12:00pm: I arrive at Barton Hall for some last minute adjustments. Closures need to be added to my dress so it doesn’t fall off in front of a few hundred people. That would be a fashion faux pas. There are people everywhere backstage. Models, designers, reporters, all rushing around even though the show doesn’t start till 7. Its kind of crazy how people can be transformed into models. Some look as though they’ve just stepped off the runway at Mercedes Benz Fashion Week, dressed in everything from beautiful floral dresses to structured suits.
12:30: Now, for the moment of truth. I hold my breath as the dress slides over my shoulders, hoping I haven’t gained any weight in the past two weeks. The designer would kill me. A sigh of relief. It fits perfectly.
2:00: After some final tweaking, the rehearsal starts. Backstage we all wait in line for our turn to step foot on the runway. Some are veterans, some newbies. I’m one of the new girls. I’ve never done anything like this before, so I’m really nervous. I’m doing it mostly because my roommate asked me to be her model. And being a model is pretty badass. But I do have a history of passing out when I am in front of large crowds. I haven’t told the designer that. I’m hoping she won’t need to know.
2:45: I walk the runway successfully without passing out or tripping on the shoes that are one size too big and held on with ribbons. I don’t want to be that girl that falls. There’s always THAT girl. The one that has been put in shoes that are humanly impossible to walk in and falls halfway through her walk accompanied by a collective gasp from the crowd and an applause after she manages to get up. Well luckily that doesn’t happen to me during rehearsal and hopefully it won’t when the show actually starts.
4:45: Every line has walked and the dress rehearsal is over. The designers tell us to go get some food and be back a.s.a.p. for the real deal. Wait, food? I thought we weren’t supposed to eat. I like the world of Cornell modeling.
6:00: I run over to the designer and sit down to have my hair and makeup done. My face is covered in white face paint and baby powder and an arrow put through a bun on top of my head. Very Black Swan-esque.
7:00: The crowd has been filling in Barton on the other side of the stage. The sound is now up to a steady loud murmur of the audience, signaling that it’s almost time. Then the lights dim. Showtime.
8:00: The first few lines have walked the runway now and backstage we’ve been able to watch the action on a television screen. It’s really amazing seeing how much work has gone into the event and to see how incredible it has turned out. I feel like I’m at a fashion show in Milan or something.
8:15: The first line I’m in is up. I’m really nervous. Suddenly I feel really hot and shaky. Shit, I’m gonna pass out. Or maybe it’s just the bright lights or the fact that I’m in a turtleneck covered in feathers. “I’ll signal you when to go” says a girl with a large headset. My adrenaline is pumping so hard I can feel my pulse in my sweaty hands. I start to climb the stairs as the girl ahead of me steps out on the runway. This is it. Don’t screw it up Rachel. “Ok, go now!” says the girl with the headset, and I walk out onto the runway to be partially blinded by the bright lights and see the sea of people around me. Somehow I manage to walk the runway and end up back where I started. It must have been the adrenaline because I don’t really remember walking. And I didn’t pass out! Walk #1 is a success. Now for walk #2
9:30: After quickly washing off my face paint and baby powder and getting into my next outfit, a beautiful black and white frock with cutout pieces that look like delicate coffee filters, I run over to the stage and wait to walk again. The next line I’m in is starting any minute. Okay, last one. All I have to do is survive this and I’m golden. I walk again without any mishaps and step off of the stairs at the back of the stage. Phew, I made it.
10:00: All of the girls in the line get together for a quick photo and I carefully get undressed, trying not to rip the delicate frock. After all of that preparation, it’s over. All of the work, sweat, tears, and hours at the sewing machine put in by the designers the show went off without a hitch. All of the designers had amazing pieces and the models wore them beautifully, or for the men, handsomely. Now I’m exhausted. Modeling is a pretty tough job. All that walking and turning and wearing beautiful outfits. But I guess I could get used to it.