Ah,
Valentine's Day.
It has the potential to be my
favourite holiday. There are no
religious strings attached (I will insert something here as someone pointed out that it is a Saint's day--pretty much every single day on the calendar is a Saint's day. I mean no religious ties as in people are not going on a
mass exodus to their respective
houses of worship, my life is
uninterrupted by the closing of
shops or
services, and there are no
crappy TV specials, etc.), no need to go home and have
family rows, I
love roses and the
colour red, and if you're
lucky, you'll have
sex at some point that day.
This is the first year in my life that I have had a
man in my
life on Valentine's Day. This is a person I've known for
five years but just started dating in
December. So it's relatively
new, and also a little
scary as it is my
first relationship since my last
boyfriend committed suicide in
September 2003.
My
beau and I spent
Christmas Eve,
Christmas Day,
Boxing Day,
New Year's Eve, and
New Year's Day together. So by now, we're no
stranger to holidays.
I'm a
hopeless romantic. I made subtle
hints regarding that...like me making
dinner for the two of us, and pulling out some goodies scored from
Agent Provocateur--no cheesy
Hallmark crap. Due to
drama in his life outside of our
relationship, we discussed celebrating the
holiday of love on a different day. My
best friends (who are
single) and I then planned on spending the
evening together, as we all
love each other (though not romantically) and always
have a good time. Fine with me.
Due to
unbelievable luck, which usually goes against me, an
incredible and
massive opportunity fell into my lap: to be a
runway model in a show that was part of
London Fashion Week, which would take place at 8pm on Valentine's Day,
killing any
potential plans, and at least I would be too busy to be
bummed out that I wasn't seeing my
paramour. And my friends, always the greatest, all agreed to come to the show. This would be me making my
debut in a
career that I did not only not
pursue, but am not that
bothered about or
dependent on--I'm doing well in
University, and I'm going to make something of myself in the
world of
business. But the fact that someone else thinks I'm
good-looking enough to do this is a compliment. It's really cool to be
paid to have people
dress you up, make you up, and have you walk around.
It was only six years ago that I was a fourteen year old
girl,
too tall and
too skinny, with big black-rimmed
glasses and a mouth full of
braces. I've
changed since then but when I look in the
mirror I still see that girl.
So then I tell my
beau about this and he is very
thrilled for me. He knows how I have been
depressed about my
bad luck for the past few years, losing Matthew, and being unable to do anything. He says he will come to the
show, to
support me. He knows I have
crippling anxiety and that seeing his face in the crowd, or at least knowing he's there, will make me
strong.
So I spend a few days before the show
working fourteen hour days with the
designer, doing
fittings and
hair and
makeup tests and such. And my beau calls to tell me he cannot make it to the show, as the his outside drama was affecting his availability. I was
irate but understood. When it comes to his drama, of course I understand, I can do nothing but
understand.
The show happens, and I do well. I don't
trip, I don't
faint, I don't
fall, I don't mess up my
timings, I walk right, it goes
swimmingly. I couldn't believe that I wasn't
anxious at all. I really felt
confident and good about myself. And I think that showed. At least, that's what my friends said.
The
atmosphere backstage was one of
stress and
bitchiness, but I was so
damn grateful to be there that I was Little Miss
Happy All-American Girl and actually awarded the title of
easiest girl to work with, and
nicest girl to work with. Which is
funny, because I don't think anyone has ever called me nice before.
The show was a trip. There was one more designer after the one I did and I went to watch. The whole thing was straight out of the film
Zoolander. The shows were in a
tunnel under
London Bridge. The designs of
Gareth Pugh, the designer after the show I did, were completely
off-the-wall and
bizarre. I felt like walking up to someone and saying "Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?" but then I had such a
massive grin on my face after pulling off the show that I couldn't, not without a
straight face--with that
crowd, I would have been taken
seriously...which of course gives me the
giggles.
Of course
everything ran late so my best friends and I were
unable to be each others
Valentines dates and go anywhere besides the show, but the fact that they were there to
support me was so
amazing.
I hadn't felt real support for years before these people came into my life and
I love them.
So my
beau rings when I get
back home and everything is fine, until a few days later when he becomes
increasingly more
uncommunicative. I feel things are
falling apart and there is nothing I can really do about it. I hear about people
splitting up over Valentines Day because of "pressure" but there hasn't been any here and I am wondering if this relationship is going to be a
casualty of that. I hope not.
But at least I got one souvenir from my Valentine's Day--a
pillow that says "I Love You Less Than
Moshing" from the
giftbags at the show, and my photo on vogue.co.uk.
My
heart could use some
repairs, but all in all, the day wasn't a total
loss.