Saturday, March 2, 2013

On the catwalk

From Cambodia to Hong Kong involves some sticker shock, holy hell. Accommodation in Cambodia is about the price of a beer in Hong Kong. But that's the way it is when space is such a premium and the city has infrastructure beyond tarred roads. Skyscrapers are malls, office buildings, and billboards all in one.

British rule passed but exceedingly polite manners remained. The people looked Chinese but queued properly and while the streets were crowded, no one pushed or shoved.

I was in Hong Kong to meet my parents who came on business. On of the biggest fur fairs in the world happens there every February. The fair attendants were mostly skin traders and garment makers. The majority were from Hong Kong with a strong showing of Russians and Greeks.

We were invited to a fashion show hosted by the auction house where my parents sold their goods. Ten of the most respected designers in the world showed their wares to the invite-only crowd of three hundred, after the obligatory flutes of bubbly, of course.

As one might expect, those in attendance were two steps above average in appearance and all were dressed to the nines(save for the helicopter pilot from Botswana in his thrift store flowered shirt and jeans.) People jockeyed for position but were given assigned seats based on dollars spent. Because my family produced some of the goods on display, we were given the best seats in the house, fifty-yard line if you will. Dad and I got a kick out of that. He couldn't care less and I've been out of the business for some time.

The models were Russian, Eastern European, and American. They had the thousand-yard stare down cold. One of them had a hint of a smile but the rest looked angry. I guess I'd be angry too if I only got to eat a carrot for dinner and I had to puke it right back up to maintain my size zero.

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