Fashion Show

As a busy working woman for over 25 years, I've never had the opportunity or inclination to attend a proper fashion show with a real runway, New York designer clothes, finger food, wine, flowers and ladies who lunch and wear real jewelry during the day. Today, I filled that gap in my experience.

Deciding that jeans and tee shirt wouldn't make the right impression, I pulled out my black consultant's suit and dusted off the shoulders which had accumulated debris hanging in my closet for seven months. I matched it with a pink scoop neck nylon shell, a big retro 50's pink rhinestone pin, and finished off the look with diamond drop earrings, bracelets and dress up black heeled sandals (pantie hose will not touch my legs as long as the temperature is over 80 degrees). It was a good hair day. It felt good to clean up.

My neighbor, Elizabeth, who also has never done a fashion show either, was my date. We drove out of the city to the elegant suburban South Wind Country Club. Th club is what they call here in the mid-south "high cotton" -- a beautiful building, surrounded by a beautiful golf course in a beautiful community locked tight with gates controlled by a worrisome guard. All is very lush, green, quiet and proper.

The purpose of the show was to generate publicity and raise money for the International Children's Heart Foundation (ICHF), the charity for which I volunteer. Elizabeth is the wife of the ICHF's founder and medical director, Dr. William Novick. Elizabeth is as irreverent as me which makes her a great companion at such an event. The clothes to be shown were that of Mr. Hilton Hollis, a New York designer with strong roots in the Memphis area, specifically Mississippi, if you can believe that. We purchased our front row tickets, then headed for the buffet for a leisurely breakfast before the show.

I discovered that if you act like you know what your are doing, even when you don't, you'll be okay. The strategy worked well. We chatted with other ladies, shared stories of how we came to be in Memphis (some had actually not been born and raised here), admired the art work to be auctioned, and tested anti-aging creams and health drinks from vendors in the buffet room. The anti-aging cream did not remove the wrinkles from the back of my left hand even though it was made from caviar. And, the health drink would have been much tastier with vodka and ice. As we waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time, I downed a grandee cup of Starbucks coffee and a Bloody Mary.

Finally, we were ushered into a small ballroom, took our seats, smiled politely through the opening remarks, and sat at attention with legs crossed at the knee as opera music heralded the start of the show. First came the "fall collection". It was silver, beige, navy, gray, lacy, furry and shiny. We oohed and aahed, and taking our cue from the Mr. Hollis' 94 old grandmother who sat directly across from us, clapped after each model walked past our seats. We clapped a lot.

After a short break, the auction began. Elizabeth and I each made a bid on the painting. Luckily, someone, Mr. Hollis' partner, out bid us so we were off the hook. Neither of us liked the painting well enough to spend over $600, but as the crowd was small and not all well-heeled, we felt it our duty to encourage a certain amount of enthusiasm.

The second act was the spring collection. It was full of cream, green, copper, and satin sequin filled fabrics that sway sexily at the hips. In the end, all the outfits were quite well designed, easy to wear even if you are not a size 2, and nicely tailored. My Mom would have drooled over all the flat fell seams and the panelled jackets and slacks. There was not a raw edge, inside or out. Luckily for us, Mr. Hollis' designs for everyone but short people, and, as both Elizabeth and I are short people, we were safe from having to shell out some $600 for a cute little jacket or slimming pair of slacks.

I know there are women who think nothing of spending hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, on a dress, jacket, skirt or pair of slacks. But, something in me, maybe my genes or deep roots of my mid-west upbringing, keeps me for acquiring such indulgences. How many seasons can you wear those sequins without people getting suspicious?