Today I became the first model in history to do a luxury fashion campaign dressed almost entirely in hotel property.
My suitcase is gone. Vanished. Spiritually ascended. Last seen somewhere between Toronto and Miami, probably sipping mojitos without me.
I realized this at baggage claim when every single person grabbed their luggage except me and one screaming toddler covered in yogurt.
I tried to stay calm because models are supposed to look mysterious and composed under pressure. Instead, I stood there blinking like a confused golden retriever while the conveyor belt kept rotating absolutely nothing.
The airline employee asked me to describe my suitcase.
I said, “Small, grey, emotionally important.”
Not helpful apparently.
Anyway, my agent kept texting:
“Don’t freak out.”
Which is a sentence that has never prevented anyone from freaking out.
I arrived at the photoshoot with:
- one lip gloss
- airport neck pillow
- phone charger
- and sunglasses so huge I looked like a divorced celebrity avoiding paparazzi.
The stylist stared at me in complete silence.
Then she whispered:
“We’re going to have to improvise.”
Diary… they wrapped me in a hotel curtain.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
At one point I was wearing:
- curtain fabric
- borrowed sandals two sizes too big
- and a necklace made from somebody’s emergency bikini top chain.
The photographer acted like this was visionary art.
He kept yelling things like:
“Yes! Give me ‘wealthy woman escaping consequences!’”
I didn’t know what that meant but I gave it everything I had.
The weirdest part is… the photos actually looked amazing.
There’s apparently one picture of me eating fries in a bathrobe on a balcony that people online are calling “hauntingly symbolic.”
Hauntingly symbolic of WHAT?
I was hungry.
My suitcase finally arrived tonight.
The airline somehow sent it to Minnesota first.
Also there are now random cowboy boots inside that do not belong to me.
I think the suitcase has lived a richer life than I have.