I want to apologize. If there is a "Horrible Blogger of the Year" award, I deserve it for the next few years. You know how this kind of thing goes... it's like cleaning your room. You know you fell a little bit behind, but it was so overwhelming to think about catching up so you just kept letting it fall further and further behind until suddenly you were living in a sky-high pile of dirty plates, unwashed clothes, and chaos. Well, that's what happened here. I started work, and I just became so busy from work and then so tired after work, that I did not feel like playing the catch-up. However, today is Sunday, I am here in Milan, I was going to go into work today but I was so exhausted that I decided not to, and so I am finally going to catch up on my blogs (and promise you a blog entry a day for the rest of my trip).
Are you ready? Let's take it back. Way back. Back more than a month ago, to when I mentioned that weekend of fabulous activities. Ringing a bell? Thursday night was the Armani Party, Saturday was the John Varvatos Fashion Week show, and Sunday was the Dolce and Gabbana party.
Well, the Armani party. Let's logically start there. Alana and I walked to meet Stephen, the Armani model we met, at the Duomo to head over to the club. He brought two friends, Fabio and Ian, and we met up with Amanda, Carly, and Fleur. The first club was pretty cool: we got a drink, us girls sat and chatted, and it was a nice atmosphere. The club was cool (G Lounge, I believe), and it was clear that the entire place was booked out for the Armani models. The night was looking like it was going to be decently cool.
Then we went to the second club. Let's look at the world for a second. I am a little 21-year-old, blonde hair, blue eyed, middle/upper-middle class white girl. Should discrimination exist on any level? Absolutely not. However, I have never once been a position where I was discriminated against. All of the models were getting in for free because it was their party. All of the girls they brought got in for free too, oh except... wait, you stop. Me? Yes. Huh? 20 euros for you. WHAT?!
I'm the only one that has to pay? Um, excuse me? What the hell is going on here? Stephen stayed outside with me and tried to sort it out, reason with them, yadda yadda. He got it down to 10 euros and a free drink, but still... Babygurl was pissed. It wasn't until I got into the club and saw Fleur and she said, "I hate that they do that, I think it's so wrong," and I asked what she was talking about that I knew why I was the only one stopped. "They only let girls in for free if they are models or look like they could be models. You're too short." Oh hell no. They did NOT just make me pay to get into the club because I was cursed with a shorter spine. I have never once felt insecure about my height before now.
The night just got sketchier from there. As the models got more drinks in them and I clearly didn't (because my drink money was spent on getting into the club and all I had left was my taxi money), it was just uncomfortable. Stephen's one friend was all up on me, and I kept saying "No" and pushing him away, and he gave me a whole, "I could get any girl here, point out a girl and I could get her," speech. Okay, go do it! I'm not stopping you! When Amanda was trying to pull me away and he literally put his arm around my waist and hoisted me off the ground to tear me away from her was when I decided I had enough, and Alana, Amanda, and I grabbed the next taxi home.
Let's move on to the John Varvatos Fashion Show. This was unbelievably phenomenal. It's cool on it's own to be able to say I had an invitation to see a show in Fashion Week in Milan. I got there and waited outside for Luiza, and then we walked into the beautifully decorated entryway. After giving our names at the door and having our ticket stamped off, we grabbed a free glass of champagne and took some much-needed stereotypical I'm-a-young-girl-who-means-nothing-in-the-fashion-world-yet-but-somehow-I-managed-to-be-here-and-this-is-the-single-coolest-thing-to-happen-to-me pictures.
Then, the show was about to start, so we headed inside. The runway was absolutely beautiful: the back was covered in plants with a huge golden gate that opened up for the models, who walked to "Baba O'Riley" (Dad will be proud that I'm one of the few young people that knows the name of the song is not "Teenage Wasteland"). The show was beautiful, and I used the time afterward to utilize my new business cards and hand them out to people coming out of the show. I got to speak to several people, including magazine editors, but the best part was that I met the head of sales for John Varvatos and he gave me a press packet which includes the contact information for all the heads of his business. Yeah for networking!
Sunday was the coolest day of all. We got all dolled up to go to the Dolce and Gabbana party at their boutique on Via Della Spiga, which was also Invitation Only. There was a band playing there, and they were actually very good. The idea was that the store was launching lines for all new designers, and each band member wore a look from each designers collection. There was free champagne all night, and it was the only time in my life I felt like maybe some people would be fooled into thinking I could actually afford Dolce and Gabbana (after all, you had to be somebody to even get in there, even though I'm clearly not).
None of this matters though. None of it mattered the moment Lilianna exclaimed in the middle of our conversation, "Oh my God that's Dolce and Gabbana."
And she was right. I turned around, and there they were, just standing there talking to somebody worth far more than we are. That didn't stop us though. I don't remember what my thought processes were in that minute, if I had any at all, but I made a beeline for them, starstruck beyond words, and was only able to muster out, "Could I please get a picture? Please?" Gabbana was talking to some business person who was in the process of dragging him away, but Domenico Dolce stuck around for me to get a picture with him that I will cherish for the rest of my life. It will probably be the only picture on all of my Christmas cards forever, even after I have a husband and family. Speaking of husband, it will probably be the picture on the wedding invitations. I want a large print of this picture at my funeral. I don't want any other picture to ever overshadow this picture at the epitome of what my life amounted to. Remember that, people.