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The hotel venue was packed. Hungry looking fashionistas flanked the catwalk. Big eyes eager, hoping the excitement, the look will make up for the voids in their stomachs. IGirl knew that hunger, or worse, as a model she had starved herself for work. When she left that world she had sworn she would never feel hunger again. The irony now was that she felt constant hunger, it was a different hunger from that of the skinny women seated around the stage but came with the same gnawing emptiness.
She was sated now, or reasonably. Enough to get her through this night, perhaps even enough to enjoy it. But not fully sated, for that she would have to cross a line.
It was typical chaos backstage. Designers fretting, models glaring and bitching over the outfits. Roly was backstage with another newly acquired assistant.
People stared at her as she walked through, jealousy and vitriol in their eyes, perhaps a bit of fear, IGirl couldn’t tell but she wondered how she had become so popular so quickly when everyone in the industry appeared to hate her.
‘The more they hate you the better off we are,’ Roly would say.
And weirdly it was true. She flicked a closed mouth smile, an occasional nod and made her way through to her own camp.
Tokyo Fashion Week and she was headlining opening night. An ornate mixture of gothic historical and dark urban influences sensitively combined and almost brutally displayed had made her designs the toast of the year, so far.
Applause, money, envy, she was both drawn to it and repulsed by it. It was like an addiction to be loved and hated, habitually fed. Another habit to feed, to run parallel with the one he had given her. But that was a disease not an addiction, there was no rehab centre that could cure her. Pointless even to think of it.
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She was sated now, or reasonably. Enough to get her through this night, perhaps even enough to enjoy it. But not fully sated, for that she would have to cross a line.
It was typical chaos backstage. Designers fretting, models glaring and bitching over the outfits. Roly was backstage with another newly acquired assistant.
People stared at her as she walked through, jealousy and vitriol in their eyes, perhaps a bit of fear, IGirl couldn’t tell but she wondered how she had become so popular so quickly when everyone in the industry appeared to hate her.
‘The more they hate you the better off we are,’ Roly would say.
And weirdly it was true. She flicked a closed mouth smile, an occasional nod and made her way through to her own camp.
Tokyo Fashion Week and she was headlining opening night. An ornate mixture of gothic historical and dark urban influences sensitively combined and almost brutally displayed had made her designs the toast of the year, so far.
Applause, money, envy, she was both drawn to it and repulsed by it. It was like an addiction to be loved and hated, habitually fed. Another habit to feed, to run parallel with the one he had given her. But that was a disease not an addiction, there was no rehab centre that could cure her. Pointless even to think of it.
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