Yesterday I was working in the showroom with a girl who was 5’10” and weighed no more than 100 pounds. She was fresh out of high school from Florida but spoke German as well. I had to refrain from making Holocaust jokes, it was just too easy. Her skin was so transparent I could see all 206 of her bones. She didn’t look a day over 93. Before the first client arrived the waiter offered us breakfast- mini blueberry muffins, croissants, bagels, etc. I took a muffin and ate half of it. Betty Bulimia kindly rejected his offer, her excuse was that she doesn’t eat processed foods. Are you shitting me? How awful is your life?
Myself and the other 2 models quickly change in and out of clothes to show the flaming gay lead fashion director from a well-known department store. I stumble out in heels that are 2 sizes too large and a dress that is pinned in 5 places to compensate for my size 32B boobs but size 4 hips. I stop in front of the pristine white table that has 6 well dressed people seated at it, all of which are wearing far too much makeup (even the men) and expensive Chanel watches. There’s a plate of mini-cheesecake squares, macaroons, and brownies in the middle of the table that of course has not been touched. I walk over to the table like I love my life and the dress I’m wearing. I’ve done this hundreds of times but still don’t know where to place my gaze. I uncomfortably make eye contact with each person, awaiting their reaction of the garment I’m wearing. Silence…
“She looks great, but a normal person would look hideous in this!”
“What happens when someone with breasts wears this?”
“What’s going on with the seams?”
“Is this bra friendly?”
“Look at how its bunching at her hips.”
I stand there with a smile and give them a fake laugh when they mention how small my chest is. They ask me if I would wear the dress. I tell them “of course! it’s one of my favorite from the collection!” yeah right, I can’t exhale and the material is as soft as my pubic hair after 2 days of not shaving. I would probably be more comfortable in the room Alex from A Clockwork Orange was locked into with his eyes pinned open watching horribly offensive videos. I turn around and walk back into the closet. Repeat.
This is my life for the whole month of August. I am a walking dartboard in the fashion world for criticism of designers . I sometimes wonder why they don’t put the clothes on a mannequin and just roll it out to the clients. It’s baffling that a job like this exists.