“MODELS FIRST!” was the mantra chanted by the sexy and non-empathetic door girls. Unless you were a face and body that model management Godfather, Elmer Olsen, personally signed, no one had pull at this soiree. Not only were fashion week enthusiasts made to stand in The Thompson lobby for forty-five minutes, looking stylish, forgotten and unamused, they then had to watch as 6ft tall beauties piled in, flipping hair and looking skinny, bypassing their spot in line. Truth be told, this was a party for the models by Canada’s top agent; I guess that’s to be expected. (Then maybe don’t have a neverending Facebook guestlist?)
Almost ready to SCREW IT, we spotted event promoter, Thomas Neary. Finally, someone who understood that we weren’t trying to A) Become a model or B) Sleep with a model. Neary was quick to ink us with an invisible stamp – or visible only by special neon wand – and we made our way to the top to do what we do best: snap pics of hotties drinking.
The good part? You don’t need to do any explaining when taking pics of models, they are all too happy to oblige, pose, twirl, smile and pout. Hey, makes our life easy! They were in their element, as they should be, they work hard during fashion week. As do we. But instead of sipping champers with the glamazons, we ducked out early and hit The Counter for a smoked meat sammy and a side of wilted spinach.