Last week I got a phone call from a friend who is currently studying Fashion at university. She asked me to do her a favour and spend a morning modelling her designs. Sure, I am quite a posy person; I can’t go past a mirror, window heck even a spoon without checking out my reflection. I’ve even adopted a walk that could be mistaken for a strut which, let’s face it, doesn’t exactly belong in the ready meals aisle at ASDA. Nonetheless I was a little hesitant to agree to such a request. I can pose at my own will, one of the great gifts Myspace left us with, and I can gracefully carry off a few metres in heels before elegantly stumbling but posing when someone else tells you to is something that I don’t have much luck with. I’ll normally find it the perfect time to start giggling about something totally irrelevant I found funny a week ago or get so nervous I just pull funny faces. Still in the spirit of friendship I decided to go along with it.
Tuesday morning came and I was introduced to the fashion department at her university. It’s pretty sad how intimidating a bunch of girls armed with moody faces and sewing needles can be. Anyway, I decided to shrug the intimidation off and move over to the clothes rail I was assigned to. If it had been anyone else I was doing this for I would have probably cringed at the thought of wearing clothes made on a fashion course, giant collars and concept clothing are not exactly my idea of fashion, however, this friend I trust, and she did not fail me. I was really excited to try on the fur coat and cute mini dress she had made and I didn’t miss the opportunity to throw in several hints about taking them home, all of which remained fruitless.
The time came for me to get changed and I was suddenly sent into panic mode when I realised that I was expected to do this in one of the classrooms. I sheepishly walked into the room only to be confronted by a bunch of other girls all doing the same thing. Never in my life did I expect to be stood in my tights and bra in the middle of a full university classroom, I was just thankful she’d told me to wear matching underwear. I scanned the room, as you do, hoping to get a glimpse of what some of the other girls were being forced to wear, and shamefully hoping to see something unfortunate. Yep, sure as anything there was. I looked over to smile at one disappointed looking girl, who had been held hostage in what can only be described as Harry Hill’s female twin’s party outfit.
Finally, we had to go into a room to be judged. I walked in and placed myself in front of a panel of 5 people, all of which were of some importance in the fashion industry. I was dying a little inside, my knee wouldn’t stop twitching and I just didn’t know where to look, fearing that if I looked one of them in the eye they would kill me or god forbid ask me a question. I felt like a complete doll. I didn’t expect to be poked and prodded at like I was a strange food you play about with not knowing whether to eat it or not. I began to see what it must be like to be one of those models on This Morning that have to stand there whilst Holly watches as the camp fashion guy pulls and adjusts the dress that the poor woman is wearing.
It was then that I realised how unimportant to the process I actually was. They don’t care about the model, you’re just a clothes rail with arms and legs. It was kind of embarrassing when I was asked to walk and heard ‘Can you imagine that on a model sashaying down a runway?’ Gutted, I thought I’d put on my best model impression. Suddenly my grand moment had turned into Carrie Bradshaw’s infamous catwalk catastrophe, except without the falling over and I was asked to take off my heels as my stupid choice of tights kept rejecting them from my feet. A friendly but shameful ‘Oh you don’t wear heels do you?’ prompted my face to turn the same colour as my hair (Currently Cherry Red so you know). Still it was all in the name of being a friend and a size 10. It’s tough being beautiful!
Love L x
