Pixel Perfect.(Pascal Dangin)(Brief biography)

For a charity auction a few years back, the photographer Patrick Demarchelier donated a private portrait session. The lot sold, for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, to the wife of a very rich man. It was her wish to pose on the couple's yacht. "I call her, I say, 'I come to your yacht at sunset, I take your picture,' " Demarchelier recalled not long ago. He took a dinghy to the larger boat, where he was greeted by the woman, who, to his surprise, was not wearing any clothes.

"I want a picture that will excite my husband," she said.

Capturing such an image, by Demarchelier's reckoning, proved to be difficult. "I cannot take good picture," he said. "Short legs, so much done to her face it was flat." Demarchelier finished the sitting and wondered what to do. Eventually, he picked up the phone: "I call Pascal. 'Make her legs long!' "

Pascal Dangin is the premier retoucher of fashion photographs. Art directors and admen call him when they want someone who looks less than great to look great, someone who looks great to look amazing, or someone who looks amazing already--whether by dint of DNA or M*A*C--to look, as is the mode, superhuman. (Christy Turlington, for the record, needs the least help.) In the March issue of Vogue Dangin tweaked a hundred and forty-four images: a hundred and seven advertisements (Estee Lauder, Gucci, Dior, etc.), thirty-six fashion pictures, and the cover, featuring Drew Barrymore. To keep track of his clients, he assigns three-letter rubrics, like airport codes. Click on the current-jobs menu on his computer: AFR (Air France), AMX (American Express), BAL (Balenciaga), DSN (Disney), LUV (Louis Vuitton), TFY (Tiffany & Co.), VIC (Victoria's Secret).

Vanity Fair, W, Harper's Bazaar, Allure, French Vogue, Italian Vogue, V, and the Times Magazine, among others, also use Dangin. Many photographers, including Annie Leibovitz, Steven Meisel, Craig McDean, Mario Sorrenti, Inez van Lamsweerde and Vinoodh Matadin, and Philip-Lorca diCorcia, rarely work with anyone else. Around thirty celebrities keep him on retainer, in order to insure that any portrait of them that appears in any outlet passes through his shop, to be scrubbed of crow's-feet and stray hairs. Dangin's company, Box Studios, has eighty employees and occupies a four-story warehouse in the meatpacking district. "I have Patrick!" an assistant to Miranda Priestly, the editor of Runway, exclaims in "The Devil Wears Prada," but her real-life counterparts probably log as much time speed-dialling Pascal.

Dangin is, by all accounts, an adept plumper of breasts and shrinker of pores. Using the principles of anatomy and perspective, he is able to smooth a blemish or a blip ("anomalies," he calls them) with a painterly subtlety. Dennis Freedman, the creative director of W, said, "He has this ability to make moves in someone's facial structure or body. I'll look at someone, and I'll think, Can we redefine the cheek? Can we, you know, change a little bit the outline of the face to bring definition? He, on the other hand, will say, 'No, no, no, it's her neck.' He will see it in a way that the majority of people don't see it." Dangin salvaged a recent project at W by making a minute adjustment to the angle of a shoulder blade.

The obvious way to characterize Dangin, as a human Oxy pad, is a reductive one--any art student with a Mac can wipe out a zit. His success lies, rather, in his ability to marry technical prowess to an aesthetic sensibility: his clients are paying for his eye, and his mind, as much as for his hand. Those who work with Dangin describe him as a sort of photo whisperer, able to coax possibilities, palettes, and shadings out of pictures that even the person who shot them may not have imagined possible. To construct Annie Leibovitz's elaborate tableaux--the "Sopranos" ads, for example--he takes apart dozens of separate pictures and puts them back together so that the seams don't show. (Misaligned windows are a particular peeve.) He has been known to work for days tinting a field of grass what he considers the most expressive shade of green. "Most green grass that has been electronically enhanced, you know, you look at it and you get a headache," Dangin said recently. He prefers a muted hue--"much redder, almost brown in a way"--that is meant to recall the multilayered green of Kodachrome film.