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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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Never Have I Ever....

Let’s play a game shall we... How about Never Have I Ever?!

I’ll start:

Never have I ever... been on a blind date... drink

Never have I ever... gotten a tattoo I regretted... nope, no drinking, virgin skin here!

Never have I ever... been blocked and deleted off all social media... DRINK!

And for no good reason I might add. Dude if you’re reading this... tsk tsk tsk, you should know better. Girls talk. And girls have friends. Friends with unblocked accounts.

I met J, an Eastern European model, a few years ago at a particularly rowdy afterparty in Paris. It was basically a teenage disco full of young guns making out with each other all over the place... A free for all if you will.

I was pretty wasted (dat free booze yo!) and didn’t really remember exactly how we met but he recently filled me in saying that he just walked up to me and said “can I kiss you” (smooth operator... I hadn’t even clocked him yet) and I just went in for it... like I said... pretty wasted.

I remember making out for quite a bit and he wanted to take it back to the house if you get my gist. I wasn’t down. “I want to see you naked” in any accent doesn’t really do it for me... if you’ve read some of my other posts you may remember... too forward = me outta there quick smart. He tried every line in the book that night “but I will never see you again”, “we just have this night”, “you’re just so beautiful I can’t resist” etc etc etc but I wasn’t game.

And that was it... well until recently. J and I didn’t speak or see each other for a couple of years but did become friends on all forms of social media somewhere down the line. He started chatting to me and mentioned he was in London so we should go for a drink. Being in the thick of a man drought I thought why the hell not! It’s been a few years... who knows!

We actually had a pretty good time, he’s a cool guy doing some interesting shit really! But he was still fairly forceful and persistent by my Aussie standards. The chat was good and we had a little make out but I’d already told him before I agreed to meet with him this night that I had to go to my friends place after as he was in the thick of a doozy break up. This was fine by J... on FB... but seemingly less fine in real life. After I left he messaged me asking when I was coming back to him. I’d said I wouldn’t be able to that night but yet he kept asking... all night! I was responding with versions of “I can’t tonight, I’m with my mate who’s devastated”. The more he asked the more trapped I felt, I don’t know how much clearer I could have made it... me no come back now.

Eventually he gave up and said we’d chat tomorrow and grab a coffee. The next day I got a message saying that he actually couldn’t hang, too much work, then he was going away for a few days but would be back on early next week so we’d catch up then. All good in the hood... or so I thought.

The week leading up to our first meet up had been so stressful that the saturday night I got white girl wasted. Like WHITE. GIRL. WASTED. I’m pretty sure I was speaking a different language by midnight. The sunday after was a complete right off. The only thoughts I was having was “dear god please make it tomorrow already” and “should I throw up now or later?”. Classy. This Sunday also happened to be J’s birthday which he had mentioned, but in my dire state it completely slipped my mind.

A week later, I was out with a friend when I remembered and went to send him a message. I hadn’t heard from him and he was apparently back but it didn’t bother me. I went to send him a message then and there (better late than never)... he was nowhere to be found. Not on fb, not on insta.

Maybe he just deleted social media?! No babes. No. The thing is, deleting and blocking someone is fairly petty and stupid (unless you’ve got a real good reason... like le french fucker... good call by me there). Because really, all ya gotta do is grab someone else’s phone and type in their name... which is exactly what we did... and voila! There he was, alive and well in the internet realm... with a girlfriend.

Dude.

No Bueno.

He had actually asked me when we’d met up if I was single... yas yas... so obviously I asked too, to which he replied yes but with a bit of a laugh. I pressed him on it at the time and he said “No I am single”. Mate... insta says different. Insta says maybe you’ve been together a few years actually?!

Now who am I to judge?! Maybe it’s an open relationship, maybe they’re off and on... je ne sais pas. Maybe he deleted me because I broke his little heart by not wanting to go back and bang him immediately or maybe because I forgot his birthday or maybe (and most probably) he just didn’t want me to find out that actually he wasn’t so single after all. Either way, I’m not so sure I did anything bad enough to justify a total block and delete.

So since I didn’t block nor delete him and therefore he can probably see this if he wanted to... J, it was one time, one kiss (well two including Paris), 3 years in between. I’m not sat here devo that you have a girlfriend. Honestly, I wasn’t that into it but thought we’d at least be friends.

But alas, here we are, in high school again. So I shall drink my voddy water to this game of Never Have I Ever.

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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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#MeToo

I originally wrote this specific column a while back when an article had just been published about the kidnapping of a British glamour model sent to Milan for a photoshoot went viral. Unfortunately the magazine didn’t want to publish it at the time so I decided to take my column to it’s own platform (as you see here). After transferring the old content across I’m finally ready for a new article and since this is the week everything has kicked off with Weinstein, #MeToo and Cameron Russell’s instagram full of model abuse, I thought it was time this column saw the light of day.

Before we begin/little disclaimer for you... I’d like to say that I consider myself lucky that the times (plural) I’ve had to deal with some kind of sexual harassment/been put into a compromising position, that it hasn’t been nearly as serious as other stories I’ve heard. I also do not/have never seen myself as a victim in regards to this specific incident nor any of the others. By writing this column I am not looking for sympathy... not even remotely... I just want to stand in solidarity with all the others out there and share a story of a close call that happened to me whilst I living was in Milan.

When you’re sent “on stay” as a model to another country, it’s not the glamorous experience the media makes out it is...it’s more like being put into a bubble world of relentless castings, promoter parties and model apartments that resemble year 6 camp at best.

For those of you that don’t know, model promoters are people...generally men...who work for a club or restaurant and are paid, per model, to take us out. Models get to eat and drink for free, which can be great...but so long as you know the game... because if you look around the ‘model sections’ there tends to be a few old, grey heads lurking there too... no such thing as a free lunch now.

I was sent to Milan a couple of years ago for two months to try to get work. It was the first place I’d ever lived outside of home, let alone overseas. I was young, open to adventures and fairly naive...basically the perfect prey. I was also scared shitless when I arrived, I felt extremely isolated but luckily I was bunked in with just one other model, K, who was the bomb!

The model promoter scene in Milan is massive. Bigger than anywhere else I’ve ever experienced since. It’s pretty much impossible to avoid but when K said she was completely anti-promoters I was happy to just go with the flow... I hadn’t even really worked out wtf a promoter was at this stage so I couldn’t have cared less.

One day at a casting we met a male model called T. T was a fast talking American and I wasn’t really a fan from the get go. He said he wasn’t into the promoter scene either so we should all hang out. We didn’t know many people yet so the more the merrier!

A couple of days later T invited us to a party for the designers DSquared and said we’d be sitting at the table with them for dinner. On the way to the party, it somehow slipped out that the event was actually being run by promoters and yeaaaa we probably wouldn’t be sitting with the designers. K was having none of it. We were nearly there so I wanted to check it out anyway so I somehow managed to calm K down and convince her to go, just for a bit.

The next day T, who seemed quite smitten with K, texted her to apologize and asked if he could make it up to us by taking us to a friends house in Varese (approx 1.5 hour drive outside of Milan) for dinner. New experience...new place...new people... where could I sign up?!

Since T was around our age I naively assumed that his “friends” would be to... I assumed wrong.

We were greeted by two older men, M (in his 50s) the owner of the huge ass property we found ourselves in...inclusive of it’s own stables, motorbike workshop and a restaurant. And G, an ex model booker (70s..at a guess).

Looking back now, this should have been a little more strange than I found it at the time, but I guess power in numbers... plus G was an ex model booker and T was a model too, so safe...right?!

After dinner and a drive to Lake Maggorie, G started talking about how late it was and that we should just stay the night at a local hotel. That way, in the morning we could ride M’s horses and then go out on the boat. T said he had a casting in the morning so he couldn’t stay but we should (a casting...on a Saturday... in Italy.. who the fuck was he kidding?!).

I don’t remember K or I saying yes but we were driven to the hotel anyway. Whilst G and the hotel manager were deep in discussion that I couldn’t remotely understand K said the hair on the back of her neck stood up and that we had to go home. She couldn’t explain it, just a weird feeling. When we told G that actually we wanted to stay at our place he absolutely lost it. Unreasonably so. He was yelling and screaming, throwing his arms all over the place. It was so outrageous; it made us dig out heels in more.

We were driven back to Milan on the pretense that we’d be back in the morning with T after his casting.

To spare everyone the essay that this would be if I gave you an exact play-by-play of what happened next (it’s already long AF I know), I’ll try to break it down for you.

T was being super shifty and aloof in the morning about when he was going to this “casting”. We wanted to wait for him but instead he booked us a cab, told us to get in and he’d be 30 minutes behind.

Once back in Varese K and I were taken with M and G for gelato in a nearby town, given a tour of M’s motorbike workshop, rode horses, witnessed G parading around in his teeny tiny speedos, ready for the boat... and there was still no T.

4 hours later than he’d said, T finally showed his smarmy little face. It seemed weirdly preplanned... just us two pretty young things left alone to be paraded around with these two old men... things were starting to feel off to me (just now... I know)

After the boat ride, back on the pier before dinner, I oversaw G and T exchanging some very terse words. G eventually stormed off, arms flailing in the air again and swearing under his breath (my ex was Italian... I know Italian swear words ;). I’d had a couple of niggling doubts in my mind from earlier in the day and this seemed a little bizarre but I ignored it. I just wanted get to dinner, eat fast and go home.

In the car on the way back to Milan, K sat in the front next to M and I was in the back next to G in the middle and T on his other side. It was late, everyone was falling asleep and that’s when shit got real weird. I was resting my head against the window, nodding off to dream land and that’s when G lay one had on my leg and started grabbing my face and pulling it towards him with the other, whispering “My darling, lie on me, lie on me, it’s much more comfortable”. He was literally pulling my head down on to him, stroking my cheek and pushing his lips towards mine. Every time I’d pull my head up, he’d pull it back down. “You’re tired my darling, don’t fight it, it’s ok baby, just lie on me”. There couldn’t have been creepier words spoken...and I couldn’t have been more awake. This wasn’t good. I knew it. Fuck knows what T was doing at this time. He must have been able to hear what was going on, he was literally on the other side of G but he remained still and silent, didn’t intervene at all.

I remember pulling out my phone and showing G pictures of my family, hoping to distract him the current head tug of war that was going on. I’m pretty sure my thought process was along the line of “look you motherfucker, I’m loved, people will look for me if i’m missing or kick your ass Liam Neeson style if anything happens to me”.

As we entered Milan I was completely on edge, even more so when they decided to drop T off first. I even mentioned that I recognised where we were (bullshit) in case they had any ideas about taking us somewhere strange. G and T exchanged more terse words as he got out of the car and this time I could make out they were talking about money. Luckily K and I were dropped off at our actual address shortly after, with G giving us too long hugs goodbye.

In the morning K told me she’d had bad vibes the whole day. I mentioned seeing T and G argue on the pier and she said she’d overheard that conversation, with T said “we should tell the girls, they should know” and G was having none of it. I told her I heard them argue about money outside T’s place and that’s when the penny dropped.

Turned out that T and G were in cahoots with each other running some kind of model escort biz. G would find wealthy older men who would pay the dirty duo to find models to spend time with them...whatever that time involved...as well as paying for all expenses of the day/weekend/week. T, being a male model and therefore ‘safe and trustworthy’ would find the unsuspecting models and bring them to the men. Unaware of what was actually going on, packaging it as a fun time with “a friend” rather than some old man i’m being paid to deliver you to.

K confronted T and he confirmed everything. I have no idea how much M knew about what G and T were doing, I was alone with him several times and was honestly never uncomfortable. Had it been someone else, I’m aware that this story could be very different. I never heard from M again.

G tried to make contact a few more times... messaging me about going for a ride in his Ferrari... like that’s going to do it for me.

T sent a few rounds of apology messages. I basically told him to go fuck himself. One of the final messages was something along the line of “I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you, come to Cannes, I’m staying on a yacht for a week with some friends, join us!”. A week...trapped on a boat with you and your “friends”...yea, that’s a hard no from me.

Looking back I can see how dangerously close we were to getting pimped out or trafficked. Had anything happened, we were millions of miles from home, we didn’t even have the address of the M’s property and we’d been taken away on a Friday so our agency would have been unaware anything was wrong until the Monday.

Hindsight is 20/20 baby.

We got lucky.

#MeToo #milan #model #model life #model promoter #creep #filthy creep #cameron russell #close call #human trafficking #pimped out

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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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Le French Fucker

I was in acting class last Saturday and the scene I was doing was quite “emotional” so to speak. Apparently I was lacking in the rawness of emotion the scene called for (this shit’s hard man) so my teacher tried to get me to relate to my personal life by asking when the last time I dumped someone was and if it was easy (he wanted me to say it was hard). I had to think for a bit tbh because it’s been a while since I didn’t just phase someone out or they phased me out... hey, don’t get on your high horse here with me... we all do it! But then it hit me... and you know what?! The last time I actually dumped someone was fucking easy and this is why.

I met A last year at my fave dive bar when I was living in Paris. Tall, handsome, great style... all the right ingredients for a one-night kind of thing. I went back to London the next day for 10 days and kind of expected that’d be that. A had other ideas. He called and texted constantly and even picked me up from the station when I got back to Paris. Cute right?! I wasn’t sure, something seemed off or was missing or something.

Every time I would see A he’d be saying things like “my darling, I’ve missed you, did you miss me?!” Ummmmm no. It’s been 10 days and I don’t actually know you... “A week is so long to go without the love of your life, I must see you more!” Again...babe...I don’t really know you yet. “Let’s move to Sardinia, get married and grow potatoes!”...Potatoes hey?! Don’t think I’m really a potato kind of girl... nor is that my ideal kind of life.

Now I realise that a lot of girls would gag for this kind of declaration of love and I also realise that he’s French so some of it comes with the territory. But I’m Australian... it just sounds like bullshit to my ears. That kind of intensity straight off the bat also tends to make me run for the hills, and I don’t like running... too much effort.

I didn’t really have a lot going on at this point in time though, and it’s nice to feel loved and special right?! So I went along with it...for a few months. A few months too long I might add.

I wont go into the nitty gritty of everything that happened next coz it’s just not that interesting, but like Maya Angelou said, when someone shows you who they are, believe them. Like when someone says “I’m an alcoholic”. It’s not always in a “ha yea, cool, we all are, party hard, no worries” kind of a way. Really. I should have listened.

I should say, that when sober, A was one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met and that’s probably what kept me entertaining the idea for him for so long. However, in hindsight, those sober times were unfortunately few and far between.

After some fairly heated rows and harsh words I was done. But just before I went home for Christmas A managed to convince me to have a heart to heart. Although I was still not sold on the idea of him in general...god knows I made it clear any more of his bull would not fly...we managed to get to an ok kind of a place. He was very honest, which I appreciated, and said he was going to take our time on different continents as a detox of sorts and sort his shit out.

Spoiler alert... he didn’t.

We had one nice night out when I got back to Paris before shit really hit the fan. Post men’s fashion week (sleep deprivation in full force) A invited me for a drink in Bastille. He was completely loaded when I got there and I sat next to him, across from 2 of his mates (or so I thought) 1 guy, 1 girl. He said pretty much nothing to me whilst we were sat there except to ask if i’d been working as a casting director during men’s fashion week...(If you’re just joining in now, I’m not, nor have I ever been, a casting director). We’d been seeing each other off and on for about 3 months by this point.

After about 15 minutes, A’s dude friend went to get his gf from outside, and as soon as he left, A moved from next to me to sit next to the other girl. I sat there for a bit, no one noticing my existence let alone talking to me, so I got up and went to the bathroom. I sat back down...nothing. So I sat there again for a bit then went to get a drink. Sat back down...nada. I didn’t need to speak french to know wtf was going on in front of me.

I got an overwhelming sense of “get the fuck out of here now” so I knocked back my drink and stood to leave.

A finally pried his eyes away from the new girl to sheepishly look up at me and our conversation went a little like this:

A: Are you leaving?

Me: Of course I’m leaving, you haven’t spoken to me all night and you clearly want to fuck her.

A: Yes. I do. Sorry.

(Insert me fairly gobsmacked here)

Me: to be clear, you do not want to fuck me anymore? ( disclaimer: I am never this clear but language and barrier and all...)

A: No, I want to be able to fuck both of you.

Me: Ok, so for the last few months you’ve been chewing my ear off with bullshit about me being the love of your life etc and now...

A: Yes well I even did this in my 5 year relationship

Me: Did what?! Spew shit or cheat?

A: Cheat

I looked him dead in the eyes for a few moments, said nothing, smirked and walked the fuck outta there.

By the next morning I felt bloody amazing.

I deleted him off everything because yes normally deleting an ex is childish AF, in this instance, I just don’t need that shit in my life. But honestly, if we’re looking for silver linings, I think that is the cleanest break up I’ve ever had. Most of them are “this is just not right for now” “maybe in the future”... you get the gist. But A was so honest and is clearly such an asshole that it made it easy as pie.

Bye Felicia

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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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Well... that was stupid

After yet another particularly drunken weekend making me reevaluate my life choices, I have been sitting here today thinking about all the shit I have done whilst drunk before. The list is long. Like really, really long. Besides from the usual snog someone you don’t really mean to, say things you don’t actually believe in, pfft that’s nothing, we all do that. But when I actually think about it, people do some really insane shit drunk...or at least I do.

As I was thinking of some of these crazy moments, one specific scene from last year popped into my mind that I thought I’d share with you.

Now you’ve gotta love the northern hemisphere summer, especially in London. When London is hot and sunny, life is just dreamyyyyy. Londoners don’t get a nice hot day all that much so when it does come around everyone seems to make the most of it. long days, high spirits, people actually out doing shit, I love it!

On this particular day I’m pretty sure i’d arrived from Paris in the morning and London was at it’s finest. 25 degrees, not a cloud in the sky and every gorgeous, douchebag hipster sat in London Fields. Yours truly included.

Day drinking is not my strong suit, it makes me want to curl into bed by 7pm, but somehow this day I managed to party on through... unfortunately not that successfully. We’d had a decent stint in the park and raged on to a couple of house parties until about 1:30am... when I lost my ability to speak.

After some stern words from a friend, he managed to convince me to leave the party and go home to sleep it off...a very rare occurrence...can’t say I’m ever one to leave a party early... but I was hardly in a state to fight back.

Problem was...I couldn’t remember my address either for Mr. Uber so a new friend at the time offered to take me back to theirs instead. Bet they regretted that.

As soon as I got there I decided I had to take a shower, no ifs or buts about it, I was having a fucking shower. But instead of taking a shower like a normal human, I got in...fully clothed...jumpsuit, underwear, socks and all!

Clearly rational thought was long gone. Probably sat next to my empty bottle of vodka in the par,

I think my train of thought was “I don’t want you to see me naked!” But of course that was a bust....couldn’t exactly sleep in a fucking wet jumpsuit now could I?!

The only thing that made this worse was waking up still loose, no where I am, friend at work and a dead phone.

Yup, definitely one of the dumbest things I’ve done drunk.

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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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Tinder nightmares

I’ve been sick this week so there hasn’t been much debauchery going on from my end so lets have a little chat about Tinder shall we?! Or Happn, Bumble, Grindr, whatever you’re into. I’m all for any dating app really, if people want to use it go for it! Find the love of your life. Or the lay of your life. Take charge! I however, am old school, I like to meet my prey in the wild...like at my favourite bar down the road which luckily resembles a zoo on a good night.

That’s not to say I haven’t dabbled before...I’ve logged on from time to time. Generally for some mild entertainment when I’m bored, but my attention span for it lasts about 5 minutes before it gets deleted all over again.

I am, however, more inclined to use it whilst in Paris...to improve my french. Yea fucking right you’re all saying...but seriously, I use it to talk/type to poor unsuspecting French people that I’m never going to meet so my french gets better.

Last year I actually went out on a limb and met one of my unassuming “french teachers”. It was just after fashion week and it seemed everyone had exited Paris except me. I had been talking to this guy V for a bit and although I wasn’t really attracted to him, he seemed like a super interesting dude. We were in a similar industry, he’d travelled the world doing a bunch of odd jobs and we had a couple of mutual friends. V asked if i’d like to come to an exhibition opening of his old boss and then to a gig...the wife of his new boss. It sounded very casual and not like like it was going to be an intimate one on one affair so I thought fuck it, why not.

The exhibition was super cool and although my non-attraction was confirmed, he really was an interesting character and I thought ‘hey, maybe we could just be friends’. I love meeting new people anyway so it’s not that much of a stretch right?!

After the exhibition wound down we went over to the gig and after about 10 minutes I realised V must have been drinking a little more of the ‘kool aid’ than I had... if you catch my drift.

I was talking to his work mate S when V wobbled over and out of nowhere turned to S and said “are you hitting on my girlllll?!”. I was mortified. Because

1. Just because S is a lesbian does not mean she chats up everyone with a vagina...she’s your work colleague for gods sake

2. I sure as hell ain’t ‘your girl’

We’d been there for about 30 minutes, the gig still hadn’t started and I’d had a couple of other awkward encounters with some of V’s mates who’d arrived, but I was determined to see the show.

We all headed to a side room to sit and chill until she finally took to the stage. I wasn’t even feeling buzzed at this point but V was hitting another level. Mid conversation, he suddenly shot up from the couch screaming, “I’ve lost my phone, I’ve lost my phone!”, ran around the tiny room looking for it before shooting out into the labyrinth of the club to continue his search. His outburst was quite manic tbh and I was a little taken aback...even more so when I looked down to where he’d been sitting and saw his phone slightly to the side.

I decided it was probably time to bounce so I took the phone and tried to find him. When I had no luck I headed back to the room to see if he was back there or to just give it to his friends and shimmy on home.

Within 2 seconds of entering the room V was in my face excited AF that i’d found his phone and as a ‘thank you’ he shoved his tongue down my throat and went in for a full blown pash, inclusive of teeth licking. Yes, you just read that right. He. Licked. My. Teeth. I know everyone has their quirks and fetishes but this was a new one for me...I wasn’t into it.

I pulled away from him and blurted out “did you just lick my teeth?!” I could have maybe, maybe put aside the free flossing by tongue but his response was really the nail in the coffin.

Instead of owning his freaky fetish like a man, he crumbled under my questioning and said “oh my god, do you not like it?! Because if you don’t like it, I can totally change. I can do it however you want. I can change.” Not sexy.

And it just got worse from there. I tried to leave again but when I said he wasn’t coming with me he threw his arms across his chest, flung his back against the wall and pouted repeatedly “you just don’t like me!”. Head hung low and all. He also threw in “I live so far away so if I can’t come home with you I will be sleeping on the streets!”. You know, just for good measure, maybe that’d make me change my mind.

I’m not sure exactly why I didn’t just walk off and leave him there. Probably that side of us ladies that wants to me nice, liked and to avoid hurting peoples feelings. So instead I waited until we got a hold of his friends and then made a run for it.

Alas, I saw no gig that night, he was enough of a show. It did put me right off Tinder though, I’ve even found a new way of improving my french.

#tinder #tinder nightmares #date #first date #terrible first date #worst first date #kiss #pash #make out #awful kiss #worst kiss #teeth lick #paris #fashion week #pfw #silencio #club #night out

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get-the-g-blog · 7 years

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Numero Uno

Hello sunshines! Welcome to the first post of what will be a weekly series. Before we get down to it, let me introduce myself... My name is Genevieve, I’m originally from the land down under...not that you’d know from my year round moon tan... and currently reside in the fabulous ghetto of East London. Although thanks to my day job as a professional coat hanger your just as likely to find me basically anywhere else in the world.

This week I’ve been sweating my tits off doing showroom in Paris. FML could there be anything worse than getting changed a thousand times a day in 33 degree heat?!

Actually...come to think of it... same time last year I was doing the Vetements showroom and of course they had to be edgy AF and pick an abandoned building with a glass ceiling and no aircon for their showroom. As you do. This, along with 40 degree weather and a collaboration with East Pack (aka puffa jackets) and others, did not a fun showroom make. Envision walking around a sauna wrapped in a duvet for 4 days... yea that was me. Not. Cool. Babes.

I haven’t done showroom once without having a bit of a melt down at some point. I’ve cried, I’ve offended people, I’ve refused to put on outfits and I’ve even turned up still drunk from the night before.

I feel like fashion week, especially Paris being the last one, brings out everyones inner demon. People literally lose their minds.

I sometimes wonder what people think of me if they meet me for the first time during that week because there is honestly a point each season where I don’t know who I am anymore.

This is down to

1. Sleep deprivation- If I had 5 hours a sleep a night this week I was in luck

2. Parties- how the fuck anyone can just head back to their apartment and stay put with all the fun shit going on during fashion week is literally beyond me. Fashion Week is basically FOMO on steroids.

Luckily for everyone I was working with, this week’s showroom fell just after mens and just before couture, therefore I only had the general Paris mania to try and avoid rather than the pleather of fashion week parties, full of hot male models and free drinks...because lets be honest, I’m weak, I would have caved.

Although I was relatively well behaved this time I still managed to slip in a couple of nice dinners, cheeky little wine, a G+T or 2 on the job when we went into over time...I’m acting if I’ve all grown up but really I think it have something to do with my trying to avoid a scene like below when I rocked up one day last year to showroom after 45 minutes of sleep and spent half of the day dying like this:

But we could just say I’m maturing and pretend...yea that sounds good, let’s go with that.

Until next time.

Au Revoir!

#pfw #fashion week #showroom #vetements #yproject #solace #solace london #sleep deprivation #model #model life #get the g #life ache #hungover #drunk #party #male model #mpfw #paris #hangover from hell

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