In another life I was a fashion obsessive. At 19 I thought I could be a model. It was an expensive delusion that lasted a year or two. The fantasy was not indulged at home but the money was handed over I presume in the knowledge that I would earn some valuable good sense the hard way. And so courses and a portfolio were forked out for and copies of Vogue piled up in my room. The head shots were actually quite nice. I sort of wish I still had them. They got swallowed up in the sleazy circuit of auditions and agency castings that lasted about a month.
On the one day that a call came for me to do a paid runway job my brother took the call and I got told about it a week after the event.
I indulged in my dream for all it was worth and got to prance around a couple of catwalks in college and loved damn every minute of it. The heady memories of Ray Darcy dimming the lights so I could demonstrate for the Rathmines College of Commerce audience a second time the designer’s artistry in my Jean Paul Gaultier-esque one piece.
I probably lucked out in the end. A taste was all I needed and I missed out on the cocaine and starvation rituals that goes with the territory.
During that phase of my life spent many hours drawing the faces from the glossy magazines. The industry captivated something deep in me. I was a late developer physically and so emotionally immature I allowed myself be swept away in the images that dangled before me the illusion of a glamorous future in New York, just as I had done watching Desperately Seeking Susan as a thirteen years old.
The difference is that hankering will never die. Bad behaviour and mildly outrageous capers is a dream I won’t give up on.
If you enjoyed this post you will probably enjoy more coming of age fashion misadventures here https://suzieperon.wordpress.com/2011/05/05/bodycon-the-religion-and-why-i-cant-wear-cardigans/
Thank you for reading.