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A camera was in everyone's face as they ran around the room, talked over one another and tried not to have a panic attack while backstage. I stood stage left, popping my knuckles repeatedly until they were sore as I awaited my cue to emerge. It was New York Fashion Week and I would be walking my first runway since the death of my mother. The night before I had trouble sleeping and I'd thrown up all morning while preparing for this moment. A fear of getting bad news after returning backstage for the second time loomed over me.
For this very reason, I almost didn't make it in any of the line ups. I'd purposely slept through a quarter of my scheduled casting until Giovanni brought it to a stop. He knew that I had castings back to back and he was excited to see me on the runway. I wasn't as excited so I stayed at my place to avoid him being in my ear to change my mind if I chickened out. It didn't work because Jeff got a hold of him to see what was going on and he snatched me from my bed and drove me to every casting I had left. I wasn't mad but I wasn't grateful either. All I knew was that if I walked any runway I was liable to have an anxiety attack.
Out of the seven castings I attended for NYFW, I was only able to book two; Laquan Smith and Oscar de la Renta. They both were the last shows of the day but it was enough to get my feet wet again and to satisfy the people around me. Since I'd taken a minor career hiatus and had been in the tabloids for attempted suicide I hadn't been coined as no-casting needed. Last year, I'd only had to audition for two of fifteen shows but this year was completely different. I had to earn my spots again.
From where I stood backstage I could see the model that cued my time, approaching the line of demarcation. I shook my hands to try and release the overwhelming nerves then took a deep breath. Before I knew it, I was stepping into the spotlight in my outfit of the night — a see through, diamond studded dress that resembled Rihanna's CDFA dress. I only wore a pair of nude thongs underneath so my titties were out.
As I took my first few steps down the runway, I could feel the eyes and camera's on me. It was intense. I felt like everyone could see how nervous I was. But things started to change when I picked up on the various commentary through the viewers in the first two rows. Some were about the dress and others were about my body or beauty. The compliments made the fear I had shed like dead skin. I strutted down the catwalk like I owned it and was sure to turn on my heels with confidence and intention.
