I’m looking forward to the usual tamasha...
So the fashion week starts. It’s going to be hectic — the meetings, fittings, the rehearsals, and finally the madness backstage. The bitching has already begun. Some are whining about curbing the partying to look their best on the ramp, others are moaning about why some models are being more than them, and some are cribbing about the very designers they will be walking for. Everyone has their own set of complaints. But almost everyone is pissed about a leading actress being the face of this fashion week.
So the fashion week starts. It’s going to be hectic — the meetings, fittings, the rehearsals, and finally the madness backstage. The bitching has already begun. Some are whining about curbing the partying to look their best on the ramp, others are moaning about why some models are being more than them, and some are cribbing about the very designers they will be walking for. Everyone has their own set of complaints. But almost everyone is pissed about a leading actress being the face of this fashion week.
Does Bollywood have to take over everything? And why couldn’t the bosses have picked an actress who is young and upcoming, if there was one needed? Does it have to be a 30-plus actress who is getting ready to bid adieu to tinsel town. She is already picking out her wedding trousseau.
Maybe she will get her trousseau free from one of the designers. We all know which one! It’s going to be a busy week. But I am looking forward to the usual tamasha. We models know how editors of top magazines call to get front row seats even though they know n o t h i n g ab o u t fashion. Socialites and actresses confirm a presence on conditions.
Then there are friends of ‘influential’ people from corporate sponsors who have their own VIPs, who need to be catered to. It’s all so predictable. Nothing ever changes. You just learn to laugh at it, or ignore it — like everyone ignores this model who has developed this habit for coke. No one talks about it. I don’t blame her. The pressure gets to you after a while. Once the novelty of walking down the catwalk and having flashbulbs go off in your face wanes, little else remains. No wonder, if you ever walk backstage before or after a shoot, you will breathe in funny-smoking air. It never gets better.
Last year, a good-looking actor, who hasn’t walked for years, strutted down the catwalk for his designer buddy in Delhi, and even though he’s so far away from the modelling scene, he still needs his daily fix of high. He’s using so much that it’s showing on his face. One never knows when you go from trying it, to enjoying it, to needing it. Yes, I have tried it all, but cut it out before I got addicted. I can give you a list of models and actors who need to check into rehab right now. But even their family or friends are afraid of suggesting it. And then one day, he or she will quietly overdose in their home and there will be tributes like the ones on Amy Winehouse in all the papers recently. Dead at 27.
There’s enough pressure as it is. We’ve seen two female models end their lives in the last few years, and there are more cases just waiting to happen. Most of these beautiful people who shine on the ramp are dark on the inside. Disillusioned and disconnected. Is it this world that breaks them? Or is it that the spotlight attracts these broken souls?
