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As anyone who’s seen an episode of America’s Next Top Model will know, not every waking moment of a supermodel’s day is spent lounging on the trunk of an elephant or being sprayed from head-to-toe in 14K gold- flecked body paint. Before getting to that point, a model has to go to a fitting – to try on the outfits that will be photographed during a shoot.
For my fitting, The Client and The Stylist had me meet them at a really cute little boutique in the Uptown area of Minneapolis – it was called Design Collective. The boutique carries clothes, jewelry, and stationery created by local artists. Super cute, very cool little spot.
I’m chronically early, so I arrived 10 minutes before the scheduled time and browsed around. After 20 minutes and 3 very thorough laps around the place, I started to feel awkward and the owner seemed to feel as though I was casing the joint. So he asked if I was doing ok. I launched into an explanation of why I was there, fondling the handmade greeting cards by the door.
“I’m here to meet with some people for a fitting. A photo shoot fitting.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh. Here? Are you sure?”
I thought to myself, “Well, I was sure. Until you said that.” Instead, I nodded.
“Who’s the designer?” he asked, clicking into his email on the boutique’s computer.
“Uhm…” it suddenly occured to me that I didn’t really know any of the names of the women I was supposed to meet. And I promptly kicked myself for not owning a smartphone. And for not having a better memory.
“Christy? Carrie? Uhm…I’m not exactly sure. Sorry. I’m just the model.” It sounded even dumber in real life than in writing. Trust me.
Luckily, just then, the door swung open and two women walked into the boutique.
“Sara!” Whew.
I met, for the first time, The Client –a really astute young businesswoman- and The Stylist, whom I absolutely adored within 20 seconds of meeting her. She had a great eye for details and a terrific sense of humor. They each carried an armload of clothes for me to try on. Let the fun begin!
I slipped out of the clothes I’d worn to work and began to try on tops and skirts from Lane Bryant, Ralph Lauren, Alfani and Tahari. I would slip something on, then step out from behind the dressing room curtain and wait to hear The Client's and The Stylist’s assessment. It was fun, like playing dress up with girlfriends. I liked each item that I tried on, from a sparkly skirt that I never would have chosen on my own but turned out to be really cute; to a demure forest green button-down top that was perfect for layering under sheath dresses.
A few of the pieces didn’t fit – several of the pencil skirts were cut a little snug for my figure – which initially made me feel self conscious. I almost felt apologetic, if that makes any sense. Logically, I know it doesn’t…but that was the first moment I had where I sympathized with models whose job it is to look a certain way and fit a certain size. I had to forcibly remind myself that a size 18 is not a size 18 in every brand, and there's nothing wrong with my hips or butt. Or stomach. Or thighs. Everything is great. (Forcibly. Reminding)
As we ran through all the clothes that The Client and The Stylist had brought in, The Designer arrived with an armful of clothing that she’d made especially for The Client – to launch the plus size section on The Client’s website. And that’s where things really got interesting…
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