A flurry of attendants came to sort out the fracas, whereupon it was revealed that Madame had made a mistake after all. She had two planes, a dozen houses, and her own private museum, I believe, and she wanted her seat. But this lady standing over me, who I suddenly recognized as the wife of one of the richest men in Asia, wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told her as politely as I could that there was no possible way I could move another millimeter, as I was already practically in the lap of the friendly Australian woman next to me. “You are in my seat! You need to move more to the left,” she implored. She wore canary diamonds the size of small lemons and a champagne-colored cocktail dress, and she looked like she had spent at least four hours in her makeup artist’s chair. This was the ethereal setting for the Dior Haute Couture Fall 2018 show, and as I sat there thinking I must be in heaven, a woman leaned into my face and imperiously demanded that I move. I was sitting on a minimalist white bench in the middle of a glowing white box pavilion that had been built amid the splendor of the formal gardens surrounding the Musée Rodin in Paris.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |