Last night I was a plus one at a fancy party attended by, as my boyfriend rather sheepishly called them, ‘Industry A Listers’ (he knew I’d scoff at the term. He was right).
Call them what you will, this is one intimidating bunch.
I pulled out all the stops in preparation. Got a facial, a fresh mani-pedi, my makeup done at MAC, and my hair coaxed into a head full of “beachy waves,” as my stylist sheepishly called them (she knew I’d scoff at the term. She was right),
I even bought a brand new pair of cobalt blue Jimmy Choo stilettos, recalling that Sarah Jessica Parker said at NYFW that color is the new neutral (an amazing assessment I thought, but I digress) because gorgeous, expensive shoes make me feel more confident.
It is important to note here that I only lead with my appearance when I feel that I’m otherwise out of my league. No need to have worth as long as you look like you do, right? Be that cubic zirconia in a room full of diamonds, no one will be the wiser, and you’ll shine just as bright. A terrible mindset, and an embarrassing admission, but there it is.
And there we were. The brilliant thespian and his supple skinned, mermaid coifed, expensively dressed date.
What does she do again?
Unbelievably, I held my own, and I held it well. This fitness trainer/small business owner in the pinchy Jimmy Choos not only hobnobbed quite successfully with the elite of NY theatre, she was described later to her boyfriend as ‘smart’, ‘funny’, ‘interesting’ and ‘adorable’ by one and the same. (I even picked up a new client, a set director who would not stop obsessing over my legs).
Adorable I was going for. Smart, funny and interesting? Not in my widest dreams. I realize that I sold myself short. That I often do. That even now, right now as I lie here in my bed next to my thespian, completely naked and unadorned, I am still all of those things.