Marie Claire & the fainthearted
12.5.05 :: marie claire & the fainthearted ::
Today was one of the more memorable days in my life, in any case, more bloggable than any of my last entries.
first of all, you know those people who pass out on a crowded subway and everyone feels bad for them and they carry them off like feeble limp lugs and everyone says "aw, i hope they're ok" and then promptly forgetsa bout them for the rest of their commute? well, i was that person today. no joke. first of all, i have to preface this by explaining that i was off to do a shoot for Marie Claire magazine, one of those women's mags that does a lot of those "regular people who have regular bodies and regular jobs but FABULOUS CLOTHES!" articles. a lesser of evils. anyway, i was chewing the cud on not having to suck in so much if i skipped breakfast, and figured the shoot'd be catered anyway so i could pick up some bagels and fruit once at the studio on the west side of manhattan (that golden industrial sparse depressing artsy area of the island where tons of studios are), so heading downtown on the crowded-ass 4 train much earlier than i normally ride- so it was packed with people and HOT. feeble me crowds my way in as i was, as always, late- and my stomach was growling with hunger. when suddenly i felt myself getting super faint headed, my body was completely drenched with sweat but shivering with cold, and all started going quiet, and i hung onto the pole while kind of crouching into this lady sitting in front of me's face and asked her if i could sit. next thing i know: i'm totally leaning on top of somebody on the subway seats, there's all these people fanning me, and someone's talking about getting a paramedic. this lady asks me if i'd like to get off at 42nd st and she'd go with me to the paramedics (people surprise you in NYC!) and i was so out of it i said no and stayed on the train till 14th St. all i could think was - you can't afford a freakin paramedic! think of all the damn insurance shit you'll have to go thru! everyone was still kind of staring at me to see if i was REALLY ok, and i faintly remember digging through my bag to get this Scooby Doo ziplock bag filled with Chex and putting one chex in my mouth in some kind of attempt to raise my blood sugar level. but i think it kind of crumbled and fell out of my mouth. nice.
Then at 14th st. i stumlbed out, managed to get a Vitamin Water, and almost passed out again walking to the studio. Literally. i was stumbling around in a dream state- i hardly remember what was going on or where i was going, nor did i notice that it was freezing cold outside. (One thing i did remember was these freakin Mastercard commercials, like: "Fly-swatter? $3. Fly swatted? Priceless." and "Trash bags? $4. Gotta Dash bags? Priceless." And all i could think in my sugarless state of mind was "That fucking stupid-ass copywriter should be fucking shot.") But when i arrived at the shoot, it was just buzzing with all these pro people-- photo editors, art directors, makeup artists, stylists, etc- and i didn't know anyone & was feeling a little intimidated, so i didn't really tell anyone till much later. plus i wolfed down a bagel and an OJ and felt much better. what a spaz.
The shoot was for a piece called "30 Going on 13", yes, like that Jennifer Garner movie, only not. First of all, I'm not 30. when i found out what the article title was, i felt, well, haughty to say the least. Secondly, they've pegged me as the "girly girl." Basically, they chose 5 women--including designer Cynthia Rowley-- who've kept their style since they were 13. Which couldn't be further from the truth for me. For real, 13 years old to me was a period of perpetuated ugliness i'd rather hide than printin a national women's magazine filled with beautiful people. We really go the shit end of the stick, we preteens of the late 80s/early 90s-- every photo i could find was : bad perms, jersey bangs, owl-like tortoise shell glasses, slouchy socks, AWFUL striped shirts, braces--really, nothing could be uglier, except for maybe if gilbert godfrey mated with anorexic nicole ritchie and the baby wore a mask of a hideous halloween version of itself. with no teeth. -- i was so determined to find a pic of myself where i didn't look like a total dweeb loser (hard, because that's pretty much what i was) that i even emailed my 8th grade prom date in an attempt to find pics of us at the formal dance- because despite the kelly green taffeta balloon dress, at least i wasn't wearing glasses and my perm was concealed by a french twist with tendrils (remember those?)
so i cheated- i gave them a pic where i was actually 15 years old and dressed to go out somewhere- much girlier than i normally would've been dressed. and so they've pegged me as the girly girl. My stylist's pick: a yellow and turquoise flowery silk skirt by Twinkle by Wenlan; a BCBG turquoise cashmere short sleeved sweater (cute, but not me), and some gold strappy shoes. i felt like i was transformed into a woman. All the other girls were very nice--one was a jewelry designer (the "fashionista"), one an interior designer who was recently featured on the cover of Domino Magazine ("the preppie"), one doctor turned actress ("the eclectic tomboy") and fashion designer Cynthia Rowley ("The Cynthia Rowley") who was very nice and exuded such an air of "I am an awesome clothing designer" --and really, she was. Her clothes were my favorite-- a cream cropped blazer w/ big topaz looking buttons, and a pouffy white dress underneath. She told me about her Vespa and her differerent stores in Chicago and New York, and i secretly vowed to go buy all her clothes.
So back to The Most Exciting Day In My Life Since Korea, Dr. carlo told me not to eat anything - so I promptly ate some pizza, and now i'm at home with big stomach cramps, blogging to ease the pain, and feeling sorry for myself.
