You know it's going to be a long day when you're sent a schedule that when printed amounts to four pages. The excursion? Paris with the boss - which in my case happen to be Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce.
Coffee: The root of all evil and career wrecker.
A day in Paris with the designers Dolce & Gabbana conjures up images of sipping champagne in heels whist nibbling on macaroons. The reality however is that my bosses work – très hard and it is with a sleepy hand that I type my petite adventure in Paris.
One minute the only thing in my diary for Tuesday is a sample sale – the next it’s a jet ride with the designers and the opportunity to attend a fashion shoot with a world famous photographer. All perfectly exciting in theory – that it is however until I get home, can’t work my new phone (n-e-v-e-r- collect a new phone before a trip) and proceed to spend the rest of the evening awake convinced my alarm on my new (and sadistic) phone wouldn’t go off.
Arrive at airport one hour ahead of schedule – convinced I’ll hit traffic (7:00am in Milan and it’s my taxi and a tram that are the only things moving) and drink two coffees thus giving me a slightly crazed stare and caffeine shakes. Colleagues arrive and I realize my black outfit resembles an evening in a Monaco casino rather than my more professional colleagues who opted for a more low-key look.
Another coffee – and the designers arrive in flurry of black limo, black leather and sunglasses. I think about going home.
Plane conversation: A-list celebrities, high-powered decision-making and Christmas plans. My contribution? Another coffee.
Monsieur Dolce and Monsieur Gabbana en-route to Paris unaware in their midst was a woman unable to anticipate bathroom visits.
With Paris looming into view and Monsieur Gabbana informing us all of the weather conditions on the ground (listen and learn ladies – you’ll never get the knack for dressing correctly if you don’t pay attention to the prevailing wind) it was a hop, skip and a jump (quite literally) into a waiting limo.
From Milan’s 7am non-existent traffic conditions to Paris’ traffic congestion – the car journey took on the nature of a long-haul flight. And this dear reader is where I’ll have to digress from the glamour to the real world.
Paris I assume.
Much as I’d love to relay the gossip, the designer’s viewpoint on the current fashion industry and high-powered fashion talk – I don’t remember anything. Why? Because after drinking five coffees and a bottle of water to attempt to hydrate – I needed the loo, and badly.
Anyone who has needed to answer the call of nature urgently will understand the pain. Given I was in the car with my bosses a.k.a fashion famous designers there was, to put it bluntly, no way this little limo was stopping to let me out. And so on we sped or rather crawled.
The desperation began to grow – as did the stomach pains, and perspiration as I attempted to focus on anything but liquid. I alarmingly started crossing and uncrossing my legs in manner of a mad woman whilst writhing in my plush limo seat.
My only saving grace was the fact Mr.D & Mr.G were on the receiving end of what seemed like 400 calls and therefore oblivious to my wriggling – that was however until Mr. D asked if I had enough space as “I was moving a lot”. So now not only was I writhing in a limo but I was also annoying the hell out of my boss.
Location of awe-inspiring fashion shoot and much needed toilet.
Arrival at shoot 5 hours later (or what seemed like) and meeting with world famous photographer.
As a girl in the fashion world, one can only dream of moments like this. Mine however was ruined – RUINED- by having to ask him (I was d-e-s-p-e-r-a-t-e) where the bathroom was, perspiring and clutching a by-now bloated stomach. As a creative icebreaker it wasn’t up there with the best nor was my refusal to drink coffee for the rest of the day in an industry that only drinks coffee.
Monsieur Gabbana's spectacular cheese purchase which made my piece of Brie look forlorn.
Read more from the day at Swide's Twitter account at www.swide.com/Le-Tweet--c-est-chic
Follow me (when I'm cin control of my bodily functions) at twitter.com/behindtheseams.
Photo Credits: Obviously non-professional