Because Hughes was one of the producers on Twilight, he kept a hawk-eye on the whole project. He didn't hover on set every single day, but whenever he had a free minute he'd hop on a plane to Oregon just to make sure everything was running smooth.
Take this one time: we were halfway through shooting, and out of nowhere Hughes shows up, looking like he just rolled off a red-eye flight. I'd barely stepped out of the studio for a coffee break when there he was, standing right in front of me in a crisp shirt and slacks.
We were filming part of the movie at this cute little indie bookstore called Angel's, one of the locations I'd personally picked. And there's Hughes, chilling in a corner like he owns the place—legs crossed, puffing on a cigar, calm as ever even if the sky fell down around him. The man has ice in his veins and the patience of a saint.
I pushed open the door and sunlight poured in, splashing colorful patterns across the old wooden floor like stained glass in a church. I squinted through the light at him, and he was already staring right back at me, cool as a cucumber.
I pulled out a chair and plopped down. "Well, you could've at least texted you were coming."
He rubbed his temple like he had a headache coming on, then propped his head on his hand. "Because I was worried you were getting screwed over. You're talented as hell, Joey, but you're still a little green when it comes to this stuff."
"Screwed over how?" I asked, resting my chin in my hands and giving him my best cheeky grin.
He pulled up a text on his phone. "Yesterday you told me the art department said Scene 431 was gonna run us fifty grand. I thought that sounded insane, so I asked for the plans and looked myself."
"And?" I nudged his arm.
He slid the blueprints over and tapped a few spots. "We're not doing tracking shots or crane shots here, and we're never even getting a wide. So tell me—why do we need this whole row of fancy windows? You think the DP needs afternoon tea with a view? Cut 'em. Oh, and this wall? Doesn't even need fresh paint."
I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. "Man, you're thorough. Yeah, that'll save us a chunk."
He flipped to another page. "And this carriage? The script just says the leads walk past it. Doesn't say it has to actually roll. Tell props to slap something cheap together. It's a wide shot—no one's gonna know. We're not exactly swimming in cash here, Joey. Stop being so nice that people take advantage of you. From now on, every single expense comes through me first."
I threw my hands up. "Yes, sir. Whatever you say, boss."
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I flew all the way out here and you think this is small potatoes? There's at least five more places we're bleeding money. I'll go over the rest with you tonight."
"Fine, fine, you win. But you've got until tomorrow night—day after that I'm giving the crew three days off."
His brow furrowed, then that cocky little grin crept back. "Three days off, huh? What are you up to?"
"I'm going to the Tonys."
Hughes really is a beast of a producer. He can smell a bad script from a mile away and spot budget waste just by glancing at a set design. He can sweet-talk (or strong-arm) the art department, lighting guys, camera crew, and actors all in the same breath. The dude wasn't born with a silver spoon; he clawed his way up like an old-school hustler who's seen every trick in the book.
A few days later.
Some big-shot rep from Dior Haute Couture tracked me down. I have no clue how these people even get my itinerary these days—am I on some Hollywood blacklist with a price tag now?
She got straight to the point, nose slightly in the air: "Dior would like to dress you for the Tony Awards."
The vibe was very much "you should be honored." Like, all the A-list blond bombshells would kill for this, and Dior was graciously lowering themselves to put their gown on little ol' me.
I could feel the subtle shade about my looks—like they were doing me a favor by letting an Asian girl wear their brand. Yeah… hard pass.
I didn't even blink. "Thanks, but no thanks."
She looked like I'd slapped her. "You're… turning us down?"
"Yep. Bye now."
She muttered under her breath, "You're surprisingly savvy on the film side, but this is just…"
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw stars. "Sorry, I'm not classy enough for your couture. Have a nice day!"
After I walked out, I'm pretty sure she spent the next hour trashing me to her assistant, dying to see what kind of trash bag I was gonna wear to the Tonys.
Spoiler: I also shot down Prada, Elie Saab, Oscar de la Renta, Marchesa… pretty much every luxury house that came knocking.
The fashion world lost its collective mind. "She said no to EVERYONE? Is she showing up naked?"
Catherine practically kicked down my door when she heard. "Are you insane?! Dior and Elie Saab came to YOU and you turned them down?"
I flopped onto the couch. "Yup. All of them."
"That's the kind of offer A-listers beg for on their knees! Clearly they think you've got style and heat right now—everyone's watching you!"
I shrugged, fiddling with my hair in the vanity mirror. "I'm a director, not an actress. I live behind the camera. I don't need to look like I'm going to the Met Gala every time I leave the house."
Catherine threw her hands up. "Sweetie, your name is already louder than half the movie stars out there!"
"So? Still doesn't change who I am. If I ever decide to step in front of the camera, maybe I'll care then." I pushed the stack of fancy invitation cards away like they were junk mail.
Catherine stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Okay, so what ARE you wearing? Because that Chanel you wore to the Saturn Awards was fire—are you really not even calling them back?"
I grinned. "Who says red-carpet looks have to be six-figure couture? I'm thinking H&M."
She blinked. Twice. "Come again?"
"H&M, Gap purse, Zara heels—the whole fast-fashion starter pack."
"You're trolling me."
"Nope, dead serious. Did you know H&M has this amazing recycling program called Global Change? They take old donated clothes, sort them, and either resell or upcycle them, then donate the profits to charity. It's eco-friendly AND charitable."
My eyes were sparkling now. "As a public figure, I think it's way more meaningful to use my platform for something good instead of just looking like a sparkly princess for Instagram likes."
Catherine opened her mouth… then closed it. She wasn't sold on the idea for moral reasons, trust me—she was already calculating how to spin this into killer PR.
Long story short: we reached out to H&M, asked if they could custom-make a gown out of clothes from their recycling program, and I paid for the whole thing myself.
Grand total for the dress? Twenty-six bucks.
H&M nearly fainted from excitement. Having someone with my profile wear a piece tied to their sustainability initiative? Global free advertising.
They worked their tails off designing something that wouldn't look like a recycled potato sack. When it arrived it was… simple. Plain white, no beads, no embroidery, no over-the-top drama.
Catherine took one look and groaned. "We're gonna disappear among all the ball gowns."
Then I tried it on.
And suddenly… it worked. Like, really worked.
Because I don't have the long legs or porcelain skin of your typical red-carpet darling, piling on the glitz would've just looked try-hard. But this clean, minimalist vibe? It let my face breathe. It felt fresh, approachable, authentic.
Sometimes less is more.
Tony Awards night.
I walked the red carpet in my $26 recycled H&M dress, fresh barely-there makeup, hair in soft braids that showed off my face, a little coral lip, and the tiniest flick of brown eyeliner. Sweet, simple, and 100% me.
H&M's PR team was ready with the full backstory—how the fabric came from donated clothes, the charity angle, the sustainability message. The second I stepped out, photographers started yelling twice as loud.
And honestly? I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good.
Because yeah, La La Land the stage musical was up for ten Tonys, and everyone wanted to see the hotshot young director who'd somehow pulled off bringing a Hollywood movie to Broadway and made it a smash hit.
Tonight the world was finally going to connect the dots: the woman behind the biggest musical on Broadway right now?
That's Joey Grant.
And she just showed up in a twenty-six-dollar dress made from recycled clothes—because she felt like it.
Mic drop.