Issuu

Previous: Bush and Michael during a pre-show meet-and-greet at the beginning of the Dangerous world tour, 1992. Michael wears the gold shirt created for the opening of the concert. Above: Michael Bush, 2026. Opposite: Assorted Dennis Tompkins sketches dating from the late 1980s. Top left: A design for the ‘Cherub’ belt. Top right: A prototype Bad belt design with eagle. Center left: A sketch for the ‘Dinner Jacket’ prototype. Center right: The ‘Berlin’ jacket. Below left: A studded jacket. Below right: A Neverland ‘Peter Pan’ belt design.

his is the story of the greatest job that I ever had. For almost a quarter-century, right up until the very end, Michael Jackson was my employer and, ultimately, my friend. So this book is dedicated to Michael and to my late longtime partner, Dennis Tompkins. Most of all, however, it is dedicated to Michael’s fans — and let the record show, I am still, very much, one of them. So, just like Michael, in my work, I always try to keep his fans in my heart and mind. Michael always considered his style crucial in connecting with his fans. ‘Bush,’ he would say to me (he always called me ‘Bush’). ‘When my fans look at me, they look hard. And when they look hard at me, they’re taking inventory. So every detail counts.’ He was right. Michael knew his fans, and his fans knew him. That mutual understanding and deep connection with the audience was ever-present in his style. Being not only a singer like no other but also a dancer like no other, Michael always stressed that he wasn’t simply dressing for success; he was dressing for movement. Through his sound, dance and style, he had become the ‘King of Pop,’ recognized and beloved around the world, transcending language, cultures and even time itself. In his much-too-short but profoundly impactful time on Earth and, somehow, even since he left us, Michael taught me many meaningful lessons. One was that the sum of a man is so much more than his mere measurements. And though he was slight in build, Michael still stands as a towering figure in music and style. Michael Jackson’s story is a compelling tale — how a child from Gary, Indiana, grew up to become not simply a legend but one of the greatest success stories in entertainment history. And at the same time, changing the way our world not only sounds, but looks. In this book, I’ll share my memories and perspectives on Michael’s influence on the world of style because, for nearly 25 years, we worked side by side. I cherish the privilege of collaborating with this artistic force, who changed countless lives across the globe — mine very much included. As Michael Jackson’s exclusive designers during our time together, Dennis and I were proud to be co-creators of Michael’s style. Through a creative process that, at times, felt nearly as unique as Michael himself, we learned how to channel his thoughts, his wishes, his sensibilities and his philosophies to create clothing that symbolized what he stood for and facilitated the way he moved through this world. Building on my previous book, 2012’s King of Style, in this book I’ll go deeper into the evolution of that process. Michael was a true artist and a singular performer — and whatever he wore needed to totally reflect that artistry and absolutely work for that performance. He made that clear to me when I first met him and right until the end, Dennis and I were still trying our very best to live up to that. Dennis and I began collaborating with Michael Jackson in 1985. Looking back, our first encounter with him was one of life’s happy accidents. In our case, it all really began during the filming of Captain EO, the 1986 3D short film for Disney theme parks. Directed by Francis Ford Coppola, it was produced and written by Coppola, George Lucas and Rusty Lemorande. At the time, Dennis and I were both working at American Broadcasting Company (ABC). I was freelance and adapted to whatever was needed of me. If that meant sewing costumes, I did that. If it meant dressing a soap opera actor, well, that’s what I did. Dennis, meanwhile, had started as a dresser for stars like George Burns and Milton Berle before becoming a cutter/fitter for ABC and progressing to being hired for Captain EO, along with well-known costume designer John Napier, then best known for his work on Broadway hits like Starlight Express and Cats. I was thrilled for Dennis. It seemed like this could be his big break into the more glamorous film world, but he was less excited because it meant he would lose his downtime during what might have otherwise been a long, relaxing summer hiatus to work on an ‘industrial film.’ But this was no ordinary ‘industrial film’ for Disney. It was a short film that was to be directed by Coppola and produced by Lucas. Being the more starstruck of the two of us, I strongly advocated that this was a big opportunity knocking and that Dennis needed to answer the call. Thankfully, after considerable coaxing from me, Dennis signed on to head up the wardrobe workroom and hired me to be one of his 15 stitchers. I had a foot in the door — or at least a few fingers. Amazingly, as we toiled away in the workroom over the summer making and preparing all the dancers’ costumes for Captain EO, we naively had absolutely no idea who the star of the film was. That all changed when we were taken on a tour of the set. 13

‘ IN THE DRAMATIC FASHION HE WORE, MICHAEL RELISHED EVERY DETAIL. HE WAS ALWAYS CURIOUS ABOUT EACH STEP OF THE PROCESS AND CONSTANTLY CRAVED NOVELTY.’

In September 1987, I was asked by Michael’s then-designer Bill Whitten to join the Bad world tour, to oversee wardrobe. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I had never been out of the country before; I had never even gotten a passport. I was about to learn how to travel in style. In telling Dennis, family and friends that I was going to Japan with Michael on his Bad tour — his very first solo tour — I already felt as if I had made it big. Having come to Hollywood to try and make my way in this world, I was now actually going to see that world, thanks to Michael’s belief in me. In the end, that belief — combined with hard work — would end up taking me around the world many times. Working with Michael, I soon learned that beyond fit and function, what also mattered deeply to him was innovation. Some follow trends. Others set them. No, Michael did not invent the concept of gloves and socks, but he had the ingenuity and inspiration to make them his own. Over the years, Dennis and I learned so much from Michael. Perhaps most importantly, he fundamentally changed the way we understood and appreciated artistry. For Michael, pushing the envelope was central to his creativity. I think Michael saw that we recognized that quality in him. And that’s how Dennis, who had once dreamed of making elegant ball gowns for leading ladies as legendary costume designer Nolan Miller did, ended up making military-inspired, cutting-edge clothing for the biggest male pop star in the world. In the dramatic fashion he wore, Michael relished every detail. He was always curious about each step of the process and constantly craved novelty. At its best, fashion reflects both one’s persona and personality, and we came to understand that a core tenet of Michael’s personality was that he always felt compelled to present something new and original. He always wanted his clothes, like his music and his dance moves, to be pure self-expression. Our job? To assist him in realizing that expression. If you’re wondering whether Michael would be happy with me telling you all this, well, I believe he wanted this story told. In fact, I feel it was really his idea. ‘Wouldn’t you love to know how The Wizard of Oz was made?’ he once asked me, his eyes growing large with wonder. I could see that to him, pulling back the curtain and revealing our supporting roles in the styling of a pop icon would be a no-brainer. And I can also tell you that behind the scenes of Michael’s life, there was a very real man with a deep appreciation of popular art, music, film and culture. A man who embodied the dreams he inspired in so many others. Michael’s sense of style reflected his perfectionist streak, and by spotlighting how the fashion fit the man and sharing my personal stories of the journey, I hope that a new side of Michael Jackson’s fashion style will be revealed in all its power.

Previous: Detail from the leather jacket designed by Tompkins and Bush for the Bad world tour and (inset) Michael on the Bad world tour, performing Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’, the opening song of the night at Madison Square Garden, March 1988. Opposite: This black modified Western Costume Company leather jacket featured a buckled back, chest, arms, cuffs and collar with added red armband. Right: The inside label of the leather jacket.

‘ IN THE DRAMATIC FASHION HE WORE, MICHAEL RELISHED EVERY DETAIL. HE WAS ALWAYS CURIOUS ABOUT EACH STEP OF THE PROCESS AND CONSTANTLY CRAVED NOVELTY.’

Previous: Bad tour belt, with solid-gold ‘eagle’ buckle. Above: Michael during the Bad tour at McNichols Sports Arena, Denver, March 1988. This shirt evolved over the course of the tour, with adjustments made as the tour progressed. The front zipper had been added by the time this photo was taken to allow Michael to quickly remove it.

Opposite: A selection of badges on Michael’s jackets over the years. The motif originated after Michael and Bush saw a security guard wearing a similar badge while on duty at his home in Encino, California. At Michael’s request, Bush began acquiring inexpensive, generic ‘Special Officer’ badges from local stores and adding them to the outfits to accentuate the military twist Michael so loved.

Left: Bill Whitten created this flashing jacket for Michael in 1988/89. Michael wore it only once, while greeting fans in Tokyo. Michael would continue experimenting with illuminated garments throughout his career, with varying degrees of success. Opposite: Interior of the flashing jacket and (below) Bill Whitten’s garment label.

‘ MICHAEL’S FAVORITE WAS THE ONE WE MADE

FROM NEOPRENE, A TYPE OF PLASTIC ...

IT LOOKED LIKE TINKER BELL HAD SLUNG IRIDESCENT GLITTER OVER THE PLASTIC.’ 92

‘ MICHAEL’S FAVORITE WAS THE ONE WE MADE

FROM NEOPRENE, A TYPE OF PLASTIC ...

IT LOOKED LIKE TINKER BELL HAD SLUNG IRIDESCENT GLITTER OVER THE PLASTIC.’ 92

Previous: Beat It jacket, 1996-97. According to Bush, it was Michael’s favorite of his many Beat It jackets. This version was created for the HIStory world tour from lightweight red neoprene vinyl. Opposite (inset): Dennis Tompkins beading crystal rhinestones. Above: Detail of armband on the ‘Ice’ jacket.

Other artists made videos: Michael Jackson made short films. Music videos cost thousands of dollars to produce but these films cost millions. To Michael, however, the difference was even greater. ‘Movies tell stories,’ Michael would say. ‘Music videos are like the news.’ This was the marketing genius of the man who taught us to immerse ourselves in magazines and scrutinize advertisements. He understood and brilliantly exploited the power of perception: Manipulate words and their meanings change. If you call something a video, it doesn’t carry the same weight as when you say ‘short film.’ Michael felt similarly about his clothing. Only he could take an ordinary Levi’s denim jacket and turn it into a showpiece. We set our sights on the fashion classic — broad shoulders, short to the waist, two front pockets and a ‘V’ point on the front. It provided the perfect baseline for a Michael Jackson jacket, something ordinary that could be transformed into a spectacular piece of showmanship. Originally, we made a jacket with white canvas from a pattern cut from the Levi’s denim jacket and ‘iced’ it with punched rhinestones. The metal of the six-pronged rim sets was too heavy and bulky to achieve the solid look that Michael replicated by pushing pennies together until they touched. The weight of the jacket caused the elbows to crease, and the tension flattened the fabric, making it stiff, like the first metal jacket Dennis made for Michael, which we ultimately dumped. The other problem was that the prongs went through the clothes and if they were not set right, they could prick the skin, like needles. They also rust if they get wet, making them almost impossible to clean. Historically, rhinestones were punched onto fabric because that process was more cost-effective. The only other alternative would be to sew the crystals by hand, which would avoid the bulk caused by the metal rim sets and allow the crystals to touch, just like the pennies. And predictably, when Michael tried on the punched rhinestone jacket, he hated it. He took it off and handed it back to me, saying, ‘Now make me a real one.’ I knew that by real one, he meant the hand-sewn kind. Thousands of crystal rhinestones would be needed to cover an entire jacket, requiring me to go to dozens of sources to purchase them. No retailer or wholesaler stocked that many rhinestones at one time. With a little less than four weeks to make the jacket, I bought up everything shiny that I could find from Los Angeles to New York. Still, I needed more. In the end, I went directly to the most plentiful source, Austria, and ordered them to be cut and shipped to us. To make the ‘real’ jacket, we wouldn’t be setting crystals in rim sets. Instead, we’d sew them directly into the fabric. It’s no wonder that sewing crystals is a lost art. It is one of the most tedious and time-consuming processes there is. In 21 days, we sewed thousands of crystal rhinestones onto that jacket. With two stitches per rhinestone (one on top and another on the bottom) that adds up to innumerable handsewn stitches. And all the while, Michael was characteristically anxious to see our work. He called constantly, and just like the zip-zip, chew-chew little bro driving me nuts from the car’s back seat, his version of ‘Are we there yet, are we there yet?’ translated to this global superstar singing a song on my answering machine: ‘Where’s my jacket, where’s my jacket?’ Having learned so much from Michael, I rarely turned the tables on him. Still, this time, I told him, ‘Michael, you’re the one who taught me: Don’t show your artwork before it’s ready!’ We worked on that jacket around the clock, making sure that the fabric wouldn’t collapse beneath the weight of the stones and arranging them so that they would keep the jacket fluid, with one stone in the middle and two on either side. But every single moment I spent with that needle and thread became worth it when I saw the final product. Instead of canvas, we had used white denim. Covered in three different sizes of Lochrosen rhinestones (5, 6, and 7 size), the finished product looked like a mirror. On each sleeve we used topaz Lochrosen rhinestones to form the shape of a chevron, a military insignia indicating rank. On the right sleeve, we created Michael’s signature armband in topaz gold. As the final touch, extra-large rhinestones, 1 inch in diameter, replaced the standard Levi’s buttons. I knew Michael was going to love it and I couldn’t wait to get it to him. First thing in the morning, I called the studio where Michael was recording. I was told to come by later, at 5 p.m., so I had to wait all day. When I finally got to the studio, Michael’s eyes lit up as I walked toward him with the ‘Ice’ Jacket. When I handed it to him, he stopped blinking. He patted it down and whispered the following words like he was saying a prayer, ‘Solid. The ultimate. I wish I could have recorded wearing this today.’

However, unlike the hapless headpiece, gold was always a winner. Egyptians had used the real material, Michael reasoned, and therefore so should he. From that point on, golden embellishments on his outfits meant we had to use actual gold plating, usually 18-karat. This created some quite understandable concerns about cost. While real gold gave an inimitable effect that other metals could not quite equal, the expense had to be weighed against the power of the illusion. But gold concentrated light and gave us a tool for adjusting the visual dynamics of the body, visible from a distance. It could broaden or lengthen Michael’s figure as required, emphasize a movement or redirect attention when we wanted to throw in a distraction. The 1996 HIStory world tour demonstrated that last example. By the finale, after approximately two-and-a-half hours of singing and dancing, Michael understandably walked more than he had at the start of the show. But rather than downplay his legs at the end of the show, his final costume of the night actively drew the eye toward them. Using 18-karat gold across his leg guards, Michael caught and shifted the light with every stride, sustaining the impression of a performer still shimmering with electric energy. We’d first added leg guards to Michael’s outfits during the Dangerous era. Amping them up with gold plating took them to the next level. Their slightly futuristic character also answered the narrative of the HIStory production. They closed the concert as a visual counterpart to the time-travel sequence that opened it, linking ancient precious metal, contemporary performance and an imagined future.

CHROME: A HUMAN MACHINE

Opposite: Michael in the ancient Egyptian-inspired costume for the Remember the Time short film (1992). The centerpiece was an 18-karat gold-plated gorgerin, inspired by Yul Brynner’s costume in The Ten Commandments.

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No HIStory tour costume provoked more fascination than the chrome ensemble worn at the opening of the concert. Before Michael had even appeared, audiences saw a short film in which he beamed across space and time in a module, passing through panoramas of the Seven Wonders of the World before zooming through celebrated moments in world history. The journey ended in 1996, when he emerged before an audience now hyped to a bursting point of excitement and anticipation. He rejected the usual language of spacesuits and astronaut helmets because of their added bulk and its impact on his choreography. Ironically, the starting point for the chrome suit we eventually created came from the past — The Jackson 5’s 1973 video for Dancing Machine. That short film featured a sensuous female robot, which we referenced as we began designing a slim, head-to-toe chrome suit that was completely danceable. Some members of his circle worried, reasonably, about the danger of Michael performing inside a metal suit. To be honest, Dennis and I shared their concern. A rigid chrome suit could be heavy enough to injure him. But Michael insisted that a version constructed specifically around his body could work. Now we just had to figure out how to make armor flexible. For inspiration as we mulled over the problem, Michael lent us books about Japanese illustrator Hajime Sorayama. Since the late 1970s, Sorayama had become known for anatomically precise female robots whose surfaces appeared to be liquid silver. He later designed the organic form behind Sony’s AIBO robotic dog, examples of which ended up in the Museum of Modern Art and Smithsonian Institution’s collections. Sorayama’s figures gave us the essential idea we ran with — using chrome as a second skin rather than an enclosing machine. We found some two-way stretch spandex, cut it exactly to Michael’s dimensions and built the costume carefully around his measurements. The spandex was as thin as tissue and almost weightless, yet magically, its finish reflected like highly polished chrome. Under performance lighting, the navy blue textile base disappeared. Michael seemed to be coated in silver. It looked superb but the whole edifice was fragile. We soon realized that the foil on the outer surface would crack easily, revealing the dark blue spandex underneath and diminishing the luster. Consequently, we produced more copies of this suit than of any other tour costume. We also acquired every available length of the material — approximately 100 yards — in case the manufacturer decided to discontinue it without warning. This might seem like excessive caution, but Dennis and I knew we needed to future-proof the outfit. If our chrome suit became as identifiable as the Thriller or Beat It jackets in years to come, Michael might ask for it again 10 years later. 121

CHROME: A HUMAN MACHINE

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‘CALLING HIM A PERFECTIONIST BARELY HINTS AT THE INTENSITY OF HIS FOCUS.’

BUILDING THE SHOW

Above: Michael being prepared for the spectacular ‘Rocket Man’ finale, during the Dangerous world tour (1992-93). Bush is crouching at Michael’s feet, adjusting his shoes. Opposite: From the Dangerous era, a sterling silver belt and bandolier, with moldings inspired by British royal crests.

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My education in helping create a stadium show began when I was plunged into the deep end on the first leg of the Bad tour in 1987. I joined Michael in Japan as his dresser, at a moment when several of Bill Whitten’s pieces were presenting practical problems. Each performance became a live test. I watched, took notes and worked out what Michael and the wardrobe required next. Calling him a perfectionist barely hints at the intensity of his focus. The Japan dates involved multiple dress rehearsals, each with revisions to the clothes, choreography and sound. Michael knew his material inside out, of course, but he insisted that everybody supporting him had to be choreographed just as thoroughly. All his professionalism couldn’t save the evening if one of us missed so much as one cue. Every change of clothes had to fit into the concert’s rhythm. And that meant every last fastening, seam and embellishment. A veteran of stage performances, Michael knew only too well that even a jacket being placed incorrectly on a rail, or his dresser arriving one beat too late, could shatter the illusion for an entire stadium. From my position watching Michael from the wings, I had to follow several performances at once. There was the concert itself, defined by its running order. There was Michael’s physical condition, which I monitored as the evening progressed. Then there was the concert being created in dialogue with the crowd. My task was to keep the first two sufficiently controlled so that the third could remain free to evolve. The more spontaneous Michael appeared, the more disciplined our preparation had to be. While the setlist might remain fixed, Michael’s response to the room changed from night to night, depending on the audience. A surge of cheering could lead him to hold a pose, extend a dance passage, tear open a shirt or send some part of the costume flying into the crowd. If he felt that a moment had not landed with sufficient punch, he might push it further, perhaps collapsing dramatically, as though overwhelmed. He said that he ‘danced the beat’ — when the music directed him to leap with the band or travel across the floor, he followed it. And always, wardrobe had to follow him. One night on the Dangerous tour, shortly before he went on, Michael told me that he planned to ‘do the James Brown.’ I had never heard the expression. But there was no time to request an explanation, so I took up my usual position just offstage, wondering when this mysterious addition to the performance might occur. It arrived during Man in the Mirror. Michael went down onto his stomach, his voice now a whimper, then turned his head towards the wing where I stood. He made a small ‘no’ gesture, repeated it, and finally reached a hand into the darkness. 133

‘CALLING HIM A PERFECTIONIST BARELY HINTS AT THE INTENSITY OF HIS FOCUS.’

BUILDING THE SHOW

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‘MICHAEL CONSUMED WATER IN SUCH QUANTITIES THAT HOTELS WERE ASKED TO PUT SEVERAL CASES OF EVIAN IN HIS ROOM.’

Conversation was another distraction, so he talked with members of his team and sometimes wandered into coach to greet surprised passengers. Private jets held little appeal for him: They seemed smaller, rougher and more confining. Each destination influenced the in-flight routine. Basic creature comforts, meals and atmosphere differed from country to country, so we always carried items such as favorite pillows when necessary and tried to keep the mood light. Laughter was always useful medicine. We also monitored his hydration levels. Michael consumed water in such quantities that hotels were asked to put several cases of Evian in his room, adjusted according to the length of the booking. One time, in Sweden during the Bad tour, this instruction resulted in a comical example of how quickly practical arrangements could become nonsensical tabloid fodder. Staff delivered the Evian bottles as requested ahead of his arrival, only for us to discover they had arranged them around Michael’s bath. Evidently, they assumed the only reason a guest would require so much mineral water was to bathe in it. From that innocent mistake grew the myth that Michael Jackson washed exclusively in Evian. Touring also brought out his talent for imitating voices. When he wanted a giggle, Michael would phone dancers, drivers or members of the sound crew, adopt a character and sustain a conversation until his victim identified him. He considered the exercise hilarious, and usually it was. However, even my enthusiasm for his humor was at a low ebb one night, when a hotel telephone dragged me from exhausted sleep at 3 a.m. and an oddly British voice asked whether I knew who was calling. I wearily informed the voice that I did. It was Michael speaking through a cardboard tube. I told him so. The line promptly went dead.

AFTER THE APPLAUSE My show-day work began before Michael reached the venue. I rode with him, prepared and dressed him, then remained close to the stage throughout the concert. Whenever he came into the wing, I was ready with water and a towel. At the end, I would help him into the car and return with him to the hotel. His clothes would be damp with perspiration from his exertions, as each concert was the largest, fullest version of the show he could summon. The wardrobe department needed to bring the same commitment every night.

Right: Michael would hurriedly jot down thoughts or requests for Bush as they struck him. This is one such example — a heartfelt reminder that he needed a ‘DRY’ T-shirt ready to change into, immediately after Workin’ Day and Night. Bush always had an ample supply of T-shirts on hand, most of which would be torn off during the course of an evening’s performance. Opposite: Detail from a black hooded terry cloth robe, custom-embroidered for Michael during the Dangerous world tour.

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‘MICHAEL CONSUMED WATER IN SUCH QUANTITIES THAT HOTELS WERE ASKED TO PUT SEVERAL CASES OF EVIAN IN HIS ROOM.’

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