I don’t even care what they are for. I just want to be a part of them.
André Leon Talley (former editor-at-large of Vogue/sassy man at the Met Gala red carpets) visited the Saint Louis Fashion Fund (SLFF) a few weeks ago, and decided that the six designers who work with SLFF should be a part of a fashion show curated by André himself. My boss, Audra, is one of those six designers and asked me to assist her at the fashion show. It was this past Saturday at the Saint Louis Art Museum. I’m going to break it down into parts for you:
The models are models, but you don’t get it until you’re around them. Oh, did your friend model for the local JC Penney in high school? Do you know what models are like? No, no. Not the same thing. We were all eating with the models at the style-out on Friday and I was seated near a few of the female models. The girl next to me had a lot of lettuce and some carrots on her plate. I looked up to the heavens so some higher being could remind me that I was not built the same way, and I came back down to Earth and happily consumed my third piece of pizza.
Another girl was eating a roll and she had to go so she asked me if I wanted the rest. I said, “Yeah I guess,” and then ate that too. A bit later, the same model was explaining that she was going to have to work out later that evening since she hadn’t yet that day. I said that I hadn’t worked out in a month and we laughed and laughed. I have a herniated disc so eff off.
The next ten minutes went exactly like this:
Went to bathroom. Dropped phone in toilet. Came back out. Steamed three shirts. Ate more pizza.
The actual show went pretty well. Dress rehearsals were a bit rough. At one point André was screaming and asking where hair and makeup was. Fortunately, or unfortunately (not sure which one), he and I made eye contact and I just pointed down the hall because I was too spastic to say words. He drove around me in his scooter. What a rush!
I never realized how organized you need to be backstage at a fashion show. You have approximately 25 seconds to rip the model’s clothes off and get her in the next look. There is no modesty. Also shoes with straps are DIFFICULT. We could not get this pair of Manolo flats off of this girl and I was like “K well you’re wearing these now.” Luckily they matched or else I might have been murdered.
After the show, my friend and I bagged our boss’s garments and booked it out of there to go change for the party. I have never been to an after-party for any sort of event, but I realize now that I should start attending more of them.
I was not fancy enough to be there. Way too many rich people in suits and $4000 dresses. I was wearing a Demestik by Reuben Reuel tunic (he’s amazing – you may know him as the designer who created the ensemble Beyoncé wore to her Carter Push Party) and heels and my hair was looking messy chic (at least I hope it was).
But this party was flattering lighting, open bar, fancy food for days. There was sushi and mini beef Wellingtons and mini crème brulees. I love mini things. There were also models from Neiman Marcus just standing around in clothing the whole time. I wanted to offer them a mini beef Wellington but they seemed really focused.
I ran around with my intern friends and acted immaturely and made the male models take pictures with me. That was quite fun because they were beautiful. Not handsome, but beautiful.
Another reason I should be a part of more after-parties is because I LOVE mingling. Mingling is my favorite thing next to mini beef Wellingtons and sales at Zara. If I get a little champagne in me I am a catch.
Also the former Style Director at Vogue asked me where the bathroom was so I think we’re getting lunch with Anna Wintour later this week?