Top and skirt: BERLIN-Shoes: Jimmy Choo-Cuff: 8 Other Reasons
This is what I wore to the first day of Fashion Week where I
viewed some amazing designer shows. But to be bluntly honest, who really wants
to read another blog post about a whimsical collection that describes an array
of beautiful pieces in a number of words that don’t flow, creating sentences
that only force you to look at pictures? A majority of the time It’s just like,
wow! I didn’t even know those things were sequins they look like beads, wait, in
the next sentence they are referred to as beads, ARE THEY SEQUINS OR BEADS? So,
I will share the story of this dress. Its journey was humorous, just not for
me…..
If fashion were a person, I would marry it and make it the
centre of my universe. Therefore, as a Fashion Week virgin, the emphasis of
perfection on my first experience came with unrealistic expectations. Firstly, I
made this top and midi skirt combo on the night before my flight- despite
owning and buying many new clothes, I had nothing to wear! Its greatest feature
is the baroque like floral pattern interweaved into the fabric (I'm not a photographer so this is barely visible.)Under pressure, there was no time for
inserting zips. Therefore putting on the top and skirt involves much labour; pacing
up and down the hallway pulling, puffing and squeezing my way into the tight
non-stretch fabric. Once this is achieved, I then tighten the waistband of the
skirt by sewing myself into it.
The morning of Fashion Week
Having not slept in over 48 hours, I snoozed through my alarm
and woke 2 hours before my first show. A wise best-friend had texted me that
morning “...and remember, if your wearing something white, put your make up on afterwards:).”
My stomach was white and the rest of my body tan. A naughty application of
instant tan in a can was necessary in order to easily perceive a gap between my
crop top and skirt. I obediently waited for it to dry before squeezing into my
outfit, tan did not rub off onto the waist band where expected, however a turn to the side showed a ribbed brown pattern down the left
of my top. Bah!- I'll wipe it off later. I have makeup to do, hair to style, nails to paint.......Did I? YES! OH MY GOD- I forgot my MAC Russian red lipstick and red nail
polish-Essential’s.
20 minutes later....
Scrub, scrub, scrub in the bathroom; great now my top has a wet,
brown watercolour blot. My arm is rubbing in it, so part of my freshly
tanned arm looks as if it has alopecia. DAMN YOU TAN IN A CAN. No time for
damning the tan in a can, I must finish sticking on the jewels to the canvas
clutch that I’m using. With 40 minutes to go before my first show and having not collected my pass, I looked at myself in the mirror with my finished clutch. The aim was for the clutch to make a similar statement to that of a Vintage Fendi
Bageutte, but the only statement in my ensemble was: fake tan fail. Oh god- what
if I get refused entry to MBFWA? Imagine what the other guests will think of my
outfit. Perhaps a Cosmo writer will see me and decide to start a new page
called ‘faux-tan tales’ and get readers to send in their tragic stories, or a
gossip magazine will start a ‘Worst dressed at Fashion Week,’ starting and
ending with ‘The girl who pooped on her top.’ No time for crying now. My black oversized
Sportsgirl handbag will just have to do.
8 Other reasons
bracelet and rose gold Jimmy Choos match the zips on it perfectly- a small
consolation for a complete change of look. Inside the bag was months of loot
I’ve collected such as perfume samples, old lip balms, coins,
various bits of paper. It did not possess the contents of the Vogue-like instagram
shot I dreamed of taking involving sunglasses, ipad case, lipstick and a
fashion show invitation. Woe is me, I do not feel like Chanel.Throw in purse and phone, put on heels.
Oh look there’s a dry cleaner! Running inside, I'm lucky to
be immediately served by a handsome Greek god who appears to be helping out at
his family’s business.
“Nice dress, are you going somewhere?,” oh, and he likes my
dress.
“Yes to Fashion Week, do you have anything that can get this
out?!,” I move my bag from my shoulder, turning to show him the
stain.
“What is that!,” his grandfather has now also walked over
and they both stare.
“Can you get this out?” I plead to the old man unable to
look Greek God in the eye.
“Today? Right now?”
“Yes I need to come out right away!,” He shakes his head.
“It such a big job will not come out right this second, I
can do it for you for tomorrow.”
Tears prick my eyes but I hold onto them, my skirt is now
swimming around my waist because the tightening stiches have come out. I’m
offered a safety pin by the Greek god which in my fret, prick my finger on the needle. It starts bleeding. Kindly, he takes it from me and tightens my skirt himself, but I am too embarrassed to acknowledge his gesture whilst preventing my bloody finger from causing further damage to my life.
Pirie Street Mall
The red nail-polish I pick up is called 60 seconds by Rimmel.
Fantastic. Purchase-I now have less than 20 minutes before the show starts. Ching my phone bleeps:
Boss: Have you collected your pass ok?
There is no time for replies because I have already, shamefully
started painting my nails at the chemist counter.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry I never do things like this it’s just I
don’t have time- you must think I’m so weird!”
“No not at all!” the chemist lady waves her hands “I used to
do this for a living,” she comes over and paints my nails for me.
The application did not dry in 60 seconds, so as per
instructions from the chemist lady, I walked to MAC doing spasticated jazz
hands and blowing on my fingers. I finally recieved service at MAC after 10 minutes and purchased one lipstick. Cab hailed- phew!
“Where are you off to?”
“Fashion Week! The Carraigeworks please”
“Oh what are you doing there, are you modelling?” not buying
it cabbie.
Pull down mirror, lipstick is on teeth. Definitely not
buying it.
Disembarking my taxi, Choo's first, my feet gratefully adjusted to walking after running. Much to my relief, I walked into Carraigeworks without being asked to leave or get a new outfit. Some of the girls from FBI working around the venue even complimented me on my dress and enquired about the fabric. I was enthusiastic to talk to them because I too wanted to study at FBI however, as a girl who aspires to preach about fashion and style, a Journalism degree was my calling. I clutched my bag to my shoulder at the shows I attended that day, yet much to my surprise and joy- I was stopped to have my photo by photographers and a Korean Fashion magazine called Cracker Lab.
They might not be Vogue, but it made me feel as if the embarrassment, the sewing induced insomnia and the tanning was all worth it. In saying that, I caution all women who are prone to disaster to FILE away this lame little formula for spontaneous decisions: Tan and white looks hot. Tan on white does not.
I appreciate comments, leave your blog for me to check-out!
X X X
EM
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