Page 179 of Built to Fall
The train slows, pulling into the station before I can reply. Her words are still echoing, even as we stand to leave.
“Just think about it on the way there,” she says, grabbing me by the arm. “And know that Iwantyou to be a part of it. Youhave the perfect look, Lina, and when people see you, they’re going to want to know who you are.”
* * *
In a gorgeous studio in SoHo, Kara and Savannah change in and out of outfits from Savannah’s collection.
Cameras shutter around them constantly. Savannah explained to the crew right away that she didn’t want any part of the campaign to feel staged or sterile. She wants behind-the-scenes photos included as well.
I stay out of the way, standing near one of the garment racks while watching Kara and Savannah capture every person in the room's attention.
Every piece that is pulled is so clearly curated by Savannah. From the dresses to the sweaters. Chic, glamorous, and so utterlyher.
She beams while a stylist zips Kara into one of the pleated skirts, laughter flowing between them between takes.
It doesn’t feel anything like what I would imagine a campaign shoot to be like. There’s no director screaming orders, telling the girls to pose a certain way. Instead, it feels like a dress-up party.
At one point, a makeup artist offers Savannah a touch-up, but she politely declines, saying, “Let’s keep it real.”
Of course, she’s wearing makeup. I’ve never seen her without it—that’s the kind of person she is. But she’s not going to reapply lip gloss or powder after every round of photos.
A fan blows her platinum blonde hair away from her face. She smiles while looking away from the camera while wearing a pale blue knit sweater and form-fitting white trousers.
It’s effortless.
Savannah Sinclair constantly looks expensive, to the point where you can’t even be angry at her for being some kind of spoiled socialite, because at least she’s doingsomethingright with it. Between her Dior handbags, Jimmy Choo heels, andChanel sunglasses, everything she wears looks like it came straight off a runway model.
Now,she’sthe one designing for runway models.
And when she decides to take a small break, slipping out of her outfits and into a silk, champagne-colored robe, it’s almost like she can feel me trying to sink into the background.
“Are you okay?” she asks, approaching me.
I nod, though I’m not sure how convincing it is. “Yup. Just trying not to trip on a cord or make anyone’s life harder.”
She shoots a pointed look at me. “Lina, I didn’t ask you to come here so you could sit around and watch. Why don’t you try something on?”
When I open my mouth to protest, she grabs my wrist and says, “I have outfits I’ve been saving for you.”
“Savannah—”
“Just try them on,” she urges before giving me her signature puppy-dog eyes. “For me?” Her voice is calm and full of certainty.
“Savannah, I wear sweats every day.”
Even looking down at the outfit I’m wearing now, it’s nothing special. Low-rise jeans. A button-up long sleeve.
Her hands grasp both of my shoulders, pulling me in closer. “First of all, you have amazing style when you’re not wearing sweats. Second of all, who gives a fuck if you wear sweats? It doesn’t mean you can’t wear cute clothes when you want to.”
Then she digs through the rack behind me, pulling out a hanger with a cable-knit, zip-up sweater on it. “Plus, I’m not going to make you do a photoshoot in something you would never wear.” Holding it out to me, she says with full conviction, “I designed this with you in mind. I wantyouto wear it.”
It makes me want to do this. Not for the cameras, but for Savannah. The girl who has become my best friend and whose eyes light up when I nod.
“Yes! Okay! This will go perfectly with jeans and one of the pairs of boots in my fitting room.”
There’s always been something so distinct about my friendship with Savannah. Something I haven’t found anywhere else.
Savannah has felt like the friend who wandered into my life at the perfect time. She didn’t ask for any space; she just stepped in and filled the cracks.
