Fashion Show Fiasco
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Glad it’s over, but too bad it’s over. That pretty much sums up the Hanbok-Kimono Fashion Show held in February. I participated as a foreign volunteer model, along with fellow-scholarship-recipients from the National Institute for International Education Development (NIIED). Looking back now, I can chuckle heartily. What a sweet ordeal that was!
The cultural officer for the NIIED, Mr. Kim, called the organisers of the show, and managed to get us included in the program. The purpose of the event was to wish good luck to World Cup 2002. The volunteers were from Bulgaria, Canada (yours truly), Chile, China, Indonesia, Kyrgyzstan, Morocco, Mongolia, Nepal, Romania, Russia and Turkey.
Weeks of anticipation finally came to an end – the 8th of February 2002 arrived. In the wee hours of the morning, we got our sleepy selves out of bed in order to make it to the Sejong Cultural Centre for 7:00 a.m. (mind you, the show was scheduled to start at 5:00 p.m.). Lo and behold when we arrived, we were greeted with locked doors, while the organisers were nowhere to be found. After some time, the guards let us in and after a bit of meandering and a few detours, we stumbled into our make-up room where cosmetic specialists and hairstylists were waiting. By this time it was about 9:00 a.m.
To our delight, we were told that it was time to make all those cosmetics do their magic. We all started to get our hair and faces done. Being of African descent with a very short haircut, all that I required was a face-over. Brown and white foundation were creamed together to try to match my complexion. Eyeliner and mascara were deftly applied. A few brushes of green eyeshadow, a sweep of blush, and a touch of glossy lip colour and voila! I had been transformed. I peered into the mirror and squealed! I looked like something dragged up from the grave. “Oh my gosh! I look like a ghost!!” I moaned. Was this a Chinese opera or a fashion show? Get, my friend and fellow-model from Thailand came over, took a look and gave her approval. Only then was I able to brave the mirror once more and agree that I didn’t look half bad after all.
Finally everyone’s hair and make-up were done, and we all sat around waiting for the next thing to happen … but it didn’t. We sat and sat, waited and waited. Mr. Kim kept trying to call his contact person – no answer. He was visibly disappointed and upset, but we managed to stay in good cheer. Finally two very well-dressed elderly women entered the room and began chatting with Mr. Kim. Apparently, they were not happy to see a bunch of beautiful young ladies and some fine gentlemen staring at them. “No! they’re too good-looking! We wanted young children and ugly, old people to go along with something special in the program. If we can’t find any, we’ll do it ourselves!” We sat for a while, taken aback by the inside-out compliment, questioning if they would ditch us from the program, wondering if the many friends that we had invited would not be treated to us gliding down the runway after all! In the end, they allowed us to stay in. Big relief!
Finally, one or two hours later, we were called to our first ever rehearsal. That’s when “Mr. Bally” showed up, which is what we dubbed the little Korean man who coordinated the models. With languid hand motions and peevish temper, this gentleman gave us a hasty explanation of what we were supposed to do. On our first attempt, he stopped us – “Ani, ani! Bali! Bali!” (“No, no! Fast! Fast!”). He wanted us to just zip on and off the stage. A tug-of-war quickly ensued. Mr. Kim and Mr. Bally gave us alternate and conflicting instructions – fast, no slow, fast I said, go slow! We seemed on the brink of World War III. A little more and our little man might have been rolling around on the floor in vexation. When neither party was looking we agreed to go as slowly as possible. We didn’t wake up at 5:00 in the morning to spend five seconds on the stage.
With practice over and nothing to do, we went into the audience section of the three-tiered theatre hall to take in the dress rehearsals. What a beautiful show had been planned with seductively alluring kimonos and elegantly modest Hanboks. From the smooth flow of the models across the stage, it all became crystal – rehearsals had been going on before the day without us knowing it, and we were just an after-thought. No wonder we were just going to be tacked onto the end of the program!
It was getting closer to show time. Finally they called us backstage to put on our Hanboks. A rack of clothes was pushed in front of us – “Just take anything and put it on quick!” Confusion, dismay. I was stunned into immobility as hands began grabbing up garments. Not having the dimensions of a typical Korean woman (far less a typical Korean model), “anything” would definitely not fit me. A Korean lady passed by, saw my dazed look, and stuffed a Hanbok of a sickly green colour into my hands. That’s when I came to my senses. I thought, “Well maybe I’m going to look like a fool in a Hanbok that’s too small for me, but by God I am going to look like a fool in the right colour!” Some very kind assistants helped me squeeze into a lovely Hanbok of Royal Blue. Many fingers were bloodied with pins as we tugged and pulled to get it on.
We amused ourselves backstage, going to the sides to peep ever so often. Then to our shock, our turn came! They plopped us right in the middle of the program after all. Pangs of nervousness prickled my stomach as we lined up behind the backdrop and took our positions. The first two models marched out to the soulful strains of traditional Korean music. Then Mr. Rush-deed himself started sputtering again, “Bal-bal-bal-bal!!!” Down the aisle me and my partner from Indonesia went. All I could see was a misty haze of blinking camera flashes as I heard the announcers calling out our nationalities, and expressing bewilderment about why we were going so quickly. We all lined up at the top of the stage, did our synchronised bow, made another circuit of the stage and got off, exhilarated. Hours of torturous waiting melted away in a mere five minutes of glory.
After our final appearance at the end of the show, I went outside to find my friends and the first people I saw as I emerged from backstage were Mrs. Lee and her daughter, Da-Een, from my homestay family. They greeted me with a lovely bouquet of yellow flowers and told me that I looked beautiful. It was so touching that they had actually come to the show. All my friends told me that I looked great, and that they enjoyed the show.
Excitement, frustration, and comedy all wrapped into one memorable bundle. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I don’t think that I would, but … I’m glad that I did!
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Glad it’s over, but too bad it’s over. That pretty much sums up the Hanbok-Kimono Fashion Show held in February. I participated as a foreign volunteer model, along with fellow-scholarship-recipients from the National Institute for International Education Development (NIIED). Looking back now, I can chuckle heartily. What a sweet ordeal that was!
The cultural officer for the NIIED, Mr. Kim, called the organisers of the show, and managed to get us included in the program. The purpose of the event was to wish good luck to World Cup 2002. The volunteers were from Bulgaria, Canada (yours truly), Chile, China, Indonesia, Kyrgyzstan, Morocco, Mongolia, Nepal, Romania, Russia and Turkey.
Weeks of anticipation finally came to an end – the 8th of February 2002 arrived. In the wee hours of the morning, we got our sleepy selves out of bed in order to make it to the Sejong Cultural Centre for 7:00 a.m. (mind you, the show was scheduled to start at 5:00 p.m.). Lo and behold when we arrived, we were greeted with locked doors, while the organisers were nowhere to be found. After some time, the guards let us in and after a bit of meandering and a few detours, we stumbled into our make-up room where cosmetic specialists and hairstylists were waiting. By this time it was about 9:00 a.m.
To our delight, we were told that it was time to make all those cosmetics do their magic. We all started to get our hair and faces done. Being of African descent with a very short haircut, all that I required was a face-over. Brown and white foundation were creamed together to try to match my complexion. Eyeliner and mascara were deftly applied. A few brushes of green eyeshadow, a sweep of blush, and a touch of glossy lip colour and voila! I had been transformed. I peered into the mirror and squealed! I looked like something dragged up from the grave. “Oh my gosh! I look like a ghost!!” I moaned. Was this a Chinese opera or a fashion show? Get, my friend and fellow-model from Thailand came over, took a look and gave her approval. Only then was I able to brave the mirror once more and agree that I didn’t look half bad after all.
Finally everyone’s hair and make-up were done, and we all sat around waiting for the next thing to happen … but it didn’t. We sat and sat, waited and waited. Mr. Kim kept trying to call his contact person – no answer. He was visibly disappointed and upset, but we managed to stay in good cheer. Finally two very well-dressed elderly women entered the room and began chatting with Mr. Kim. Apparently, they were not happy to see a bunch of beautiful young ladies and some fine gentlemen staring at them. “No! they’re too good-looking! We wanted young children and ugly, old people to go along with something special in the program. If we can’t find any, we’ll do it ourselves!” We sat for a while, taken aback by the inside-out compliment, questioning if they would ditch us from the program, wondering if the many friends that we had invited would not be treated to us gliding down the runway after all! In the end, they allowed us to stay in. Big relief!
Finally, one or two hours later, we were called to our first ever rehearsal. That’s when “Mr. Bally” showed up, which is what we dubbed the little Korean man who coordinated the models. With languid hand motions and peevish temper, this gentleman gave us a hasty explanation of what we were supposed to do. On our first attempt, he stopped us – “Ani, ani! Bali! Bali!” (“No, no! Fast! Fast!”). He wanted us to just zip on and off the stage. A tug-of-war quickly ensued. Mr. Kim and Mr. Bally gave us alternate and conflicting instructions – fast, no slow, fast I said, go slow! We seemed on the brink of World War III. A little more and our little man might have been rolling around on the floor in vexation. When neither party was looking we agreed to go as slowly as possible. We didn’t wake up at 5:00 in the morning to spend five seconds on the stage.
With practice over and nothing to do, we went into the audience section of the three-tiered theatre hall to take in the dress rehearsals. What a beautiful show had been planned with seductively alluring kimonos and elegantly modest Hanboks. From the smooth flow of the models across the stage, it all became crystal – rehearsals had been going on before the day without us knowing it, and we were just an after-thought. No wonder we were just going to be tacked onto the end of the program!
It was getting closer to show time. Finally they called us backstage to put on our Hanboks. A rack of clothes was pushed in front of us – “Just take anything and put it on quick!” Confusion, dismay. I was stunned into immobility as hands began grabbing up garments. Not having the dimensions of a typical Korean woman (far less a typical Korean model), “anything” would definitely not fit me. A Korean lady passed by, saw my dazed look, and stuffed a Hanbok of a sickly green colour into my hands. That’s when I came to my senses. I thought, “Well maybe I’m going to look like a fool in a Hanbok that’s too small for me, but by God I am going to look like a fool in the right colour!” Some very kind assistants helped me squeeze into a lovely Hanbok of Royal Blue. Many fingers were bloodied with pins as we tugged and pulled to get it on.
We amused ourselves backstage, going to the sides to peep ever so often. Then to our shock, our turn came! They plopped us right in the middle of the program after all. Pangs of nervousness prickled my stomach as we lined up behind the backdrop and took our positions. The first two models marched out to the soulful strains of traditional Korean music. Then Mr. Rush-deed himself started sputtering again, “Bal-bal-bal-bal!!!” Down the aisle me and my partner from Indonesia went. All I could see was a misty haze of blinking camera flashes as I heard the announcers calling out our nationalities, and expressing bewilderment about why we were going so quickly. We all lined up at the top of the stage, did our synchronised bow, made another circuit of the stage and got off, exhilarated. Hours of torturous waiting melted away in a mere five minutes of glory.
After our final appearance at the end of the show, I went outside to find my friends and the first people I saw as I emerged from backstage were Mrs. Lee and her daughter, Da-Een, from my homestay family. They greeted me with a lovely bouquet of yellow flowers and told me that I looked beautiful. It was so touching that they had actually come to the show. All my friends told me that I looked great, and that they enjoyed the show.
Excitement, frustration, and comedy all wrapped into one memorable bundle. If I had the chance to do it all over again, I don’t think that I would, but … I’m glad that I did!
Photos by Korean photographer
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