There I sat on a white folding chair in the newly created back row. My legs crossed with my new frock refusing to cover my knees. My bare foot catching relief from my not-yet-broken-into gold peeptoe shoes. I gulped down the included-in-ticket red wine and looked out on to the “suburban industrial” venue.
It was a perfect way to make my debut, with my always-in-style fashionista friend on one arm and my stylish sidekick bro at an arms length, quick pace, up ahead.
We arrived quite late, it appeared as though the VIPs were eating dinner and everyone else had grown tired of the widely spaced tradeshow booths. None the less, we were promised wine or a cocktail of some sort, and we damn well better get it! In search of wine, we stopped to chat to some savvys only to reveal that everyone had a really different perception of what fashion is and more importantly what they think people would buy.
But, brace yourself because the stereotypes are all true. I felt I was suddenly in the Devil’s Prada book or alteast on TV.
One thing that also struck me as odd was models really have to arch their back to a level that I had never even thought was humanly possible. I could not keep my eyes off the angle of the arms as they dangled lifelessly.
I think I was too distracted to notice the clothes.