Used as we are to fanmail (little white lie no.1), we were disappointed to find a rather miserable-looking inbox this week, save from one rather juicy missive from a noted model who got writing about the other side of the catwalk backstage; and while we despise gossip (little white lie no.2), we felt it was our duty to share.
From: Far superior genes
To: a little helper desk
I see you always running around backstage (bless!) after those elusive model interviews (all I can say is good luck trying to get any of these girls to give you a semi-articulate answer... if they talk to you at all), but I think maybe you do not really see everything that goes on in there. I'm no bit** but then I hate seeing those girls pretend butter wouldn't melt when I know they get up to... what they get up to.
There's the girls who try to come across all 90s and heroin chic/eating disorder... And I actually saw one of them peeling a mandarine as though she was about to eat it, amd I'm sure I saw another one cramming in a couple of quarters.
It's another urban myth that these girls do drugs and party like they were a suicidal East Village artist in the 80s; I know for a fact at least half of them went to BED during Milan Fashion Week, on their own, to actually like sleep. Why would you try to come off all rock n roll and street when I know you put moisturiser on before hitting the sheets sober!
Then there's the girls who actually use their phones to send texts to their boyfriends (actual texts... what is this, 1999?) rather than trash people on Twitter or go onto ChatRoulette. Bad-ass independent women, ha!
I've been on the scene for long enough and I miss the days of Vaseline in the high-heel sandals and hiding a girl's outfit change so she couldn't make it on time on the runway. The industry used to be so cruel... where have all the bitches gone?