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I nod along, mentally keeping notes. We’re on our way to a go-see in a rented studio a few blocks away from Central Park. Sometimes I have to pinch myself to remind myself I’m not dreaming. I’m going to a go-see as aclient. Models are going to be wearingmydesigns, walking up and down in a straight line to show off their walks to try and impressme.
I better be careful not to let this all go to my head.
“I’m in the process of renting a venue,” Miriam says. “It’s on the smaller side, but I wanted to see what you thought about putting a massive mirror behind the runway?”
“It’ll give the illusion that the runway is twice as long,” I realize aloud, excitement filling me.
“Precisely. Like aPalais De Versaillessituation.”
“Love it. I’m on board.”
“Now, how many models do you think you’ll need?”
“Well, I’ve got a collection of a hundred pieces,” I inform her. “I don’t think we have the budget nor the space to hire a hundred individual models.”
Miriam shakes her head, chuckling. “We don’t.”
“Okay, then how about we hire twenty-five. They can do quick changes in the back four times and that’ll rotate through my collection.”
“Love, love,loveit,” she says, her thumbs speedily taking notes on her phone.
We finally arrive at the studio in question. On the outside, the building appears unsuspecting and plain. It’s nothing but grey concrete and frosted windows, making it hard to see inside. Once inside, however, it’s a different story. It’s incredibly well-lit with tall ceilings and polished hardwood floors. The large room is sectioned off into two spaces, a holding area for the models and an actual work area just past a row of moveable clothing racks full of my dresses.
The moment I walk into the room, the air shifts. All eyes are on me. At least two hundred different women are here, all gorgeous and tall and… thin.
There’s nothing wrong with being a skinny model, but I expressly told Miriam that my line is intended for people of all shapes and body sizes and skin tones. Unfortunately, it looks like New York’s finest modeling agencies have only sent me their tallest, thinnest, and fairest.
“Um, I think we have a problem,” I whisper to Miriam as we take our seats behind a fold out table. My look book has already been laid out for me, several pens and papers for taking notes at the ready.
“What’s wrong?” she asks me, quickly settling into her own chair.
“I was hoping for a little more diversity when it came to the models,” I say, making sure to keep my voice low. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re all very pretty, but…”
“I totally get your meaning,” Miriam says, nibbling on the endcap of her pen. “I was very specific in my casting call, but many models have already been booked out in advance to prepare for Fashion Week. These are the ones who could come on such short notice.”
I grimace. “I was afraid of that.”
“Don’t worry, Arin. We’ve got plenty of time. I’ll send another note to casting and tell them to broaden their search substantially. For now, though, let’s see how many of these models will work for your vision.”
“Okay, I can work with that.” I turn a little to look at Johnny. He’s been standing this entire time. “Do you want to take a seat?”
“I’m alright, Ms. Wilson. Gotta stay, uh… alert and stuff. Boss’s orders.”
“Alert and stuff? Johnny, just take a seat, okay? This might take a while. If a model tries to stab me with her heel or something,thenyou can do what you gotta do.”
Johnny shifts his weight from foot to foot, pausing for a moment to consider. It doesn’t take him very long to relent, occupying the seat behind us.
“I’ll call the first girl in,” Miriam says with a smile.
There’s a method to all the madness. Every woman that comes in has roughly seven minutes allotted to them. They come in wearing big smiles and offering polite greetings. They give their name, their height, and the agency they’re with. Then Miriam asks them to show us their walk.
It takes a moment for me to get used to it. The walking. Because it’s notreallywalking. Nobody in their right mind would be caught in the streets of New York strutting their stuff like this, yet in the world of high fashion, it makes so much sense.
Some girls are absolutely mesmerizing, the easy sway of their hips and their relaxed posture and their expressions that scream ‘Yeah, I’m real fucking gorgeous so keep your eyes on me.’ The pose at the end of the walk before smoothly turning to sashay away fascinate me.
And then there are the trainwrecks. Most of them are newbies and doing their darndest not to snap their ankles in six-inch heels. Some flail, some trip. One poor woman falls flat on her ass. I feel downright awful for her, but she has enough grace to laugh it off. She’s got a lovely personality, and while she isn’t quite what I’m looking for, I genuinely hope she has a successful career.
By the end of the day, I’ve selected ten of the twenty-five models I’m looking to hire. Deep down, I’m anxious. Hopefully I can hire everyone I need well before the actual show. I need to account for fittings and adjustments, not to mention rehearsal time. All in all, we’re making good progress.
