Another Post about Fashion Show

Singapore Fashion Fest 2007 - Aigner

Current mood:complacent

hello my friends and welcome to the first entry for Singapore Fashion Fest for 2007. Now i know that some of you are already models and have been subjected to the cruelties described herein, but if you are not a model and have not had the pleasure of being ridiculed, poked, stabbed, walked on, laughed at, stuffed into a size 0 outfit, or being called a "ponce" by a clearly flaming 5'2 rotund gay singaporean man who wishes he were a 6'2 anorexic woman - then i'll do my best.

now i've done my share of shows - being in singapore for over 2 years (and indeed, around the world for the rest of my long career) i've done EVERYTHING - and this year i thought would be just as horrible as last years travesty called Fashion Week. so i gracefully BOWED OUT. yes my friends, i took one for the team, i flaked, i simply EXCUSED myself from the whole affair altogether. no going to cattle call castings (these are where the ENTIRETY of southeast asia is invited to come to a massive casting for a fashion show. meaning if i had diegned to attend one, i would have to sit in a roomful of bitching models and guys who say its too hot and swiftly remove their shirts and do a handful of pushups to the delight of the teen models for a quick hook-up.. eeeeyewwww). No walking in high heels that strain by formerly broken ankle (and thus end up with horrible cramps in said foot for a night)
but then the agency calls - as the often do - and says, "Linda, you were requested to do Aigner show. Interested, can?" (can = yes in singlish).

sigh. of course i'll do it. i'm requested, which means i get to skip the casting process altogether and just go straight to a fitting and show.

time for the casting arrives! i go to a warehouse that i'm familiar with, and i try on some amazing clothes from the designer Aigner. very simple, yet futuristic, dark somber colors and the most amazingly high, frilly (yes FRILLY) boots i had ever seen. the first outfit was something actually a bit forgettable, judging by the fact i cannot recall it at this moment. the second was a purple shift dress with a copper jacket. no prob there. the third outfit was passed to me from another model who could not fit in it. well i have news for you - if she ain't gonna fit, chances are I"m not gonna! i was right. i put the pants on... there was no zipper on the side, and we had to pinch it together to see if it would close. let me put it to you this way: it WOULD have closed IF i actually ZIPPED an INCH of my HIP FAT INTO IT!

have you EVER done this? let me tell you, it is painful. when you are backstage, and some eager beaver dresser who has NEVER done a show before (the dresser of choice at sing fashion shows because they don't demand PAYMENT. no one learns this the first time.) zips you into a side zip right on your ribcage and you have NO CHOICE but to UNZIP and try again and NOT BLEED ON the heavily embellished gown???!!! oh... you haven't? oh... gee... let me assure it is not PLEASANT. i'm a bleeder... and a crier too.)

anyhow...
i thank the ladies (they are lovely) and head home, happy that the fitting went reasonably well.

ok SHOW TIME!!!

The aigner show as one of the ones done on opening day. I go to check my clothes (all good trained runway models check their clothes BEFORE the show to make sure that they fit and there is no damage that you can be blamed and docked payment for later...) and there are those damned pants. with a zipper. i start to sweat. i can feel my hip fat start to prick a little with anticipation... i reach for them and put them on.....
THEN.... SNAG!!! THEY DON'T FIT! I CANT' GET THEM OVER MY LOWER THIGHS!!! apparently when a new zip was sewn in, they made the pants SMALLER by 1 inch!!!!! NO WAY could i fit in that!!!

sigh of relief! my hip fat has stopped tingling and relief floods my system. excuse me, Jack (choreographer) these pants don't fit! yay!!!

there was a tiny little size 0 model who was wearing a flaming red gown that was STUNNING, but looked on her like she was little more than a glorified coat hanger. not so nice.

"say, jack... she looks tiny enough for these pants..."

i was just trying to offload the pants, not take over her dress. but instead of me going down a change, i was then given this gorgeous red dress. by the way - she was unhappy with me, but the pants fit her like a glove, and truth be told, they were a little too big for her.

and i get to OPEN the show with this gorgeous red dress!!!

such is the fortune of fashion week. unintentional, and i got rave reviews from the audience. i was happy for that.
wanna see????

click below for your own upload....
http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/51584040/?qo=11&q=singapore+fashion+festival+2007&qh=boost%3Apopular+age_sigma%3A24h+age_scale%3A5

Fun from the Past

I have been looking for a place to start a blog, as i've had a few starts and stops before: but since most of my time is spent running around after my son, i'm going to have to start with a few gems from another blog site that i have and have since abandoned it.

They are good stories from some experiences that i've had backstage.

Enjoy.

WHY AM I MAD??! (from Oct '06)

but seriously folks, why am i spitting nails mad?

i'll tell you...

it was a dark and stormy night... - actually i had just gotten off the plane from bali and i had to rush like mad to get to the ritz-carlton for a fashion show for all the IMF people who had flooded this little island that i now deign to call home. oli was going to meet me to bring me all i needed for the show - my black pants and my shoes.

my darling shoes. 3 pair that are my little saviors for my fashion shows. they go with everything under the sun that a designer is going to throw at me last minute: a pair of black stilettos that would qualify as a dangerous weapon (about 5 in heels), my gold studded bcbg pair that scream "i'm a facking QUEEN and i dont care who knows it", and... my new Singapore brand silver heels - glittering and bright, they are the only pair i have that is under 5 inches and more than 2. so they made the cut. plus they are easy to slip in and out of - and when you are running backstage and have to change in 30 secs or less, these are genuine lifesavers.

so i hurry backstage. as usual, i'm the loudest ( i AM an american!), the most experienced (14 years under my belt and going for big bad I-hope-i-at-least-get-a-gold-watch-for-this 15 )- and the oldest.

i mean the other girls are BABIES. some are even half my age! honestly, its enough to make me consider retirement, but when you have the reputation for opening and closing shows with finesse, and showing these "girls" how its done - i have expectations to live up to. and i can't say no.

so i walk backstage, sizing the girls up - really trying to get a feel for them. i smile a lot. i meet a lot of pouty looks back. i ignore those. i hear alot of romanian, brazilian portuguese - and once in a while, english. so i gravitate to those girls.

as asked oli brings my accessories and i place them on a table. thanks sweetie.

then - the interviews - yes i give interviews. why? because i'm good at them. but probably more to the point: i'm the only one who speaks english. and loudly, i think i already mentioned that.

anyway... the show begins and i'm dressed by an army of ladies who treat me like a mannequin in a store window. i'm opening the show - so more attention is paid to me. my tummy is bruised from harsh fingers forcing a gorgeous sari into my waistband. yeowch. pull my hair. force earrings in my ears. twirl me around. it is brutal.

but a good seasoned model knows what she is wearing. its a sari for chrissakes. simple. i had about 3 more saris in the show, and 4 other outfits. i had my shoes laid out.

during my 3rd change i knew i had to change shoes to my silver beauties to match the outfit i was wearing. when i raced to my pile to retrieve them - they were missing.

i yelled for them like they were going to come out from under the racks of clothes and let me scold them for running away. then... the cold realization... they had been abducted.

i go backstge to wait for my turn, now distracted by the fate of my favorite shoes. i find them alright. perched on the fat feet of a non-english speaking pouty lipped 18yr old girl from brazil. or romania. i'm not sure which.

so i point at her and say - my shoes! before i'm thrust back on the catwalk and there i go... midsentence about those damn shoes.

a few seconds later i am racing backstage throwing clothes from my body as if they were on fire and getting more clothes back on... i pass the girl again. i point to her feet and cry, "those are my shoes! you COW!"

the last insult was hurled because she gave me a look. you know the look. the narrowed eyed, glare of ignorance, but petulance all the same.

at the end of the show i have a press junket, fotos, video, general schmoozing.. all the while in the back of my head i'm wondering if she walked out with my shoes still on her stinky feet. finally when all that is over, i hurry backstage - ready for the inevitable confrontation.

but all i found was a pile of clothes with my gorgeous shoes, somehow dulled of their sparkle, lying in state on the floor. used, abused and discarded. i slide one on my daintier slender foot... and it had been stretched beyond what will stay on. like it had been molested, raped, and left for dead right before my eyes... and i was powerless to stop it.

this is why i hate working with little girls. granted this little girl was an amazon compared to me, i still have to deal with their ignorance. they will NEVER have the opportunities that i have had. they will never achieve what i have achieved in this business. so when i'm slighted without even asking to borrow my things or even a gruff thanks for my baling them out of trouble, i get a little upset. no. i get mad. mad enough to spit nails.

oh i still have the shoes. they are recuperating at the bottom of my models bag, fondly wrapped in soft sacks so they won't get dirty. just like before the rape at the show. they are the reminders that working in this business is like that experience - to be used and abused and eventually... thrown away.