Paris Fashion Week 2005

Today‘s skirt is by Marc Jacobs. It’s a size 2 and I don’t know how it fits me. There will be a Marc Jacobs reference later in the story. In the Fall of 2005, I was studying abroad at the American University of Paris. The teacher of my Color Communications class knew a reporter working for the Canadian Broadcasting Company's show "Fashion FIle." They needed interns to help them with their coverage of Paris Fashion Week. I immediately expressed interest. I love fashion and always have. I had been fortunate to attend a few fashion shows in New York City when I was interning for Women's Wear Daily and W magazine. But Paris was the dream. I was asked to get to the shows early and mark a spot for the camera person to get the best angle of the show, using tape. The ideal place was behind the design house's camera, close to the center. I learned to take a razor and cut the tape into smaller pieces, so that no one could remove it and claim the spot as their own. It was all a bit dramatic, but that's how fashion is. My first show was Jean Paul Gautier. I was nervous, having never done this before. The designer's team didn't like people getting there too early, since they had to do their own setup. That day there was a transit strike, which is typical for Paris. I think it was also a Jewish holiday, but I didn't care. I had a job to do. I made it to the venue and showed my badge to the security person. "Maquillage?" he asked. I knew that meant makeup. "Oui," I said, casually. He assumed I was on the makeup team, and I wasn't about to correct him. I'd made it in. I immediately went into the bathroom to catch my breath and wipe the sweat off my unmakeup-ed face. I found a great spot and waited. When the show began, I was ecstatic. I took some pictures with my little digital camera. Laeticia Costa, a famous model with a curvy figure, was in the show. It was very theatrical, with lots of color and classic Parisian looks. The next show was Alexander McQueen. I looked for celebrities in attendance. I spotted Lou Doillon, the daughter of Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin, which the Birkin bag is named for. One model was so rail thin, that her bones were popping out from her pelvis. I took a picture of her too. She wore a jeweled bikini, leaving very little to the imagination. During this time I was still in classes at AUP, but I felt like I'd won Fashion Week. The other best part was running into various editors I'd worked with back in New York, during my many internships. They must have been confused to see me there. The creme de la creme of the week was the Louis Vuitton show. Marc Jacobs was the lead designer and it was going to be held at the Palais Royale off the Champs Elysees. This was the big leagues. I had to get the best spot. I was out with some friends the night before the show. We walked by the venue, and I saw people already setting it up. I approached the security guys, and asked if I could come back, with my tape. They looked at me like I was crazy, but they said it was OK. Maybe they were impressed by my dedication. I ran back home and grabbed my tape. Another trick I'd learned was to save two spots and give one away. Then someone owed me a favor for next time. The next night, the street was full of fashion elite and spectators. I made my way into the show, pleased to see my prime spot still saved. The show was everything I'd hoped it would be. Models, celebrities, and champagne. I saw Uma Thurman and Salma Hayek. I stayed for the afterparty, knowing for sure that I had peaked and life wouldn't be the same again. It was a dream. Back at school, and a regular student again, I wrote an article for the student newspaper. I didn't want to forget what I'd seen. Jessica Kerwin, my former editor at Women's Wear Daily had been moved to the Paris Bureau. I emailed her, to tell her I was in Paris and would like to meet. I wasn't sure she'd agree, since I'd been fired from that internship, but she did. I can't even remember why I was fired, but it was probably having a bad attitude and not wanting to work too hard for too little money. That intern life was a struggle. But Jessica generously gave me tickets to fashion shows she wasn't able to attend. One of them was Collette Dinnigan, the Australian based Designer. I went to that show, and on each seat there was a guide book of Collette's favorite places to go in Sydney. That day really jump started my move there. Being in Paris, meeting lots of international people, and knowing I had dual citizen with Australia, my mother's birthplace, gave me the confidence to take that leap. A year later, I had moved to Sydney, with Collete's recommendations in hand. I went to all the one's I could afford. I look back on that time in my life and can't quite believe it all happened. There was a lot of pain, and living abroad isn't easy. There are cultural differences and sometimes language barriers to navigate. Finding a home in a big city is tough. Learning all the life hacks takes time and patience. But saying I've lived in New York, Boston, Paris, Sydney, and San Francisco makes me feel proud. I always manage to end up in the right place. Sometimes I can feel my soul light up, like when I'm watching a fashion show, or a performance at the Sydney Opera House. So much has happened, and I don't want to forget that it was real. On the days when I feel low, and don't know what I'm doing here on Earth, I remember the good times, and try to have faith that there will be more. When I started my fashion blog last March, I made a commitment to myself to post an outfit every single day, and I have. I'd love to get more followers and be offered lots of money for the items that don't fit me or I don't like as much, but I'll keep posting because it makes me happy.