Kruse's Friday

– by Alexandra Kruse

Today we had a photoshoot. Girls in Louboutins and fur jackets personally delivered jewelry to the studio. The treasures of the big fashion houses were packed into the largest bags. This created the most colorful picture. Even the pale models transformed within hours into bright dreams. Everyone did their best. The atmosphere got better. The photographer, whose name for reasons of personal discretion has to be withheld here, let’s call him ‘Depp’, was already picking up his lunch (sandwiches for those who still eat carbs, salad for those who don’t). I can understand how a super-sized handbag can ruin a shot, but when this bag happens to be a “Peek-A-Boo” by Fendi, then there’s no question. In the frame you go! I was beckoned to the studio telephone. It was Depp’s agent. After three solid minutes of “how are yous?” his message was short and sweet: Depp doesn’t feel the story. And he was unable to disclose this information to me in person. That’s why he asked Mr. Agent to step in. Out of line.

We put on Alexander Wang’s American Sportswear and fought it out. That seemed like the only sensible solution. Depp’s reaction was professional. He dialed up the boss. I played Lily Allen’s “Fuck you, fuck you very muuuuuch” and was instantly gripped by a sudden migraine. I helped myself to the sumptuously equiped studio pharmacy. Stupidly, I followed my gut feeling instead of reading the French instructions. Minutes later everything was soft and wonderful if not entirely rainbowy. That’s what assistants are for. Kristin, a blonde bony-legged girl, obsessed with submission and order, did an excellent job. I operated exclusively from the sofa. From there I grinned stupidly uttering comments like: “I hate those shoes” or “fantastic!” I couldn’t even be bothered to question my multiple spies in Berlin about details of runway, backstage and dirty gossip over in Germany. Tomorrow I’ll be back. Half asleep I receive another email. “Everybody loves the story.” There you go. ◊

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