Swide Magazine by Dolce&Gabbana

I’m back!!!

Here I am back at my desk looking as white as I left (the sun didn't manage to get through Beijing’s smog) and as fashion week is looming in less than a month I have noticed there is a certain hysterical-ness in our scented air. The problem with returning to the office after the summer holidays is that the SS (look it up) womenswear shows are held in September and makes them scarily to post-holiday re-entry.

With fashion week looming I am also in a bit of panic because after far too many long, vino soaked lunches, I've noticed (and I think others judging by the outfits on display in the office…awful lot of deconstruction going on) that not everything in my wardrobe fits as it should. In fact until my new P-F-W-F-R (pre-fashion week fitness regime) kicks in, I have ruled out anything that hugs my new-found curves, leaving me with one top and a pair of jeans and no other option but to dress as Annie Hall for the next few weeks.

Apart from losing weight so that I actually have a wardrobe again, there is another important reason. I absolutely NEED backstage access at the show. If the press office spot me looking like this (wonder if they ever got my desperate message), there is no chance. At a show, its just not enough to get in, because backstage is where the action really takes place…Mr. G primping the girls and giving them a good luck kiss before they step out onto the runway (or so I’m told), Naomi perfecting her panther like pose, and the hair and make-up maestros having tantrums over space.

The space is of course where I also need to do my job, and as my editor has no idea that I'm not automatically on the press office's entry list (because somehow I always forget to remind them/talk to them), I always need to do a last minute attempt in order to impress them and therefore guarantee my entry and thus my job. Apart from my career obviously there is another important reason for my desperation as the most coveted piece of DG clothing is to be found in this very area.

What we all secretly desire more than this season’s it bags (although Mr.G if you were to send me one...) is something that money can’t buy...the item in question is a T-shirt, an item that ironically remains the same every season. Not just any T-shirt of course, but a limited style that is given to DG’s "team backstage".

One lucky recipient sits close to me and although we can’t help but think she is not it's rightful owner, three of us have spotted her in the gym proudly sporting the coveted item. As we all say, she basically got lucky. Five minutes before last season's menswear show when the rest of us were hovering by the door hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Gandy, she was asked to run backstage with some shoe samples that had arrived at the last minute.

The rest of us ended up at the after show party without both David and the must-have T-shirt. Over several post-show cocktails (we were disappointed) we discussed which we’d rather have (David or the T-shirt). I opted for the T-shirt (I have a feeling David, much as I love him maybe a bit fly by night) as did one of my colleagues, whereas the other two opted for Mr. Gandy. Some people have no sense of professionalism…anyway it all means that until September I can’t eat anything beginning with a "P" (pasta…potatoes..you get the picture).

Just before leaving I get an urgent email (with one of those annoying red exclamation marks…so naff). Why, oh why when it’s already 7.30pm do these pesky little mails trap me so? The only red I need to see at this time of the day are my Louboutin soles. In the subject line however is my beloved Mr. D so obviously I hit open straightaway.

The email has been sent to the whole company and therefore has to be v-e-r-y important. I pray it’s not one of those emails circulating the fashion circuit at the moment instructing employees on how to arrange their desks. My friend who works in another unnamed (and not as nice as lovely DG) fashion company lives in fear every time she leaves the office due to strict rules on how her desk should look before she can go home. She can’t even keep her diary on the desk unless it’s black or white and the entries are in black ink. I mean, come on. It takes me enough time to leave the office in the evening as it is. The problem is in order to look cool, calm and collected enough to pass the reception on my way out (otherwise I’m worried they may think I’m not really part of the team) I always refresh a little in the make-up department, adds a much needed bit of poise.

Anyway, turns out the email is from someone I should probably know but as usual can’t but a name to a face. Friday it turns is Mr. D’s birthday, as in THIS Friday, as in TOMORROW. Why do I not have that already in my diary? Another great example of why I should have an assistant. The kind sender of the mail is offering to round up all Mr. D’s gifts and give them to him before he heads off to celebrate in style. Oh the organization of this company and its people. Why do I always seem to be the one without it? Did I perhaps miss a stage in the interview process? Sometimes I swear there are Italian words that just bypass me entirely.

Of course, the deadline is tomorrow to pass on our gifts or we’ll miss Mr. D. Brava! Excelled again.The helpful email even has last minute suggestions – telling us not to worry if we haven’t had the time (or in my case the organization) to get him anything, that he will of course understand given the fact we are all so busy and a personal note will more than suffice. Sure it would…but it’s Mr. D!!! I can’t pop down the shop and write him a Hallmark card! Lovely Mr. D, who always has his door open to those in need style need and deserves more than a mad dash at closing time in Rinascente! Damn and blast. What is the point of having a crackberry, outlook calendar and leather bound (and very expensive) diary if I fail to put anything other than a legwax appointment in it??

And so, I do what I always do in times of crisis. I run out of the door. I notice the receptionists comparing glossy looking gifts as I leave and lose my composure slightly, pushing on the glass doors instead of pulling them and leave clammy hand marks all over them and the wrath of the receptionists (with their glossy presents).

Cycle home and fall into such a depression I can’t face jogging and opt for an episode of "Little Britain" dubbed in Italian. Weird.

Find Santa Claus at behindtheseamsgirl@gmail.com

TAGS: little britain italian milan backstage catwalk show beijing smog fashion week david gandy dolce&gabbana behind the seams mr.g jeans girls runway