Hair and makeup today involved a lion’s mane of crimp-fried backcombings, smooshed into a mushroom and christened with hairspray. So many volatile organic compounds descended on my cranium that, by my last exit, the hairstylist was happy to just poke and nudge my crowning glory into position with the long end of a comb. It didn’t budge.
Not that it isn’t possible to find one’s zen backstage.
Tips for dealing with multiple-hour beautifying sessions of the beauty-is-pain aesthetic praxis? Models got ‘em. We: Read On Beauty. Keep our earbuds discreetly in. Do yoga breathing. Read and highlight On Liberty. Sip Red Bull through straws. Peruse study guides for tomorrow’s Year 12 mock exams. Wonder aloud why someone asks if we want a Red Bull every two minutes but nobody seems to have any food. Such is life when it is your fate to get up close and personal with a very nice person whose job happens to be to inflict discomfort on your sensitive parts for as long as it takes.
Lookee here, someone named Getty took my picture during the runway run-through:
And then again during the real thing.
I bit the dust in these shoes. The 6.5″ platform pencil-point stillettoes did me in; Thank god it wasn’t during the first showing of this collection, which was the big media to-do, but during the second, which was only for buyers. (Though I’m sure tomorrow or this weekend when I feel like a spot of ego-mortification, I’ll be able to dig some pictures up — I heard definite cooings of excitement from the photographers’ pit when I found myself suddenly kneecapped after coming off the turn.) Another model tumbled in the same t-straps during the buyers’ show; I’m relieved it wasn’t worse for either of us. I didn’t roll an ankle, didn’t tear the dress, didn’t break the strap and have to hobble dejectedly back down the long gangplank, didn’t take anyone else out with me. I’ve bruised worse at concerts. If this is my fall, I can suck it up and see a bright side.
It is now 1:03 a.m. Took an hour of concerted combing, two ear-splitting hair-cuticle-screeching rubber-band removals, and one half-cup of conditioner to undo the ‘do. But the long shower was kind of blissful.
That’s all for tonight, folks. This model hit up no after parties: This model tired. Model no table-dance and Moet-drink. Model need sleep of beauty. Model enjoy friend’s couch very much. Model enjoy lateish 10 a.m. call time very, very much.