The first model I used in my career as a designer was a Hispanic girl named Patricia. I called her a “supermodel” because she was so thin and fit the criteria of today’s professional “supermodels”.
Every year for the graduation show, the school hires a model for each graduate. After we sketch and get approval from the teacher and the external director of the show, the teacher gives each of us a picture of the model and basic data. Patricia, who the teacher said she picked out specifically for me, was 5’8″ (about 1.73 meters) tall, with a 34-24-34 circumference and a dress size 2-4. The teacher thought from the photos and her stats that she would fit my design style.
Because we are doing a runway show, not a print show, we have to measure and cut the model according to her measurements. But the first time the model came to the class to be measured, Patricia didn’t show up for some reason. In order to hurry, I then made the first version on paper according to size 2, and then converted the paper version to muslin. The day she finally showed up, I was amazed. The first is her thin, simply a bone, almost the thinnest model in our class. The second was the heavy makeup, ripped jeans, long wavy hair, a pair of big earrings, a complete look of a Spanish girl on fire, quite a distance from my style.
She hastily slipped on the muslin I had cut out and roughly sewn on, and scanned my sketch absently. “What’s this?” She pointed to the box drawn with watercolors in the middle of the dress. I told her, “That’s going to be a Chinese ink painting.” She flattened her mouth and looked like she didn’t understand it and didn’t care. The fit was certainly not right on her, and I pursed in an inch under each armpit and there still seemed to be a gap. She looked at her watch, said “Oh no,” and asked me, “Is that all right?” The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of services and services to the public.
We seemed a little disappointed in each other at this fitting. She was so skinny that I had to alter the version, and she, too, didn’t seem to appreciate my design much. The second fitting, still with muslin, she came in a hurry again, and didn’t even look at it before putting it on her head. Still fat, I asked her if she had lost weight again. She said she had no choice but to model for other companies at the same time, so she had to be thinner. I had to sip another half inch under each armpit. She took off her muslin, picked up her big bag off the floor and ran off again.
The second fitting was still not perfect, but after the alterations were made, it had to be finalized and the cut had to be made in the official fabric. The company’s first and foremost goal was to make the company’s products available to the public. That day I put the draped mannequin clothes on the mannequin, and leaned against the high stool waiting for Patricia. After a while, my “supermodel” pushed open the wooden door, saw my mannequin from afar, covered his mouth and ran over. “OMG! OMG!” she shouted several times, throwing down her bag and hugging the mannequin, then gently removed my thin robe from above, and lifted the silky smooth as gelatin halter-night dress. “Is this the Chinese ink painting you were talking about?” I nodded. She said, “OMG, it’s so beautiful! Oh, girl,” she doesn’t call me by my first name, she always calls me “girl,” “I’m sure you’ll win the lingerie pro award. Trust my eyes, the one I wore last year won an award.”
The first day on the runway I went backstage in the evening to help her rehearse. She took out a pair of silver gray transparent shoes with a three-inch heel from her school bag, “Look, do they look good with your beautiful dress?” I nodded gratefully. Knowing that I would likely never see her again after the big show tomorrow, I gave her a pair of cloisonné chopsticks that I had prepared early.
The afternoon before the show, I went backstage to see her one last time. The company’s main business is to provide a wide range of products and services to the public. When she saw me, she smiled and pointed to the back of her head. In the middle of her high bun, I saw a cloisonné chopstick sticking out horizontally.
In the evening show, we were second in line for the lingerie show, and Patricia was the second group to go out. Bizarrely, by the time she got to the stage, she was not at all too thin, indeed ethereal and radiant. My teacher was right, she was really the perfect spokesperson for my outfit.