MY (BRIEF) ENCOUNTER WITH SANDY POWELL

£1 POLYESTER AND THE CRAFT OF CREATING CHARACTERS

REVISITING A 2015 ENCOUNTER WITH ONE OF CINEMA’S GREAT COSTUME DESIGNERS.

London, 2026

In July of this year, I was invited to attend the opening of DESIRE: The Anatomy of Looking at the prestigious Sarabande Foundation, the organisation founded by the unforgettable genius and fashion designer Lee Alexander McQueen.

After taking in the fascinating works on display, spanning a wonderfully varied mix of techniques and creative languages, I found myself, for the second time in my life, face to face with the acclaimed British costume designer and Hollywood darling, Sandy Powell.

With her iconic, vibrant orange red hair, looking as incredibly stylish as ever (of course), she was there supporting the work of the lucky artists who had managed to secure a place on the Foundation’s highly competitive residency programme. I’ve heard she is often around, talking to the artists, following their work, and offering advice and support. What a dream!

The reason I’m writing this, however, is that this second encounter brought back the memory of another experience with Sandy, from when I had only recently arrived in London.

I originally wrote the piece I will be sharing with you here in 2015, after attending a workshop with Sandy Powell at the Victoria and Albert Museum. At the time, costume designer and researcher Rosane Muniz invited me to write about the experience for a platform where she shared content about the design of performance .

More than ten years later, I went searching for the “article” because I wanted to share that moment again. It had meant a great deal to me at the time, not only because I had met someone I deeply admired in person, but also because someone had invited me to write about the experience.

Reading it again, I found it curious to recognise not only the work of an artist I admired, but also a version of myself: a young Brazilian artist trying to find his place in London, fascinated by everything that happened behind the scenes of the creative process, and still figuring out how to build a life in the arts.

So I decided to republish it here, almost as a document of that particular moment in my life. I’ve made a few small edits for clarity and concision, but I’ve preserved the perspective, and the naivety, of the person who wrote it in 2015.

London, 2015

Short orange hair, a black blazer with green detailing, gold shoes and a restrained smile. That was Sandy Powell as she arrived at The Power of Costume in Film workshop, held at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London on 24 November 2015.

Born in London in 1960, Sandy had always loved clothes and learned to sew from her mother as a child. She studied at Saint Martin’s School of Art and went on to become one of cinema’s leading costume designers, collecting nominations and awards for films including Shakespeare in Love, The Aviator and The Young Victoria.

Although her name is now closely associated with cinema, and particularly with director Martin Scorsese, with whom she had already worked several times, Sandy actually began her career in theatre.

With an extraordinary CV behind her, Powell was remarkably warm throughout the conversation. Relaxed yet slightly shy, she spoke about her career and creative process in a way that felt intimate and generous.

IT ALL STARTS WITH UNDERWEAR

Sandy began the workshop by telling us that she always starts designing a costume by its underwear.

Of course, you need to understand the period in which the story is set, but it is the silhouette created by the undergarments that determines everything that comes afterwards. For her, this structure becomes the starting point for both the research and the construction of the character.

She also spoke about the importance of the relationship between costume designer and director. When there is a genuine alignment of ideas, it builds trust, creates a sense of complicity and makes the entire creative process flow more naturally.

According to Sandy, a simple but extremely useful exercise at the beginning of a project is to gather every reference connected to the character and the film and build a kind of visual archive, preferably a physical one, with printed images, fabrics and objects spread across a table. That way, you can do more than simply visualise what you are trying to create, you can almost feel its atmosphere.

Asked about the convenience of the internet, Powell said she appreciated its practicality and, of course, used it herself. Even so, she still preferred magazines, books, fabrics and anything she could physically touch.

Perhaps because that is precisely what costume design is about: transforming an idea into something that ultimately has to exist on a body.

KNOCKING ON DOORS

When the conversation moved on to finding work, Powell said she believed everyone had their own destiny, but that you still had to knock on doors, put yourself out there, make it known that you were available and, above all, be willing to work.

One of her earliest connections to cinema happened, rather wonderfully, in a nightclub. She invited director Derek Jarman to see a theatre production she had worked on. He came, liked what he saw and eventually invited her to work on Caravaggio.

I personally believe there is something reassuring about discovering that even careers that now seem almost mythical can begin with someone simply having the courage to approach another person and say: “Come and see what I do.”

Powell also drew attention to a profession that, according to her, was already becoming increasingly scarce: pattern cutters, the people who create patterns and cut the fabric. “Most people want to be designers, but very few are concerned with the foundations of a garment,” she observed.

From my own experience, I agree that a solid understanding of cutting, sewing and pattern making can make an enormous difference when creating a costume.

In a designer’s imagination, anything is possible. But knowing exactly where a sleeve should be cut, which fabric should be used, where the pleats should sit or which direction the grain should run is what brings an idea into reality.

In a world where so much information is readily available, and artistic references and movements can be accessed almost instantly, it is easy to fall into the illusion that everything has already been constructed, explored and done. As a result, we often want to jump straight into the process of deconstruction.

Although deconstruction in the arts can open countless doors to creativity, perhaps every now and then it is worth going against the current and returning to the ABCs, learning the foundations before trying to break them.

After all, before you can deconstruct something, you need to know how to construct it.

NO ONE MAKES A FILM ALONE

With the sheer volume of Sandy Powell’s work, having a strong team around her is essential, she mentioned.

Although she oversees the costumes herself, she relies on people she trusts, particularly on larger productions. Delegating tasks, following their progress and making sure things actually get done are also part of being a costume designer.

And costume, obviously, does not exist in isolation. Powell reminded us of two other fundamental elements in the visual construction of a character: hair and make-up.

All three need to work hand in hand. Without harmony, one can completely destroy the work of another.

That observation particularly resonated with me because I have always moved between different areas of image-making. Costumes, hair, make-up, set design, photography. In my case, the boundaries between these disciplines are much smaller than it’s believed .

Ultimately, the art department is always trying to answer the same question: who is this person(character) we are putting in front of an audience?

THE SECRET MIGHT BE HIDING IN A LITTLE SHOP IN SHEPHERD’S BUSH

At some point of the workshop, a question, which is fundamental to almost any production, was raised: Where do the fabrics, trimmings, dyes, pigments and all the other raw materials needed to turn those ideas into something real can be bought?

Powell lamented that good fabric shops were becoming increasingly difficult to find, particularly in Europe. Buying online or choosing materials from tiny swatches was already becoming commonplace, but, for her, this compromised the costume designer’s work. “You need to touch the fabric, feel its texture and weight and see how it falls,” she said.

And then came one of my favourite moments of the conversation.

To my surprise, Sandy told us that she often bought fabrics from the cheap little fabric shops in Shepherd’s Bush, London, somewhere that, for a Brazilian reader, could perhaps be compared to a much smaller version of 25 de Março or Brás in São Paulo.

She then revealed that the dresses worn by Cinderella’s stepsisters had been made using cheap polyester bought for around £1 a metre.

After a long laugh, she emphasised that it is not the price of the material that matters, but the final result “A good cut helps, of course” she finalised.

FASHION OR COSTUME?

When asked why she had never pursued fashion, Sandy said she had considered it at the beginning of her career but eventually realised that what truly gave her pleasure was creating characters.

For her, there is a fundamental difference between a fashion designer and a costume designer: while the former creates clothes for people, the latter creates for someone specific, a character with a story to tell.

And that changes everything.

Anyone familiar with her work will probably have noticed the recurring presence of period costume. Clothing from the sixteenth through to the nineteenth centuries appears repeatedly throughout her filmography, which might suggest a personal preference for historical work.

She disagreed.

According to Powell, it was simply coincidence. What she really enjoys is a good challenge and the opportunity to do something different with each new project.

CAROL, CINDERELLA AND 250 METRES OF FABRIC

Back in November 2015, Sandy was about to see one of her latest projects arrive in cinemas: Carol, based on Patricia Highsmith’s novel The Price of Salt and starring Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara.

According to Sandy, it was a wonderful film and one she was extremely proud to have been part of. And, of course, we couldn’t possibly let her leave without talking about Cinderella.

As the real-life fairy godmother behind Disney’s princess in the 2015 film, Sandy told us that around 250 metres of fabric were needed to create the multiple layers of skirts in different shades of blue, green and purple.

Butterflies were added to the dress as a symbol of Cinderella’s transformation. Of the entire wardrobe, the famous blue gown was one of the greatest challenges: it needed enough movement for the princess to appear almost as though she were floating during the ballroom waltz.

Despite being given considerable freedom in designing the costumes, Sandy did not want to completely abandon the image established by the 1950 animated film. Changes were welcome, but one thing was certain: Cinderella had to wear blue.

Sandy also designed the iconic glass slipper, developed in collaboration with Swarovski. Several versions were created before they reached the final design. Curiously, the famous shoe is purely a prop: it cannot actually be worn.

After the glass slipper and the ballroom gown came yet another challenge: creating a wedding dress worthy of a princess without simply producing an even grander version of the blue dress.

The solution was to go in the opposite direction.

A simpler, more delicate and ethereal dress, designed to communicate Cinderella’s kindness, modest and pure, yet still worthy of royalty.

WORKING WITH STARS, AND STILL GETTING YOUR HANDS DIRTY

At the level Powell had reached, working with some of the world’s most famous actors had become part of everyday life.

Even so, according to her, whether someone is famous or not, the most important thing is to establish a friendly relationship with the actor.

You need them to trust you and believe that the costume will help them not only look right, but also understand and construct their character. With major stars, however, there is one far less glamorous problem: time. They are usually incredibly busy.

Despite the fame and the enormous productions, Sandy said she still loved getting her hands dirty, buying fabrics and visiting second-hand shops.

Not every film has an enormous budget and, like any creative professional, you have to adapt to the circumstances.

At that particular moment, she was working on a smaller-budget production with interns who had never worked in film before, because there simply wasn’t enough money to hire a more experienced team.

Well, that was the moment when, I confess, I almost raised my hand and volunteered to work with her, even if all I had to do was hold fabrics and prepare coffees.

For a few seconds, I could see myself working with her on a big production. Learning, working and, hopefully, laughing a lot.

As a young artist newly arrived in London, I was naturally trying to find my place within the international creative industry. Or, as we say in Brazil, I was looking for my little place in the sun. A rare commodity at that time of year, both the sun and the job.

Hearing her talk about her experience gave me hope that perhaps, one day, I might have the chance to work alongside someone I admired so much.

At the same time, however, it made me reflect on a much less romantic question, one that comes up frequently when your job is also something you are deeply passionate about:

HOW LONG ARE WE EXPECTED TO WORK FOR FREE, OR FOR LITTLE MORE THAN A TOKEN PAYMENT?

Sometimes I feel that the almost desperate desire to break into the industry can be used against those who are just starting out. I know that experience can be incredibly valuable, but we need to think carefully about where opportunity ends and exploitation begins.

It is a difficult question that runs through almost every part of the creative industries.

Costume designers, make-up artists, hairstylists, prop makers, lighting designers, set designers and so many other people working behind the scenes often find their contribution undervalued.

We need to recognise the importance of our own work, and demonstrate the difference that strong visual work can make to a production.

WHAT STAYED WITH ME

After that brief encounter, and after managing to offer a simple “I love your work”, I left with a strange sense that somehow she felt a little closer.

Hearing about her journey, the problems, the doubts, the improvisation and, above all, the simplicity with which Sandy spoke about her work brought this person I had admired into the real world.

I was happy to realise that, however important or famous someone becomes, certain things remain surprisingly unchanged.

Perhaps this is the point where all of us working creatively intersect, regardless of the size of the budget, the film we are working on or the number of Oscars sitting on the shelf.

The desire to create. Curiosity.Knowledge of the craft. And, above all, the passion for getting your hands dirty and actually making things.

In the end, perhaps that is what makes someone a costume designer.