You Can Call Me LouLou, Everyone Does

My nickname, which serves as the title of this blog, has an origin story. The powerful agent who discovered me and launched my fashion photography career, Michael DeMartini, strong-armed a well known makeup artist named Lance into working on one of my first photo shoots. Lance was none too happy. He was famous, I was nineteen years old and unknown. Nevertheless, Lance did the gig with grimaced professionalism.

By the end of the shoot Lance had warmed toward me. He said, “Ok. I get why Michael is developing your career. You're eager, you're dedicated, and you're not trying to sleep with the models. You actually, legitimately want to be a fashion photographer. Hell, I can almost see you becoming good one day.”

After thinking quietly for a few seconds, Lance invited me out to drink with he and his fashion industry friends. “But,” he said, “your demeanor and your name [Louis] are way too heterosexual to hang with us at Kimo's.” It was a gay bar on Polk street. So, with a long handled blush brush he ceremoniously touched each of my shoulders and dubbed me LouLou. The nickname stuck.