BLOG: From Rehearsal Rooms to Runways

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My career began with 8-counts and scraped knees.
The sound of tap shoes on a wood floor, the smell of rosin dust in the wings, the adrenaline spike when the stage manager called “Places!” — that was my world. I lived in rehearsal studios and backstage hallways, counting beats and catching my breath between runs.

But while the choreography was the focus, my eyes kept drifting elsewhere — to the clothes. The sequins that caught the light in a perfect turn. The fringe that exaggerated a shimmy. The layers that told a character’s whole backstory before they even took a step.

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was already doing my real work — storytelling through fabric and form.

Somewhere along the way, the costumes became just as exciting as the steps.
I started showing up to auditions in outfits that felt like performances in themselves — not necessarily the “right” thing for the role, but always a full look. People noticed. Directors noticed. Choreographers I’d worked with started asking me to help their other dancers look the part, not just dance it.

Soon, I was trading choreography notes for wardrobe fittings. The quick pep talks before a run-through turned into last-minute hemming or pinning. And I realized something big:

Clothes move. Clothes dance. Clothes tell stories.
And I could make them do all three.

In fashion, fit matters. In dance, flow matters just as much. A gown might look gorgeous standing still, but can it handle a high kick, a spin, or a leap?
I learned to read garments like I read choreography — anticipating where the fabric needed to stretch, when it needed to snap back, and how it could enhance the emotion of a performance.

Those skills followed me when I started working outside the studio — styling for commercials, music videos, editorials, and eventually, the runway. Movement stayed at the center of my work. Whether it was a model gliding down a catwalk or a celebrity walking into a press junket, I wanted the clothes to move with them, not against them.

The leap from performer to stylist might seem dramatic, but for me, it felt seamless. In both worlds, it’s about:

• Understanding the role. What story are we telling?
   
• Respecting the body. What does this person need to feel confident, powerful, comfortable?
   
• Capturing the moment. How will this look live in photographs, on film, or in memory?
   

My years in rehearsal rooms gave me a different kind of fashion education — one grounded in sweat, rhythm, and an understanding that style isn’t just worn, it’s inhabited.

Even now, when I’m dressing someone for a photo shoot, an event, or a runway, I think about those 8-counts. I think about how the hem will fall when they walk, how a sleeve will shift when they wave, how they’ll feel in the outfit when the spotlight is on them.

Because style isn’t just about how you look standing still — it’s about how you feel in motion.

And for me, that journey from rehearsal rooms to runways has been the perfect choreography.

— Suzie