Welcome to The Édito - A Note from Katie

Welcome to The Édito.

The Édito has been a slow burn for years, beginning with the work I started through KS Luxe Artistry in 2014 and growing at the intersection of everything that followed: the people I’ve worked with, the things I’ve observed, and the conversations that start with makeup and somehow wander into clothes, travel, art, or which shoe makes the outfit. I wanted an online, magazine-like continuation of that work—a place where all of those interests could meet, along with the smaller details that can completely change how something looks or feels.

Before KS Luxe, I worked in writing, editing, and publishing, beginning right out of college and continuing until I moved abroad in 2010. Long before KS Luxe had a name, I was the child poring over fashion magazines and paying close attention to art, beauty, clothes, and the way they all came together. Living abroad for several years, and traveling a lot during that time, allowed me to observe style through a much wider perspective. I paid attention to how people dressed, how they approached beauty, and how small cultural differences could completely change the feeling of something familiar. Those observations stayed with me and gave more depth to the instincts I already had.

My education was in media studies and the liberal arts, not beauty school, so I taught myself makeup through research, practice, experimentation, and a great deal of attention to faces. I wanted to fully understand the subtleties of pigment and texture, and how both could be used to enhance someone’s natural beauty rather than cover it. I’ve never worn much makeup myself, and my approach with clients has always reflected that. I’m drawn to luminous skin, soft definition, and color placed thoughtfully enough to bring out what’s already there. There are many forms of makeup artistry, but mine has always centered on making someone look recognizably like herself—fresh, polished, and never overwhelmed by makeup.

Hair came soon after. There weren’t many people in Charleston doing both at the time, and truthfully, I liked the idea of being able to execute the entire look myself. It made the process simpler on set, helped me stand out, and allowed everything to feel more connected. The placement of a part can change the balance of a face. The texture of the hair can soften the makeup or make it feel too finished. Nothing really stands alone.

A client might come to me with a question about lipstick, and before long we’d be talking about the dress, the jewelry, the shoes, or what they should pack for a trip. The same thing happened on shoots, where I often found myself just as involved in the wardrobe and overall direction as I was in the hair and makeup. Sometimes there was a fully developed concept, and sometimes there were clothes everywhere and the plan changed 10 minutes before shooting. Music mattered too. The right song can change the way someone moves, the feeling in the room, and even the way the clothes look.

Over the years, the work has taken me onto sets and locations, backstage, into homes and closets, and into more conversations over email, text, and FaceTime than I can count. I’ve worked with producers, private clients, photographers, models, performers, designers, publications, and creative teams on hair and makeup, personal styling, men’s and women’s fashion, magazine editorials, and some beauty projects that were far more fun than they probably sound on paper. Some of it was seamless and executed exactly as planned. Some of it involved difficult weather, disappearing light, missing clothes, last-minute swaps, and changing in the backseat of a car—or behind whichever tree or bush offered the most privacy. We figured it out as we went.

A couple of things I know for certain: makeup can be interesting without covering the face beneath it, and clothing can have personality without making the wearer look like they’ve been dressed as someone else. The best choices work not only with a person’s features and proportions, but with their personality and the way they naturally carry themselves. Not everything has to be relentlessly flattering, either. “Flattering” is usually shorthand for looking thinner, and cinching, nipping, and defining the waist needn’t be everyone’s primary goal when getting dressed. I say that lovingly. Sometimes volume, ease, or an unusual proportion is far more interesting than making the body appear as small as possible.

The choices don’t have to be predictable, but they should feel believable. Once the clothes or makeup begin to look disconnected from the person wearing them, much of the effect is lost. The same is true when I’m styling men. Unless creating a character is specifically the point of the shoot, I’m usually looking for the proportion that improves the way the clothes sit, the color that brings something to the face, and the combination that looks finished without feeling overly arranged.

After more than a decade of working with different people, different styles, and in different environments, I’ve learned to recognize why one thing works and the other doesn’t. Usually the difference is small, but noticing enough to improve upon the intended outcome is where I find joy. It could be the placement of a neckline, the way a hat sits on the head, the length of a sleeve, the undertone of a lipstick, turning long hair into a faux bob, or the shoe that changes the balance, therefore vibe, of an entire look. The hair may be too finished for the clothes. The jewelry may be repeating something that was already made clear. Whatever it may be, I enjoy highlighting those nuances and explaining why I’d go with one over the other. It’s visual arts.

I grew up in the 90s, and that influence has never left me. I still love the beauty from that period: clean skin, softly defined eyes, lived-in hair, and makeup that made models look great without the garish glam. The clothes had the same confidence: a white shirt, a good trouser, a black dress (think CK slip dresses), an old leather jacket, or a shoe with exactly the right shape didn’t need to be explained every season. They could be worn again because they were great in the first place. Perhaps this makes me a grandmother millennial, but I’m comfortable with that.

I’m not against something new, whether it be loads of color, an unusual proportion, or an accessory that looks slightly out of place can be the thing that makes an outfit great. What interests me less is the idea that everything has to be replaced each time the internet gives an ordinary item a new name. Personal style should change because the person changes, not because he or she has been told that the clothes she liked six months ago now belong to the wrong aesthetic.

The pieces that last are not always the quietest ones. An oversized piece of jewelry, a bold lipstick, a printed coat, or a bizarre little vintage bag can become as dependable as a pair of jeans when it feels connected to the person wearing it. Longevity has as much to do with attachment as it does with simplicity, and that’s the kind of sustainability I’m interested in sharing through The Édito: learning to recognize what is actually good, buying less carelessly, wearing things repeatedly, and becoming confident enough in your own taste that every new season doesn’t require an entirely new wardrobe. Unless, of course, that’s how you prefer to live—in which case, I can help with that too.

A good wardrobe should be able to take in something new without making everything that came before it look suddenly wrong. I’d like The Édito to be useful in that way. I want to share not only what I like, but why I think it works, who it may work for, what it could be worn with and where, and whether it deserves a lasting place in a wardrobe, bathroom, or suitcase.

I haven’t shared my work consistently over the years. Part of that came down to motherhood, which took up much of my time, as motherhood tends to do. Part of it was simply that I’ve always been a little shy about sharing my own creative work. Posting usually happened in spurts between family life, clients, and whatever project had taken over the remaining hours. The work continued, though much of it became private: photographs sent for a second opinion, links to something I thought would suit a client, makeup suggestions, packing lists, styling notes, and the occasional late-night question about which shoe looked better, and the answer isn’t always the more interesting shoe.

Those conversations taught me as much as the larger shoots did. Most people aren’t asking to become someone else. They want to understand what suits them, what deserves their money, how to wear the things they already own, or why an outfit that looks perfectly good on paper still feels wrong once it’s on. The Édito gives those conversations somewhere to continue.

I’ll be writing about style, beauty, makeup, clothing, art, travel, music, and the things I come across that are genuinely worth sharing. Some posts will be practical; others may begin with an old runway photograph, something I noticed in a shop, a painting, a product I’ve used for years, or a question from a client that seems too useful to keep between the two of us. There will be edits of clothing and beauty products, though I don’t want this to become a place where everything is treated as necessary. A lot of things aren’t! The useful part is deciding which ones deserve a place.

I want to talk about why one white tee falls beautifully while another becomes irritating before lunch. Why a pale yellow can behave almost like a neutral, while the wrong yellow takes over everything around it. Why a shell hanging from a cord can look even better with an old wool sweater than it does with a sundress. These things may seem small, but style usually comes down to small things.

Earlier work may find its way onto The Édito as well. Looking through the photographs has reminded me how much happened during those years: fashion shows, private clients, performers, men’s and women’s styling, magazine editorials, beauty shoots, and ideas that made far more sense once they had been photographed. Much of it evolved along the way, which was often part of what made the work interesting.

There was also that one time when every aspect of my work appeared in Vogue. (Ad-right)

I won’t pretend that felt ordinary, especially after teaching myself, finding my own way in, and continuing without knowing where any of it might lead.

The Édito doesn’t mean KS Luxe is disappearing. I’m still working with a few clients and always open to makeup, styling, creative direction, and other projects that feel like a natural fit. This is really just a continuation of that work, with more room to share what I’ve learned over my 12 years with KS Luxe, and I think that experience is what gives me anything useful to say here in the first place.

I’m very glad you’re here, and I hope The Édito gives you something worth keeping.

Katie