My daughter has the job I always wanted. Clothes, models, magazine editors, and celebrities are a part of her daily world. The company she works for is a highly recognized and completely covetable brand. So when the invitation to attend their fall/winter 2013 show finally materialized, I was thrilled to realize my dream of attending! Even though it was standing room only, I couldn't wait.
The plan was to take half of the day off from my second graders, leaving my very competent student teacher in charge. I would have dinner with the younger daughter after the show and spend the night in the apartment they share.
For days before, I was consumed with what I would wear. The outfit, the shoes, accessories, all had to be selected with precision. I’d seek approval and confirmation of my choices. Little did I realize that my wardrobe would require weatherproofing.
The forecast for the second day of Fashion Week; i.e. the day of THE SHOW called for a historic blizzard in New York; one of epic proportions.
My husband, a devoted weather follower and extremely cautious fella began dropping hints that I should cancel my plans and look forward, instead to the next show in September.
Wait for September? Was he crazy? Spring collections don’t compare to fall. The sumptuous sweaters, the gorgeous coats, the lush textures of fall collections are eons more exciting than the styles of spring. Oh no, I was going to this show no matter what the weather.
So I made alternative plans. Packing a bag in case I was snowed in. Leaving early. Putting my trust in the Long Island Railroad to get me there and back safely if not exactly on time. Riding the subway to ensure me staying dry underground and spending as little time as possible on the snowy city streets.
The snowstorm was violent. My hair didn’t hold up but I sure did. We arrived early enough to watch the models rehearse their catwalk. Hot cups of mulled wine warmed us while we waited for show time.
Honestly, it was my dream come true. Good thing I didn’t listen to hubby this time. It was worth every wind-blown snowflake.
But here’s the thing. Watching how with unflappable style my first-born child mitigates family members without a front row seat, soothes cold and soaking wet fashion editors, and navigates high-profile celebrities to the front row was the icing on the cupcake. But the raves from her colleagues and associates about what a sweet, smart, funny, and capable young woman she is are the best reviews a mother could hope for.