Friday night

as kids, we used to play a game called “strike a pose” in which all participants had to arrange themselves into poses and hold for as long as the judge wanted. the ones who could not, were out. the rest were judged and a “best pose” was chosen.

this game was in full force last night at a party i attended, mostly because i had nothing better to do and because i am always thrilled to be invited by these particular people, even if the invitation is a last moment, hoping-you-can’t-make it kind of thing. you see this is the world of fashion and models and pretty people, those starved but beautiful creatures that make the rest of us conquer the world, since we’ll never be as tall and as thin as they are. ah the blessings of the inferiority complex.

these particular parties are mostly hosted by fadil, the man, the photographer, the judge of the misses, the strange creature who almost was the first and then spawned the rest of the albanian fashion photographers, still learning how to negotiate the nyc fashion jungle. i am not sure about how big he is in the ny scene, nor do i really care, as long as he does happy hour in the beginning and i can get fodder for my blog. and keeps inviting me of course.

there are a lot of interesting people dropping by of course. albanian artists, the head of the UN mission, some very distinguished looking older gentlemen who where eyeing the models hopefully, some bright and young starving artists and photographers, guys who like to sing, girls who think they look like models, and I of course. you can even find some well rounded and normal people to have a decent conversation with which there is no danger of evaporating IQ.

i saw a lot of posing last night. tall blond girls effortlessly jutting their hips against my forehead, shimmering brunettes in backless minis, doing the head-thrown-back-heel kicking up pose, the model of the rolex campain doing her noble lady in aristocratic absentmindness thingie, miss aurela gace resplendent in yet another short blond slick hair and extra long eyelashes on extra wide eyes look, stout woman with overflowing breasts/swollen ankle pumps pose, and the winner of the grand prix, the misguided girl in that sparkling grey dress.

i must admit the girl herself was very pretty, what with a long blond and slick ponytail, toned golden legs and arms, and very good features. but, but, but, the pose!!! let’s see, crossed legs on the side with pointed toes, straight spine and slightly tilted flirtatious head, puckered lips, cell phone elegantly held in one hand, a glass of something fizzy in the other. one by one, the poses were devastating. all put together, they made me look for the hidden cameras and “girls behaving badly” jumping out from the corners. nobody had clued our albo wannabe in. because it was too funny to be true, i decided to watch her while my sister was drooling over some actor with an oversized head who looked like an oily greek but spoke french. ahh, too much again.

our best poser continued to dominate the room thus, for the better part of the hour, sometimes talking to people, sometimes inching her elbow, sometimes jutting her hips, sometimes playing with the wine. fascinating. we did our thing, drank our free wine, and chatted with the people until it was time to leave and regain the normal view of the world again, without sparkle, spandex, glossy hair and monstruous heights. lo and behold, we met the best poser hanging out with the overflowing lady. as we were saying our goodbyes, she was invited to the dinner to be hosted today (which i did not attend either, sorry aawo), and she apologized for not coming because of a previous plan with involving friends and the Hamptons. Hamptons in the winter? as my sister’s hubby put it, only serial killers invite people to the Hamptons in january. but hey, who was i to burst her bubble?

personally, i like parties like this and i wish fadil another contract, maybe with movado, or bulova this time. and please continue to invite me!  


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