Might have, I say, because I still don’t know for sure. What I do know is that nine days later it’s still hurting when I walk. It happened mid Fashion Week at a callback casting, last Saturday at Marc Jacobs offices in Soho. Katie Grand, the riotous and revered stylist of the collection, and Marc Jacobs, it’s designer, were reviewing the final cut, so to speak, of potential models for their Spring-Summer show a few days later, but Marc was barely present, and kept leaving the room to supervise the moving and rearranging of garments on shiny metal racks. The casting director was not present either, but her smokey-eyed assistant was, and asked the models to put on slip dresses and large (7 inches high) platform heels, and to get in line to walk for Katie. The only pair of boots available when it came my turn was two sizes too big, not a good way to start.
I went into the viewing room anyway when my name was called and crossed to the wall where they take a polaroid. I carefully stepped in my big high heavy boots onto the paper that they use as a backdrop, and my step was too wide a step and my left foot wobbled when I transferred my weight onto it and I was on the floor next minute in an awkward crouch and a loud thundering of the paper backdrop that I tried to lean on. The long and narrow platform had rolled sideways just the slightest and that was it for my chances at Marc Jacobs.
I didn’t mind my humiliation at the moment so much as I worried about how the innards of my left foot were aching and how maybe that was the end of my New York Fashion Week before it had even begun. No such luck, though, for when I regained my feet I found I could indeed still walk, though it hurt to, and Katie Grand grinningly asked me now to walk my runway walk for her, which I did without mishap although I might have looked like the tin man cause I was stepping extra careful.
Two hours later my agent called to tell me that Marc had put me on first option, meaning they wanted me still to potentially do the show, and I did not understand it and was not surprised when in the end they never called for a fitting. Who would book a girl who had faceplanted in the very shoes she’d have to wear out on the catwalk? Someone fond of excitement, perhaps, someone I’m sure but not me. I have a doctor appointment on Thursday to find out how my foot is, and until then it's a Might-be-fracture, and it's by Marc Jacobs so I'll wear it with éclat. If my foot is not whole, at least my sense of humor is, and the peculiar insanity of my modeling job proceeds.