....sitting on a train full of people coming home from work wearing a full evening make-up and tugging at your hair while checking out your reflection in the window. Avoiding the judgemental looks people who seem to be irritated by your bare legs keep throwing you.
Putting on another coat of lipstick for the thirteenth time when you get the chance to see yourself in the single mirror of your classmates apartment. Then, slumping around in an armchair while watching the other six people in the room contour their faces and straighten their hair.
Eating three quarters of an entire prosciutto pizza right out of the box. Praying there won't be any stains when you lift it up again. Redoing your lipstick, because grease.
Assisting someone who's wearing high heels. Also, freezing your skirt-clad behind off and holding on to your hair like a schizophrenic hearing voices because it feels like you're in a wind canal and no hairspray is strong enough to keep your needle thin hair down.
Walking along backdoors and brick bulding walls for so long you don't remember which show you came for. Feeling positively insider-y though.
More wind, then a tent which is surprisingly heated. There's carpet. Standing around chatting by the runway until some guy in a beanie tells you to get out of the photographers' view and take your seats.
Snatching an elegant black gift bag off the elegant white linnen seats. Taking fancy "I'm at a fashion show but it's not started yet so I'm basically backstage" pictures of the old factory hall the runway's in. I think it's cool, too, but I wonder what kind of weird fascination people seem to have with old factory halls. I mean, nobody would want to have a show in a new factory hall.
Two people sitting in front of you who are constantly giggling and wooing their designer friends. They are systematically emptying the little prosecco cans they've been collecting from the gift bags. Those two are always there in some form. They need to be there 'cause they can be fun for about five seconds. Just don't be them.
Watching the show with a semi professional look on your face. Thinking: This is so gorgeous, I want to wear that on a red carpet. I wonder what that song is called. That is a nice gown. Alternatively, thinking: Is that a tent? That girl must be wearing a tent. Because if that's supposed to be a dress, we need to talk about the definition of dresses.
Gulping down an entire bottle of juice (with a straw, because lipstick) and standing around in another tent looking out for possible business contacts/male models. Telling people you liked the show and forgetting your favorite collection so you just smile secretively when they ask.
Stuffing your face with another (cold) slice of pizza before getting into a cab and to the after-party. Realizing the after-party is a total bore filled with ladys in suspiciously sparkling dresses with cut-outs on the back. Graciously moving your shoulders for a mediocre fifteen minutes highlighted by a guy who's took the opportunity to show off his pole dancing skills. Being slightly put off. Leaving while your feet are still alive.
I hope you had an eventful night.
Love,
Rosy Smith
PS: Would you look at my excellent face swiping skills. It's beyond me how I'm not a retouching-artist.
Putting on another coat of lipstick for the thirteenth time when you get the chance to see yourself in the single mirror of your classmates apartment. Then, slumping around in an armchair while watching the other six people in the room contour their faces and straighten their hair.
Eating three quarters of an entire prosciutto pizza right out of the box. Praying there won't be any stains when you lift it up again. Redoing your lipstick, because grease.
Assisting someone who's wearing high heels. Also, freezing your skirt-clad behind off and holding on to your hair like a schizophrenic hearing voices because it feels like you're in a wind canal and no hairspray is strong enough to keep your needle thin hair down.Walking along backdoors and brick bulding walls for so long you don't remember which show you came for. Feeling positively insider-y though.
More wind, then a tent which is surprisingly heated. There's carpet. Standing around chatting by the runway until some guy in a beanie tells you to get out of the photographers' view and take your seats.
Snatching an elegant black gift bag off the elegant white linnen seats. Taking fancy "I'm at a fashion show but it's not started yet so I'm basically backstage" pictures of the old factory hall the runway's in. I think it's cool, too, but I wonder what kind of weird fascination people seem to have with old factory halls. I mean, nobody would want to have a show in a new factory hall.
Two people sitting in front of you who are constantly giggling and wooing their designer friends. They are systematically emptying the little prosecco cans they've been collecting from the gift bags. Those two are always there in some form. They need to be there 'cause they can be fun for about five seconds. Just don't be them.Watching the show with a semi professional look on your face. Thinking: This is so gorgeous, I want to wear that on a red carpet. I wonder what that song is called. That is a nice gown. Alternatively, thinking: Is that a tent? That girl must be wearing a tent. Because if that's supposed to be a dress, we need to talk about the definition of dresses.
Gulping down an entire bottle of juice (with a straw, because lipstick) and standing around in another tent looking out for possible business contacts/male models. Telling people you liked the show and forgetting your favorite collection so you just smile secretively when they ask.
Stuffing your face with another (cold) slice of pizza before getting into a cab and to the after-party. Realizing the after-party is a total bore filled with ladys in suspiciously sparkling dresses with cut-outs on the back. Graciously moving your shoulders for a mediocre fifteen minutes highlighted by a guy who's took the opportunity to show off his pole dancing skills. Being slightly put off. Leaving while your feet are still alive.I hope you had an eventful night.
Love,
Rosy Smith
PS: Would you look at my excellent face swiping skills. It's beyond me how I'm not a retouching-artist.
