the perks and jerks of being a dresser

[Note: I intended to post some accompanying runway photos that I previously found on Bostonfashion.com, but I cannot for the life of me find them any longer on that poorly organized website. Apparently I missed out on my chance when I failed to download them at the time. *sigh*]

Some of you may recall my earlier post on Boston Fashion Week. I puzzled over if or how to get involved, but eventually snagged a slot as dresser for the Samuel Vartan show at Hotel Marlowe. The event happened way back in September of last year, but I've been mum on the subject as I wasn't sure how best to share my experience. At first I launched into my piece as though I was telling a sweet little tale: I began by describing my path to the hotel, how I skipped along the cement roads of Cambridgeport, under the ominously grey skies. After awhile, however, I realized I couldn't sustain that kind of enthusiasm for the duration of the story (all six hours of it!), so I've decided to just tell it like it is. Apologies in advance for any boredom or blah-dom my drab narrative causes.

First of all, I was just about bubbling over with anticipation at the chance to be involved. So excited was I that I did in fact skip along the cement roads of Cambridgeport! (And yes, that was under ominously grey skies.) When I arrived, the doorman let me in to what was a rather posh, boutique hotel lobby. I disorientedly padded my way across the plush, scarlet carpet, up a slowly curving stairway, all the while trailing a ways behind a serenely elegant yet modern girl. Admittedly, I was first drawn in by her confident stride and posture and her chunky gold necklace plate, but it soon became clear to me that we were heading in the same direction. (Thank goodness...because if we weren't going the same way, I would have just been admitting to a moment of fashion stalking.... Which I think I just did anyway...!) The girl and I were both led to a conference room. There were ten or so other women there, lounging around on vast business-like office chairs. Greetings went around the room, the girl and I took seats, and small conversations resumed. Eventually I rustled myself out of my turtle shell and started mingling with others: The majority of the other dressers were still in college (MassArt, MFA school, School of Fashion Design), and the one model who had showed up early was actually pre-med at Tufts. (As I would later find out, most modeling in Boston is like a part-time job to make a few extra bucks while in school or whatnot.) The rest of the models would show up later, as they had been walking in Michael De Paulo's couture show.

During a lull in the dialogue, I hopped over to the racks of outfits to take a peek. The pieces were already grouped together by model. There were ten models in all with each model having four outfits, resulting in 40 outfits overall. Supposedly, Vartan's clients were high society women and working professionals who favored traditionally sexy, modern-day apparel. This translated into sleeveless V-necks, high side-slits and general body-conscious silhouettes. I took the opportunity to run my digits over velvets, pleathers, stretchy synthetics and lace, examining the cuts closely. There was a touch of vampiness to it all, but in a more subdued and classic way. Vartan is known for working with leather, but I'm not sure if that was present. By far, the majority of the clothes were dark colored: blacks, blood reds, indigo, maybe a pair of grey slacks here or there. At one point, I held up one of the evening gowns to myself and found that the "ankle length" hem trailed across the floor. I knew I was no shorty, but boy did I struggle to imagine the height of the models....!

As the small talk dwindled down, I found myself most intrigued by the girl I had originally followed in. Perhaps it was because she was the only peer I had there (we were both out of college), but we soon discovered a myriad of similarities: same age, same eating preferences, in equally long-term relationships with our boyfriends and, of course, similar loves for fashion. In spite of the interesting evening I was to have ahead of me, I have to say that the nicest thing to happen to me that night was getting to know this sweet lady, Allison Abrams. A full-time Assistant Buyer for a workwear company, the entrepreneurial Ally also runs her own wardrobe consulting company, Polished Wardrobe Advising. For now, I won't say much more about how stylish and talented she is, but you can be sure this isn't the last you'll hear of her on dreamecho.

So back to the event itself.... I called this post "the perks and jerks of being a dresser." The perks, obviously, were meeting people like Allison and the general experience of being part of a fashion show. Although there weren't any "jerks" per se, I definitely saw some flaws in how things were handled. The designer told us to show up at 5 PM, but we didn't even start working until 7:45 PM. For the first two hours, we dressers just sat around chatting, studying, staring off into the distance and wondering when things would start happening. In that time, we got one tiny little platter of hors d'œurves which basically amounted to me getting one miniscule cracker topped with a dab of tasty spread and an itty bitty button mushroom. Tasty, yes, but nowhere close enough to satisfy the hunger of yours truly who was once nicknamed "The Bottomless Pit". Considering that there was no recompense, that we were waiting for almost three hours and that many had paid for their own parking, some actual nourishment should have been provided. At 7 PM, several of us finally hightailed it out of there over to neighboring CambridgeSide Galleria for some real food.

When the models started arriving from the previous show, there were no chairs left for them to sit on (us dressers had taken them all). The models plopped down on the floor in a cloud of makeup, hairspray and pouty aloofness. modelBOSTON 2007 winner Kristen Kish was amongst the group; I took quite a liking to her outfit of navy blue button down cardi, grey scarf, skinny jeans and flats. A classic, even common outfit for sure, but executed perfectly. Seeing all the models sprawled about on the carpet in the effluvia of femininity reminded me of the multitudinous backstage photos we've all seen on style.com. Some of the models were really not that much taller than I, while others made it well past the 6 foot mark. Being that there were more dressers than models, Ally and I teamed up to dress a model named Anne. Anne, as we found out, was actually a determined architect whose eyes crinkled up with the sweetest smile that just melted my heart. At 6'2", however, Anne towered far above our heads.

Ally and I familiarized ourselves with Anne's clothes and accessories so that we'd be ready for the upcoming outfit changes. There was a little more downtime, with models getting their makeup done. Soon enough, though, we were told to start getting the models dressed in their first outfits. We suited up Anne in her first look, as did the other dressers with their models. Then the models filed out into the hallway. A chilled silence fell over the previously bustling conference/dressing room. But before we dressers had a chance to get used to our idleness, the first model pranced back in, stripping off layers along the way. The rest of the models trickled in, in various states of dress. Anne, being the last model in the lineup, returned and Ally and I quickly helped her into her clothes and shoes. From that point on, the dressing room was in a perpetual state of frenzy. Some of the items, like a slim pair of leather trousers and various accessories, had to be shared, so as soon as one model had slipped off her accessories, another model would be headed out the door putting them on. The dresser's function, as far as I could tell, was simply to make sure that the model was properly dressed before hitting the runway. In our case, it didn't necessarily mean that we had to literally dress Anne every step of the way, but rather to have her clothes and undergarments ready for her and be ready to assist with fastenings and such. As easy as the job sounds, I realized that I really had to be on my toes. I'm starting to get a little cliche-happy here, but every second counted. You know all those backstage videos we've seen, where the head dresser is chanting, "Go, go, go!" and "Where's Mariella? I need her now!"? Well, it was just like that! The energy in the room was just incredibly high.

After we had finished getting Anne suited up in her final gown, Ally and I snuck around to the event hall and watched the models strut their stuff. In all honesty, I was completely amazed. Backstage, many of the models looked like any other slouchy girl you'd see on the street, and the clothes were relatively plain. But the additional jewelry, combined with the models' perfected walks and postures, transformed the clothes. It was all in how they carried themselves -- with their shoulders thrown back, the sashaying models became inspiring and even worthy of admiration. (At this point in my writing, I find myself once again irritated that the photos were unavailable. Grrr! The photos weren't amazing, but at least you could have gotten an idea of what the show looked like.)

The show came to an end with the models marching down the runway and posing in a staggered line up. Samuel Vartan entered last and accepted flowers. After helping myself to some finger food, I made my way backstage to help pack clothes up and gather Anne's belongings. When I once again found myself outside, under the now dark Cambridgeport skies, I quietly reveled in my newfound experience.

But how does one wrap up a story like this? It took me four and a half months to find the momentum and words to share with you my tales of being a dresser. Now I'm finally done. Sometimes (erm, often) I'll feel the need to take apart and analyze things, but this time...perhaps I've already said everything I need to say.