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I stole a piece of cake tonight. After spending about six or seven hours cooped up in a hot room with about one hundred models and fashion designers, I don't even feel guilty. Surely this is proof of my descent into lawlessness.
The fashion show went very well. Well, aside from the extremely loud models backstage, that is, but they're both amateurs and volunteers, so what do you expect? By the end, we were all really tired, had sore feet or sore other body parts (depending on the couture), thirsty, and hungry. Two plates of vegetables had been placed behind the scenes, but they didn't last very long. And there weren't enough glasses for the water pitchers.
So is it a surprise that when cakes, squares, pies, and other tasty sweets were brought out at the end of the show that we all dove in and grabbed a piece or two?
Nope.
After we'd started gobbling down our food, a frustrated woman was going around to people saying, "You need to have a ticket! You need to have a ticket!" Apparently, the desserts were for people who had purchased $6 tickets. For a while, I felt guilty for having dug into a piece of carrot cake, but then, after the rush had worn off, there was still plenty of food left. Poof. My guilt disappeared.
Now, about the show itself.... I modelled a very conservative-looking skirt set. It is extremely well-made, and the designer is really lucky that it fit me perfectly. I did my little run on the catwalk, and camera flashes were popping all over. I held a pose for every photographer with a camera trained on me, did my turns, and left. Piece of, er, cake.
Many of the models were terrified. I don't think most of them have ever done anything in front of a large audience before, and there were probably about 200-300 people in the seats. That's pretty daunting for the shy and pseudo-outgoing. So a few people raced across the catwalk at full tilt, careening on platform soles before making a mad dash back to the changing area. No one fell down. No one screwed up badly. So it was all pretty good. And f00 took a bunch of photos, too.
One of the costumes, an extremely revealing dress made of crocheted beadwork, was modelled by a fellow figure model from the Craft School. Although she's used to being naked in front of artists, wearing next to nothing in front of a few hundred laypeople is a different story. She was a bit nervous. She wore flesh-toned panties and flesh-toned self-adhesive bra cups beneath her dress. She looked positively naked. About five minutes before she was supposed to go out, her face fell.
"I have to go," she said.
"What?" asked the stage manager, understandably distressed.
"I need a tampon, right now!"
Those of us who overheard went "Eeeee!" in commiseration. Of all the things to be wearing when the bees start dying, her invisible dress just might have been one of the worst. Fortunately, she found a cotton pony in time, and the show went on.
Before she went out, the steady parade of models was receiving an equally steady stream of applause. When she walked out, the silence was overwhelming. I cackled quietly to myself backstage. She looked great--and naked! Fredericton's never seen anything like this before. Well, not since that time Guylaine cycled nude across the pedestrian bridge. Heh.
At the end of the intermission, the male emcee came backstage with us models. He said, "Quick! Someone kiss me!"
No, he wasn't being a dirty old man. Not really. He just wanted some lipstick marks on his face for a silly skit he was about to do. And since I was close by, and had the darkest lipstick of all, I was volunteered. So I slobbered my lips up to make them all gooey, and planted two smackeroos on his cheeks. I'd never met the guy before. I feel like such a slut.
The fashion show went very well. Well, aside from the extremely loud models backstage, that is, but they're both amateurs and volunteers, so what do you expect? By the end, we were all really tired, had sore feet or sore other body parts (depending on the couture), thirsty, and hungry. Two plates of vegetables had been placed behind the scenes, but they didn't last very long. And there weren't enough glasses for the water pitchers.
So is it a surprise that when cakes, squares, pies, and other tasty sweets were brought out at the end of the show that we all dove in and grabbed a piece or two?
Nope.
After we'd started gobbling down our food, a frustrated woman was going around to people saying, "You need to have a ticket! You need to have a ticket!" Apparently, the desserts were for people who had purchased $6 tickets. For a while, I felt guilty for having dug into a piece of carrot cake, but then, after the rush had worn off, there was still plenty of food left. Poof. My guilt disappeared.
Now, about the show itself.... I modelled a very conservative-looking skirt set. It is extremely well-made, and the designer is really lucky that it fit me perfectly. I did my little run on the catwalk, and camera flashes were popping all over. I held a pose for every photographer with a camera trained on me, did my turns, and left. Piece of, er, cake.
Many of the models were terrified. I don't think most of them have ever done anything in front of a large audience before, and there were probably about 200-300 people in the seats. That's pretty daunting for the shy and pseudo-outgoing. So a few people raced across the catwalk at full tilt, careening on platform soles before making a mad dash back to the changing area. No one fell down. No one screwed up badly. So it was all pretty good. And f00 took a bunch of photos, too.
One of the costumes, an extremely revealing dress made of crocheted beadwork, was modelled by a fellow figure model from the Craft School. Although she's used to being naked in front of artists, wearing next to nothing in front of a few hundred laypeople is a different story. She was a bit nervous. She wore flesh-toned panties and flesh-toned self-adhesive bra cups beneath her dress. She looked positively naked. About five minutes before she was supposed to go out, her face fell.
"I have to go," she said.
"What?" asked the stage manager, understandably distressed.
"I need a tampon, right now!"
Those of us who overheard went "Eeeee!" in commiseration. Of all the things to be wearing when the bees start dying, her invisible dress just might have been one of the worst. Fortunately, she found a cotton pony in time, and the show went on.
Before she went out, the steady parade of models was receiving an equally steady stream of applause. When she walked out, the silence was overwhelming. I cackled quietly to myself backstage. She looked great--and naked! Fredericton's never seen anything like this before. Well, not since that time Guylaine cycled nude across the pedestrian bridge. Heh.
At the end of the intermission, the male emcee came backstage with us models. He said, "Quick! Someone kiss me!"
No, he wasn't being a dirty old man. Not really. He just wanted some lipstick marks on his face for a silly skit he was about to do. And since I was close by, and had the darkest lipstick of all, I was volunteered. So I slobbered my lips up to make them all gooey, and planted two smackeroos on his cheeks. I'd never met the guy before. I feel like such a slut.
