BBA & HBWC Administrator
Andrea Reece
30 Winton Avenue, London, N11 2AT
Tel: 0208 889 1292
Mob: 07807 893369
Email: branford.boase@gmail.com
Press Enquiries
Andrea Reece
Tel: 07807 893369 | Email: branford.boase@gmail.com
Blinding lights, sounds, and the crowd’s applause overwhelm me as I re-fluff the lace ruffles on my blue dress, Clenching and unclenching my sweaty fists. I searched my brain to find reasons why I was standing here, on a catwalk intended for high fashion models. I only remember staff screaming and telling me to get ready. Something about a woman breaking her leg and not enough time. A glowing spotlight hits me and I snap back into reality. I hear a countdown. 3,2,1….”you’re on!!”
My legs begin moving without my permission, leading me down the runway. I struggle to move as my dress is so tight it feels like it has been melted into me. I feel the audience’s judgeful eyes burn into my back as I spin around when I reach the end of the walk. Ok. I tell myself you’re almost there just keep walking. I almost reach the curtain when suddenly I feel a rip begin to tear through the back of my dress. The audience’s gasps tell me it’s bad.My cheeks begin to burn as I feel tears pricking my eyes. I don’t know what to do. Run, scream,hide? But apparently I’m running, in my ridiculously high heels. Out of the building, through the glass doors, down the streets with my bright pink underwear hanging out the back. I see heads turn my way; mothers covering their children’s eyes in horror. I am so embarrassed I start nervously laughing, but it’s a terrifying laugh made for an insane person.
One of my heels breaks on the cobbled road. I stop for a second to yank it off, then continue running. My tears are now gushing like waterfalls down my face. I was so focused on covering my underwear that I didn’t see a man carrying a bundle of newspapers walking towards me. He appeared to be shouting at me, but it was too late. Paper flew everywhere as I looked around me to see a crowd of people forming. I tried to hide my face from their phones. I stood up and looked down at my one high heel still attached to my foot. It was too late to keep my dignity so I just walked away slowly, head down.
I took down my hair that was tied in a tight bun and let my brown waves fall past my shoulders. I took out the key to my apartment and opened the faded yellow door. I let myself crumple into a ball on the couch and took out my phone. I know I shouldn’t look at the inevitably mean videos posted about me and this unfortunate catastrophe. But I can’t help myself, so I look anyway. I tap the first fashion headline I see. It reads: An Unexpected Fashion Statement at Today’s Fashion Show: A young girl runs through the streets showing off her company’s underwear! Beautiful show and very creative way to advertise product.
I sit up abruptly. They thought I did that on purpose? That it was part of the show? I feel a warm smile spread across my face and even though it’s night I can feel the sun shining through the window. Well, I think to myself. I know what I’m wearing tomorrow!