At an A/W '09 presentation for the high street giant that is GAP, there was a live catwalk. Dressed in (admittedly gorgeous) layered fair isle knits, biker jackets and shearling coats, 30 or so models were required to remain impassive whilst standing on a raised plinth under hot lights for over an hour. The fashion crowd, decked out in strappy Balmain/Zara (delete as appropriate for masthead positioning) on an unusually warm London evening, ogled their subjects as they wandered down the row, glass of wine in one hand, sausage roll in the other. The models looked miserable. Even the best were defeated. Tears streamed down Jourdan Dunn's face as she stoically tried to put up with the pain of a pair of Pierre Hardy shearling boots that were two sizes too small. Her neighbour, Jessica Stam, grimaced in sympathy as she had to be helped off the catwalk half way through. Ten minutes later, another girl buckled under the pressure. She fainted straight into the arms of LOVE's new Deputy Editor Isaac Lock, who came running to her rescue heroically. It was model mayhem. And made me wonder why these girls put up with the perils of the job - not to mention having to survive on a single floret of broccoli (apparently the new breakfast choice for top models)? Mind you, knowing GAP and their prolific gifting, I'm sure the Pierre Hardy boots they'll all leave carrying will help sweeten the blow. Somehow I don't think you'll see Jourdan wearing hers though...
Monday, 23 March 2009
Model Behaviour
Despite my best intentions not to judge, I'd always imagined modelling to be a doddle. Throw on a few clothes, throw around some poses, perfect a ridiculous walk. Perhaps it was an automatic reflex action. Insane jealousy over perfect skin had to be counteracted by a huge dollop of cynicism. Well if those assumptions weren't quashed during London Fashion Week - when I watched models cry with pain as hair extensions that had been glued for a show were ripped out less than an hour later, or saw 14-year-olds who didn't even know how to dress themselves (er, London requires a coat in September - especially if you're the size of a matchstick) let alone speak English struggle to find their way through the maze that is South Kensington tube station - they certainly were tonight.
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