Model Behaviour

So, you may remember that I was asked to model a wedding gown at a wedding fayre on a catwalk a couple of weeks ago. I bought myself some vile gold and white shoes that were fairly flat (for me – 3 inches) and a strapless white bra only to be told by my coworker and fellow model that the dress originally destined for me had been flogged and that I was going to be wearing a turquoise and black prom dress instead. No problems: I got to wear black shoes and didn’t have to worry about my usually vampish make-up not really befitting the face of a blushing bride.

We turned up at the venue to find that the catwalk was raised from the floor and that it was about a metre wide. Worried, we all turned and started muttering to each other about the possibility of falling off, tripping up and generally making tits out of ourselves. We were then told that we would be helped up and down the steps by a couple of tuxedo-ed volunteers and we figured that if we just had to climb up one end and down the other, we could manage it.

Then, I saw my dress. Whilst everyone else was slipping into chiffon and lace confections, my turquoise and blue sequinned prom dress glared out from the rows of white and ivory like an evil blue eye.

The dress was like something you might’ve seen on Come Dancing from the 80s. I didn’t get a photo (funny, that) but this is similar to what it looked like, only turquoise rather than  purple.

Nice. Still, I get to sashay down a catwalk so I wasn’t complaining. Hell, I’d have braved the runway with a turkey strapped to my back.

As it turned out, the dress was gigantic, even with a copious amount of safety pins at the back. I was starting to panic, thinking that there wouldn’t be a dress to fit me and I would have to skulk home, the only model in history too thin to strut her stuff.

And then, thankfully, a dress appeared. A huge wedding dress with a long train and a long veil. Not something I would pick for myself but, God, something I definitely wanted to dress up in. It was a little bit big, and I had to slip my black bra off and make do with the odd flash of a black shoe but it was mine to wear. On a catwalk. Hurrah.

Then, we were told that the sequence would be: get helped up onto catwalk, walk down, stop at end, smile for photographs, turn around and walk back. The catwalk was only a metre wide. Everybody;s dresses were about two metres wide with trains and veils and all sorts of obstacles to contend with.

I was bricking it as I waited for my turn but once I got up there, I didn’t trip, I took my time, I smiled, I enjoyed wearing a marvellous dress and hoped that somebody would see it and buy it.

My inner model has been nourished and I loved every moment, despite the gut-wrenching  nerves. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even if I had to wear the Come Dancing dress.

This entry was posted in Criiiiiiiiiinge, Just a Little Bit About Me, Me Time, Never Mind the Beckhams, Yay! and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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