There were all sorts of things I thought I would do while in NYC. See people, go to a couple of museums or galleries, maybe a bit of shopping. But as it turned out, The Girl was quite keen on having her mother attached until my last day there, when she wanted a bit of space. So in between all the subwaying and walking and gigantic escalators, there was lots of sitting and waiting. I'd brought knitting with me, but we also tracked down the Habu store in the fashion district, close to one of her end of the day castings, and I got to spend a thoroughly enjoyable hour preusing yarn. I bought some silk, thin purple that I'm knitting into a narrow scarf, and some blue to go with the stainless/silk thread I have in the stash. The next day of castings ended in Tribeca? I think? And we went to the Betsey Johnson store, and I got to sit in a comfy chair while my girl tried on all kinds of things. The shop girls had a lot of fun waiting on her. I tried on one dress, but in typical daughter fashion, it was vetoed because "I can see your breasts, Mom, yuck!"
I snuck away one day to have a truly wonderful lunch with![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cordelia_v , who is even more interesting in person than online, hard as that is to believe. I didn't get to meet with imaginarycircus or my childhood friend who lives in the city, which I regret, but only so many hours in the day. The girl and I ate lots of wonderful food together. And I had the undiluted pleasure of being treated by my kid to a few meals. Sushi is a mainstay of a model's diet, so we ate lots of that, and we stopped for brunch one morning at this fancy place across from Grand Central Station, where I had the best bowl of oatmeal ever, and also the most expensive - I still can't believe we paid $17 for a bowl of oatmeal. The girl had poached eggs and quinoa there. I advised her to ask for her bernaise on the side, because she was under a lot of pressure about her weight(!) and her hip measurement (!!) from her agency. And then I smiled as she ate everything on her plate, including the toast (dipped in bernaise).
It's... oh you guys. Parenting a kid who is modeling means worrying about what they eat, worrying about the pressure from the frankly insane industry. She's naturally rail thin, and often a really light eater, but I worried when I got to NY and she said she was hungry all the time, and so tired of it. In her first show (a presentation, where they stand for an hour) 3 other models fainted, and had to be carried out. At her last presentation two girls stepped out. Another mom told me one model had been yanked from a show the night before because her agency had put her into rehab.
And yet for all the craziness, there's beauty. The beauty of the girls (and boys) - the chatter of the stylists backstage as they tease and pull and shape, the back and forth of the makeup artists as they painstakingly draw elaborate black cat's eyes or the sweeping lines and colours and textures of the clothing. Backstage at the shows is a madhouse - designers and makeup and hair and models and so many photographers, and a couple of moms, and the Lincoln Centre crew trying to maintain some boundaries and sanity. "My daughter's in the show" is generally a magic password to get me in, and then I just tried to stay out of the way. I admit, the one time I got put in a corner at the end of the changing corridor, I did peek at the one model boy in his underwear. But only for a moment, I swear. It would have tempted a saint.
We dashed around in cabs, and occasionally got lost and listened to the musicians underground. We ate sweet potato fries and constantly stopped in Starbucks for a coffee and access to their wifi. We hugged goodbye each night.
I snuck away one day to have a truly wonderful lunch with
cordelia_v , who is even more interesting in person than online, hard as that is to believe. I didn't get to meet with imaginarycircus or my childhood friend who lives in the city, which I regret, but only so many hours in the day. The girl and I ate lots of wonderful food together. And I had the undiluted pleasure of being treated by my kid to a few meals. Sushi is a mainstay of a model's diet, so we ate lots of that, and we stopped for brunch one morning at this fancy place across from Grand Central Station, where I had the best bowl of oatmeal ever, and also the most expensive - I still can't believe we paid $17 for a bowl of oatmeal. The girl had poached eggs and quinoa there. I advised her to ask for her bernaise on the side, because she was under a lot of pressure about her weight(!) and her hip measurement (!!) from her agency. And then I smiled as she ate everything on her plate, including the toast (dipped in bernaise). It's... oh you guys. Parenting a kid who is modeling means worrying about what they eat, worrying about the pressure from the frankly insane industry. She's naturally rail thin, and often a really light eater, but I worried when I got to NY and she said she was hungry all the time, and so tired of it. In her first show (a presentation, where they stand for an hour) 3 other models fainted, and had to be carried out. At her last presentation two girls stepped out. Another mom told me one model had been yanked from a show the night before because her agency had put her into rehab.
And yet for all the craziness, there's beauty. The beauty of the girls (and boys) - the chatter of the stylists backstage as they tease and pull and shape, the back and forth of the makeup artists as they painstakingly draw elaborate black cat's eyes or the sweeping lines and colours and textures of the clothing. Backstage at the shows is a madhouse - designers and makeup and hair and models and so many photographers, and a couple of moms, and the Lincoln Centre crew trying to maintain some boundaries and sanity. "My daughter's in the show" is generally a magic password to get me in, and then I just tried to stay out of the way. I admit, the one time I got put in a corner at the end of the changing corridor, I did peek at the one model boy in his underwear. But only for a moment, I swear. It would have tempted a saint.
We dashed around in cabs, and occasionally got lost and listened to the musicians underground. We ate sweet potato fries and constantly stopped in Starbucks for a coffee and access to their wifi. We hugged goodbye each night.
