I pretty much gave up around 3pm on Thursday. Who wants to do their real job when in less that 16 hours I would be working with the Fashion Editor of Vogue? Thursday night prep included nail polish touch ups and a face mask treatment. I wanted to be more than ready to impress the masses. Friday dawned bright and early and I bounced out of bed – the first in the long time. Hair, make up, accessories all carefully planned with first impressions in mind. Given I was constrained in my outfit choice to the LMFF volunteer uniform of a Romance Was Born designed Bonds tee and jeans, I wore a hot pink three quarter sleeve top underneath and hot pink heart earrings. I listened to Madonna’s Vogue for inspiration while walking to work and arrived at the fitting venue with plenty of time to spare, ready for the day ahead.

The only knowledge I really had about Meg Gray, Fashion Editor for Vogue, was from an article in the January edition where she and her fashion assistant switched wardrobes for a week. Meg favours bright colours, funky prints and anything left of centre while her assistant Ilona sticks to shades of black and grey. The swap gave them both food for thought and opened their eyes to a new way of thinking, but the information I took from this article was that Meg’s hair was pink – I spotted her as soon as I walked in. There were designers clothes everywhere, a little mecca for the fashionista in all of us. Beautiful garments hung by show, shoes lined up as if for one hundered centipedes and an accessories’ table centring the room. It was heaven.

I introduced myself to Meg and Ilona (Ilona was styling the Designer Award show we worked on Friday) and prepared myself to take on important roles like offering opinions on outfits and choosing accessories. Then I taped shoes. For hours. On the concrete floor. Whoever said fashion was glamorous? In all honestly I didn’t expect to be choosing clothes – I anticipated coffee runs, minor errands and perhaps ever so often, the Vogue girls would throw a tidbit of information my way. But it seemed that as Meg had bought Ilona and Grace (a freelance stylist) with her from Sydney, my role as Assistant Stylist was more that of a veteran volunteer. I educated the new girls in how to tape shoes, provided direction when they looked a bit lost and sent a girl to Officeworks for pens when we seemed to have none. At 26 years old, I was under the direction of a 24 year old and I found it to be the most unnerving situation. I felt like a has been.

As the day progressed and more shoes arrived, I found myself wondering how long one must be at the bottom of the ladder paying dues before elevation takes place. The concrete floor of a warehouse is about as low as it gets and I had stopped feeling my butt muscles hours ago. I finally got slightly elevated to the position of rehanging clothes after the models dropped them on the floor or thrust them at me inside out, I labelled shoes with tape (instead of taping the soles) and generally hoped that my air of importance was enough to see me through. It wasn’t until early afternoon when asking a question of someone I thought was superior that I discovered what gross injustice I was labouring under. Supposed superior person (not dressed in a volunteer uniform) was also in a special assistant position, assistant to the Head Dresser. Dressed in a divine floral frock, brown boots and cream cape, she looked as though she had been working there her whole life (all 20 years). Also named Sarah, she told me that as Assistant to the Head Dresser, she had been contacted earlier in the week, taken for coffee to explain her role and told uniforms were not required for assistant jobs. She had responsibilities and respect from the other volunteers – I had no skin left on my fingertips from using gaffer tape all day. I felt robbed.

So I stuck with Sarah and Head Dresser Chloe for the afternoon. We went out to get coffee together at the break, they were chatty and happy to talk about their background and experiences and most of all they now knew I was also meant to be an assistant – no more pleb jobs for moi!!

Eleven hours after I walked in, it was time to go home. The Designer Award show, featuring Konstantina Mittas; Therese Rawsthorne; Lui Hon; Gary Bigeni; Dion Lee; Dhini and Gail Sorronda, was fitted, photographed and finalised. The models had come and gone, I had learnt some valuable lessons about status and I was sure my fingerprints would come back eventually. I walked home though my feet and back hurt day dreaming of fabulous shoes and frocks to a much needed shower (the warehouse is possibly the dustiest place on earth) and a well earned vodka. Day two would be here soon enough.  

Image one: Racks of clothing ready to be fitted to models
Image two: Meg Gray and Ilona Hamer from Vogue discuss the clothes