myself as a totally agreeable fashion puppet, but whatever Proenza does, I want to do. I want to line the walls of my apartment with their advertisements, sleep in their laser cut bomber jackets, make cool videos that looked like they’ve been whipped up by some teenager in Ohio basement. And so it has been decreed: Harleth is the platinum shizz. Thus spoke Proenza… or whatever that Nietzsche guy said.
Verdict: CLOROX + PROENZA = FA$$$$$$$HION = PRADA