I Went to a Fashion Show

I forgot I was supposed to go until yesterday, when my mother-in-law sent me a Facebook message asking what time I wanted to meet, or if I wanted a ride. Of course I wanted a ride. Wait, where were we going?

The fashion show was put on by the graduates of Vancouver Community College’s Fashion Arts Certificate and Diploma programs; a long time ago it seemed like something I’d be interested in as a novelty. I am someone who owns Pajama Jeans though, so maybe I didn’t think it through. In any case, I agreed to tag along with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, who were there to support a friend of the family.

It occurred to me at 5:30 pm, when I was due to be picked up somewhere around 6:00, that I do not own any fashionable clothing. I realized at 5:40 that almost none of what I do have was any combination of clean/free of cat hair/unwrinkled/less than five years old. I found a dress that features my boobs, because when in doubt just show as much cleavage as you can – that’s something I think I know about fashion. And I found a push-up bra, because my boobs are never where I think I’ve left them.

I put on the only pair of black tights I currently own – zebra striped, apparently – squished myself into the dress. I put on mascara and then I sneezed. I tried to follow one of those Pinterest hair tutorials and ended up with a snarl of hair wrapped around an elastic band that also somehow incorporated some of my scalp.

We got to the show and there were free snacks so I hit those snack trays hard and the only thing that makes a busty dame with no reservations look even classier is the sight of her voraciously stuffing her face with fried wontons. Then I realized I was standing next to my sister-in-law, who is tall and thin and dresses well/like an adult; beside her, I am even more a hobbit. I ate quicker, but more discreetly. At least I had my boobs out – she didn’t have that.

The show began and that’s when I realized that fashion is confusing and I don’t get it. Each designer confused me a little more. Wouldn’t it be amazing if one day there was a fashion show where everyone came out in yoga pants or holey leggings and pilly sweater-dresses? Or, like, $6 pants from the Reitmans clearance rack and some plain scoop-neck T-shirts from Old Navy? The shoes would be Superstore flip-flops, or maybe that pair of Converse shoes you got when you were sixteen that you still wear sometimes/too often.

The designer we were there to see, Fia Gobbato, was amazing though and her clothes were beautiful. Her stuff was the best – it was sparkly and many of her models displayed tasteful cleavage (because fashion). The magic was in the details, and the details were extravagant and lush. She is going to be famous someday – and she deserves to be.

When Fia’s models strutted off the runway and it became obvious there would be no more snacks, we ducked out early. “I didn’t get most of that,” I declared and was relieved to see nods of agreement. “Fashion is weird.”