Of Fashion, Glam And Everything That Matters

By Hasita Krishna

I sit at the dressing table, waiting to be made up. The show will begin in fourteen minutes sharp, they say. Fourteen minutes may seem like a very short period of time, but it is extremely precious in the world of fashion where there is no stopping once you have begun the race. Times like these are the only ones you get to contemplate life, your job and what these mean to you.

And so I contemplate-more out of an urge to cash in on the available time than out of necessity. I think of the days when beauty and simplicity were mere reflections of the purity within. I look at my face; maybe one long time ago it had a trace of that simplicity. I look into my eyes and look for the person I’ve grown to believe is me and I’m not sure of that person still exists.

Nine minutes.

 A wave of nostalgia wraps around me like the blanket that I need to keep myself warm now. I think of the simple person that I was. I think of the times when I knew I was beautiful and did not need constant reassurance. I think of the times when I wanted a career in modeling, of how my parents were the only people who believed that I could make it big in this twisted world. But what I remember with utmost clarity is standing at my doorstep, promising my family that I’ll come back soon.

Ten years it has been, and my precious memories are slipping away. I no longer remember what colour I had painted my room’s walls in, or what my mother’s rasam tasted like, or what my sister looked like in a plait. Ten years it has been since work took over, and relationships shifted places like dunes.

Three minutes.

 My makeup man has arrived. As he paints my eyes kohl, I take a long look at myself and try to preserve that bit of me that I’d like to believe is still left in me. Suddenly, sitting here doesn’t seem all that worth it. I have to go out there and bring these clothes to life. I have to make them speak while my own heart struggles to remain silent.

Fifteen Seconds.

I wait near the opening. My time to contemplate is up. I have to go up there and make a mark in the only world that is now mine.

But as I step out to cheering crowds and a ramp that looks fit for a queen’s walk, everything else fades away. All that matters is that the spotlight is on me, and for those few seconds, the world is looking at me. Again, everything begins to make sense. Again, all the glitz and glam seem important, even vital. And yet again, the addiction that kept me here for so long takes over. This is my home.

Welcome to the world of Haute Couture where beauty is only skin deep. Then again, beauty is all that matters and leaves you craving for it all over again.