“Real creativity comes from not having a lot,” Rebecca feels. And she has the cred to prove it, having been nominated for three Emmys for co-creating the “fifth” character on Sex and the City, the groundbreaking, quirky and original style of its main characters. It was the first episodic series on television to dip into high fashion, and the designers were unwilling to lend clothes at first. It was within these limitations that Rebecca’s outsider, rebel aesthetic, much like the one of her hero and fellow Texan, Janis Joplin, could shine. During that time period, it was a stroke of brilliance to throw on a pair of Manolos with sweatpants and turn the athletic wear into a shrug. Preferring pockets to handbags, Rebecca made the fanny pack a new kind of uptown chic on Carrie.
Rebecca is a fashion stylist from the days when that term did not exist. She came to New York in 1986 to do musical theater: “I wanted to be Liza Minnelli. I wanted to be naked, dancing on table tops.” Instead, she found herself on Avenue B, around future fashion innovators like herself, like David LaChapelle. Together, they would “do wardrobe” on Rebecca for his photos. She attributes her dexterity with visual communication to the transsexuals she met when she first came to the city who showed her how to “make something from nothing, at times utilizing things from Kmart.” She also credits her mom, who had her at a very young age: “We were two free spirits out in the universe and she led me to express myself… everyday as a kid, I was someone else and my mother promoted it.” Rebecca’s mother dropped her off at school in fifty degree weather decked out in a mink coat and hat, and Rebecca in an outift inspired by one of her other icons, Lucille Ball. The comic redhead is still an influence – Rebecca wears a Rudy Gernreich jumper with the whimsical touch of Bass saddle shoes.
Rebecca admires life’s most audacious characters and she is one herself. There was her “Peggy Moffitt” moment, and despite being covered in tattoos, she can give you “uptown drag” by wearing a Lanvin dress to an art gallery. Rebecca’s wife, Debbie, with whom they are bringing up their five year old daughter, Amelie, refers to Rebecca as forever fifteen. Fifteen, Rebecca says, was her “year of anarchy and nothing has changed now that I am in my forties.” But like an abstract painter knows how to paint classically, Rebecca understands the ultimate power of unfashion in dungarees (never a stretchy jean), a breton shirt, beret, Rolex watch, her grandfather’s ID bracelet and wing tips, despite her studded Bess combat boots.