A Glamorous Nightmare

A GLAMOROUS NIGHTMARE

Fashion fan fiction by Malea thomas

Red lights. Gold lights. Yellow lights. Shine bright like diamonds. Now, dim the lights. Silence cell phones. This could only be Paris, France. The show was about to begin. Grace, a young journalist’s beady eyeballs were super glued to the stage. On stage, the model’s black Jimmy Choo heels clicked loudly along with long dresses that draped the bodies of the six-foot tall models, and every detail of the show was perfection. Their long, blonde hair swayed back and forth, and the silver glitter gleamed on their faces.

Grace wore a Prada dress from last year’s collection, and she was desperately trying to wear the dress instead of the dress wearing her. She wore some designer heels who’s name was too difficult to pronounce and was equally as hard to walk in. The audience stared in awe as the beautiful models displayed their luxurious ensembles from the top fashion designers. She took in every moment as if it were her last, and she watched the fierceness in each diva’s eyes. She sat in the front row and scribbled furiously. The friction of the tips of her fingers wrapped around her pen while she tried to convey the majesty of the upcoming fall trends and her eyes analyzed everything. Writing was her outlet—a place where she could not be judged. She lived in the pages and spirals of her notebook. The nooks and crannies, the scratch marks and folds—they were her home.

In the audience, Grace glanced over while she was taking notes and saw her all-time favorite magazine Creative Director, Ann Bella. Grace thought, now is my chance to talk to her. She moved through the crowd of journalists and editors. Every corner was filled with chaos, but Grace kept moving until she was right next to her. She paused for a few moments because she was trying to get her words together before she opened her mouth. You got this.

“Hi, my name is Grace. You are my biggest inspiration. I would love—” “Your never make it.” Ann stared at her for a split second and then looked back at the fashion show.

Grace’s shoulders sunk in a little bit. “Ann, I love—” “Your wearing a dress that is a couple years old. You’re irrelevant.”

Grace slowly turned and walked away. Her head was down and her dreams were crushed. Did that really just happen? Instantly, her eyes tiered up and a couple ran down her face. Grace moved her way close to the exit and decided she was going to leave the show early.

Grace walked outside and there were cabs lined up. She jumped into one. “Can you take me to my hotel? The address is 70 Av. des Champs-Élysées,” Grace said.

“Pas de probleme, mademoiselle,” said the cab driver said.

Grace closed her eyes. She envisioned her younger self. When she was in the fourth grade with her two pigtails, she use to read her favorite magazine at night curled up in her bed. She always dreamed to be just like Ann Bella. And then, she quickly opened her eyes, and she mumbled, not no more. After she paid the man, Grace stumbled out the cab and walked to her hotel room. She threw off her dress, took off her make-up, and climbed into her king bed.

Grace stretched and rose from her bed as the sun-rays beamed through her cream curtains. She took a hot shower then she put on her favorite blue destroyed jeans and light blue sweater. She sprayed her signature Dior perfume and gathered up her belongings into her Tory Burch tote bag and headed out her room. She walked towards the front desk so she could check out but a headline caught her eye from The Daily Front Row Press. She skirted over to the News Rack with her bags in her hand and picked up the newspaper. It was an article. But it was not just any article; it was an article about the fashion show she left early yesterday night. Grace eyes widened and she wondered did something happen? Was there a fight? She sat down in the hotel lobby and she read the headline of the story. It was talking about the Creative Director, Ann Bella. Ann had scammed young editors to write her stories for the magazine. Grace’s mouth dropped because she admired Ann Bella every since she was a little girl.

The “heated conversation” spread all the newspapers, magazines, tabloids, and blogs. Ann Bella’s career 15+ years in publishing was over. Her credibility was dead. In the article, it said, “She is now completely irrelevant from the Fashion Industry. The magazine is done with her.” Grace laughed and murmured sounds familiar? Ha, look who is irrelevant now. At least my name is not tarnished.

Grace rose from her seat and checked out so she would not miss her flight back home. It was one hell of a trip.