Was it me? Or was the reaction a lot louder than it'd ever been for past shows?
I couldn't be sure.
The stage manager waved at me, and now it was my turn.
Oh, Lord.
"You've got this," Katie said, giving me an encouraging nod.
Smiling at her, I took a deep breath and snapped my shoulders back. I simply had to fake the confidence until I was sure my show had been received well.
Holding my head high, I stepped out onto the runway for my designer's walk, the applause swelling to an almost painful level, the flashes of cameras nearly blinding me.
My family was off to my right, and even though I couldn't see them clearly, I could definitely hear their shouts. Even my dad. Oh, my God.
I smiled. I waved. I walked. All floating on a cloud.
Even if this whole endeavor turned out to be a failure, I was still proud. Proud of my models, proud of my assistant, and most importantly, proud of myself.
If this didn't hit, I'd do it again. And again. And again. Until I got it right.
When I finally reached the backstage area, breathless, laughter bubbled up in my chest as Katie barreled into me at full speed, almost knocking me off my feet.
"You did it!" she screeched, her voice high and wild with adrenaline. "You absolutely killed it!"
Models swarmed me, still glowing from their own successful walks, hugging me and surrounding me in their perfume and laughter.
All the gushing brought tears to my eyes, and I tried my best to blink them away, a few escaping and probably making a mess of my makeup. Although I'd had the foresight to wear waterproof mascara at least.
And then, I heard the voices of my sisters and my mother, calling my name. My mom reached me first, her arms open, somehow managing to look like a Vogue cover model as she crushed me to her, my dad beaming at me from behind her.
"We're so proud of you," she whispered fiercely into my ear.
My sisters swooped in next, talking over each other so much, I couldn't understand what either of them were saying.
But I didn't need to because the sentiment was all there. They were proud. Beyond proud.
Katie, I think it was Katie anyway, handed me a glass of champagne, and for the first time all day, all week really, I let myself take a breath.
This was it.
This was everything I'd worked so hard for.
As the champagne flowed, the chaos began to settle slightly. Models changed, makeup people cleaned up, photographers packed their gear, and the energy backstage shifted from frantic to something looser, almost giddy.
The adrenaline high eventually faded, but a warm glow settled in, especially as the compliments continued to stream in, actual genuine compliments. I could see the difference now between this and my last shows.
The elation inside me was indescribable. What a sense of accomplishment.
Hashing over everything, basking in the glow, Katie and I continued our cleanup mission,overseeing all the extra assistants who were carefully packing the designs into garment bags and rolling the racks toward the loading dock.
We had to move quickly, knowingthe next designer was already waiting to move into the space. The turnover at Fashion Week was brutal.
Katie and I double-checked everything, our practiced rhythm kicking in without even needing to talk. Extra motivating? The celebratory dinner with family and friends that we had to get to soon.
Once the last garment bag was zipped and the racks were safely wheeled out, Katie gave me a quick hug. "I'll see you later,"she whispered, her face still bright with excitement. "We are so going to party."
"Yes, we are. Thank you for everything. I couldn't have done it without you."
