Hola,
I’m excited to share Part 2 of last week’s story with you all, but first of all, Thank you! The reactions and direct messages I’ve received from all of you have been overwhelming. I feel flattered that you found this story interesting and that you are supporting my latest cry for attention. Writing is hard, even more so when it comes from a place of deep vulnerability, and especially with the risk of losing clients, work connections or when it aggressively creates more space between me and the high school friends who saw me going to Hard Rock and Black Metal for ten years, and who now have to read about my love for fashion, glamorous women or these Bally boat shoes that Im currently OBSESSED with.
On the subject of women, at some point on my last post, I wrote about how my eyes always take me to them, especially if they’re older. Some of you asked me, why is that? Well, I have many answers. The first one is No, I did not grow up with an elegant grandma, she passed away when my mom was thirteen. The second one is that, in general, elder people do not care about exclusively wearing everything that’s trendy, and this is a great thing! They just have tested their preferences and bodies for many years and they have learned what looks good on them what doesn’t — plus, their distractions don’t travel at the same speed they do for all of us social media addicts, so they take time to discern everything they see, and this helps them to learn how to adapt it to their personal style, or move on if it doesn’t work. They also don’t try to belong to any subculture, especially if it compromises their need for practicality, comfort and quality. In fact — and this is not fashion related — if you find yourself walking on the streets of any city and you’re hungry with no reservations made, and you don’t know where to eat, look for the places where the old people are eating. Why? Well, when you are old, you don’t care if a place is hip, you just want good food and good service. Old or classic restaurants have real waiters, waiters who look you in the eyes and smile, waiters who do not judge you for wearing Chico’s instead of Commes Des Garçon.
Anyway, images are more powerful than words, so here is a perfect description of what I just said, a splendid demonstration of timeless style: beautiful heart-shaped pearl earrings, perfectly blow dried voluminous hair, neon pink lipstick to keep it young, a lamb velvet camel coat, queen Elizabeth riding-horse-boots and a cheap tote bag to make it more New York. A delightful look that quite literally would make you look up instead of looking down:
Now, let’s get back to the rest of my story with Victoria Fernandez.
There was a moment of paralysis in my body when she asked for the address of my non-existent studio in Bogotá. I had said yes already, so I needed to come up with something quick since I could see her car getting closer. She seemed nervous though, probably because, now that I think about it, a total stranger had just declared his admiration for her on the street, at night, in the city where people who live outside of Colombia still think they will get murdered everywhere they go. However, in that moment, I just thought she was nervous because she was excited to meet me (lol, the delusion!). I pulled a business card from my pocket that I had printed in a pharmacy earlier that morning, but instead of giving it to her, I asked if it was possible to have her phone number so I could text her all the details for the shoot on Friday. She said no, and proceeded to dictate her e-mail address to me. She only said it once, her car arrived, she sent me an air kiss and left. I wrote the e-mail down with my shaky hand, praying that I heard it correctly and also realizing that this was the first person on my contact list with an address that ended in .uk. I was living the dream.
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