Showing posts with label designers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label designers. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Hooker at #19

I'm a friendly girl, I have no qualms about meeting people, even randomly greeting strangers walking through a shopping mall and so on. When I moved into my new complex, I was rather excited about meeting my new neighbors. I kind of imagined my neighbors would all be twenty-something, fun people. I imagined parties at our super cool clubhouse, knocking on each others doors because we were out of sugar...kidding, more like: Jack Daniels or Lime...or both.
When I was moving my furniture in I thought for sure people would come out their doors and introduce themselves as my new neighbor. I may have even hoped for a basket of muffins. Bree from Desperate Housewives would have. I'm just saying.

My lovely neighbor in the unit next to me introduced herself. She's lovely. The only friendly one but we happen to have very different schedules. She's gone when I'm home and I can only imagine it must be vice versa. Great. Thank you Murphy.
Then there are 2 units above me. I was rather excited to meet them....So far, I was right about my complex - all young and hopefully fun.
A few weeks went by and finally I managed to see some life forms. I met the guy who lives above me. Nice guy, friendly, in his twenties. Finally. These parties could possibly happen. He shares the same name as my boyfriend. Handy, especially because I really am useless when it comes to peoples names.
Two days later I see him with his live-in girlfriend.
"Hello same-name! Hello!" I say to him and to her.
Weird. Do I have the right person?
Yes, definitely. He's not friendly, instead he can hardly look at me, gives me a shy smile and almost looks like she's going to crunch his balls when they're in private for even acknowledging me. She grunts at me, gives me the dirtiest look ever and off they disappear up the stairs.
WTF?
Oooo-kay!
BUT the next time I saw him (sans the eye-balling grunter) he was all waves and smiles.

I think I've figured it out though. I think the word has spread. My neighbors think I am a high class hooker. Now, before you all gasp, let me explain.

I was asked (honoured) to be a part of this prestigious charity ball. I was asked to be one of the people who would showcase a designers dress. We were allocated designers and they had to take our measurements, do dress fittings etc.
I had very limited time to do this, so I asked to meet my designer for the first time at my home because I just couldn't make it to his studio.
He arrived at about noon. He has quite an unconventional way of measuring. Sure, he measures standardly with a measuring tape, but then he asks you to stand in hot pants and a strappy tank top. He cling wraps you and makes a "cast" of your body shape. Pretty amazing.
Amazingly BOILING...Murphy was having fun again - it just happened to be the hottest day of the year. I tried to look at the bright side ... this was a weight loss opportunity. So while he wrapped away, I sweated away. By the time he cut the wrap off me, I was dripping. I didn't want to put on my clothes straight away (ewww) so instead, I put on my silk robe that I have had forever and a day. I wear it all the time. I adore it. Hindsight, is a beautiful thing isn't it? I could have grabbed a loose fitting dress, but I went for my comfort.
I walked my designer to his car in my robe. I didn't think anything of it. Who was home during the week at noon? I then gave him a hug good bye and said: "That was really awesome and it was nice to meet you. So, same time next week?"
See how that would sound? It would have sounded totally normal if it was just between my fully-dressed designer and my silk robe wearing self. Instead, it was with all my new neighbours, yes, all those who I hadn't met yet. Those who I was starting to wonder if they existed. They had all come home for their lunch break. I obviously didn't get the memo.
So yes, there they are gawking at me in the middle of the day in a silk robe walking a man who was fully dressed to his car, giving him a hug, telling him it was great to meet him and asking if this is all happening again same time next week. Awesome.
No wonder the men are friendly when their girlfriends aren't around and the girls look at me like I'm the female version of Tiger Woods.
Love the reputation.

Perhaps I will get my party ... my farewell party when I move one day.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Formal vs Casual

I am going to an event tonight at the Westcliff Hotel. The dress code says: Formal.

Dress codes make me nervous because no one ever seems to oblige or obey.

I am very aware that "formal" (in my dictionary) means evening dress and suits for the guys, however, I have been to formal events before in an evening gown and people have been in cocktail dresses or worse, black pants and a smart top. That for me, is semi casual or cocktail attire.I have also rocked up at a "formal" event (having learnt from the above mentioned) in a cocktail dress and people were in evening gowns and ball gowns. Ball gowns.
These days Formal means weird and wonderful things to different people. I have a long black dress with a little diamante detail... I just hope people dress up as well, otherwise I'll just have to target the champagne table in my gown.

What are the chances that I have two formal functions to go to? Apparently good, except I actually do know what to wear on Saturday...it's a Valentines Ball.

I went to JJ Schoeman (a hot SA designer) who is giving me a dress to wear (and return) for Saturday. I have a broad back so zips in that area are always a bit of a mission (as in I need to go up a size. Yay for me.) Designers design for size 0 Fashion Hangers aka Models ; not for the normal woman.Well, I found a dress, after chiffon and silk was thrown around and it is flattering. Alright, honestly I sucked everything in within a cm of my life and was too nervous to exhale, but I did after looking like a smurf and nothing ripped. Phew.

I'll report back tomorrow!

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Ze French have a way with words....

So, seen any aliens? Today was D-Day. Will Smith didn't need to be on alert,after all!
Well... What a fucking day.

I was asked to be in a fashion show today for charity. I am not a model. I am not size zero and I am doing this for fun with other profiles. Some are top models and others that are TV personalities, radio presenters etc.
Right. So. The organiser of the show, who happens to be a friend of mine, asked for my dress size.
I told him and he looked at me like I was crazy.
"Honey! You are hardly that size! Look at all the weight you've lost!"
"Flattery babe, thank you, but I know my body. Even though I've lost weight, I've lost no weight in my boobs (thank God) and my back bones/ribs can't lose weight and I've always had a broad back. I know my size hun!"
I arrive at the rehearsal and dress fitting last night, to find that he has organised dresses (they're beautiful and expensive designer dresses) that are 3 sizes too small.
As a result, I had to organise with the boutiques and designers to get new dresses tomorrow morning (the day of the show...which is today. Keep up.) Not my job and a little annoying, but he's a friend and I don't mind. All that much.
Oh and this is awesome, I am standing with Miss South Africa and other celeby models who are trying on size 28 and 30 dresses.
"Oooh, it's too big. We'll have to pin it!"
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!! I can bearly fit the dresses over my head or above my knees. Kill me now.

I race off to the first designer (time is of the essence) and eventually find something that fits.
I then race off to the show, do the final rehearsal and then race to the final store before the actual show starts.
Mission and a half. I walk in with the dress that doesn't fit. It's a size 32. I go straight to the manager who actually happens to be the owner of the store. She's French. A FRENCH BITCH!
"Hi there, I need to change this dress for the Fashion Show happening in 2 hours time!"
"Oh, is ze model obese?"
"Excuse me? It's actually for me. I'm not a model, I'm one of the personalities modelling in it."
"But you are 'uge!"
"WHAT??"
"Zis is ze beegest dress we 'ave!"
"Well, I am hardly obese...I'm a normal woman who has curves."
"Well zis is a beeg size for ze French. You will stretch ze clothes."
"Right. You're in SA and I don't need you being bitchy, I just need a solution since I'm wearing your clothes in an hour! If you'd rather I don't, trust me, I'd be thrilled. I don't need to wear your lousy clothes anyway."
She sulked off and threw outfits into the change room while making sarcastic, bitchy comments to her shop assistant about getting Really, really, really BEEG sizes and "non, non, that vil never fit her...get her a beeger one."

Fuck, I'm so pissed off. I couldn't believe the nerve. I was actually more irritate with myself that I hadn't stood up for myself and bitch slapped her. I wish I wasn't such a walk over, but it was literally one of those: Could've; should've; would've scenarios.

I finally found something and pushed my shoulders back, the boobs forward, sucked the tummy in and pasted a smile on my face and walked out there...no I "minced" out there for the world to see this Curvy REAL woman strutting her stuff down the catwalk.

I had fun, but dude.