The Shot That Never Was…

Being Discovered…

It was like a fairytale. I was walking up 6^th Avenue after Barre3 class, a bag of groceries slung over my shoulder, on my way to meet my friend Robin Hirsch for a glass of wine at Spain Restaurant on W. 13^th Street.

It was raining fairly heavily, and I was caught without an umbrella, dressed in flipflops, jeans, and a yellow leather jacket. Not my usual quirky style, but still pretty cool. Suddenly an attractive young woman materialized out of the dark night, and sheltered me under her umbrella. She asked if I would like to be in a photo shoot for Vogue magazine.

“Wow! What did you just say?” What self-respecting Fashionista whose inner child used to love dressing up her Barbie in glamorous clothes wouldn’t want to be in a Vogue photo shoot? I was over the moon, with visions of modeling glory flooding my brain. I thought this was my moment—finally, I’d been discovered, and wonderful things were about to happen. So of course I said yes, and I gave the wish-granting angel my email address. I texted my sister and best friend immediately. I clinked wine glasses with Robin. I began planning every detail of what to wear and what to bring. I dug out my modelling Comp Cards and printed extra business cards. I did my nails. You get the idea—I became a bit obsessed.

Welcome to Red Hook

Flash forward to two days later. I arrived at a hangar-like warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn. There was no sign there was anything special going on inside. The street address wasn’t even marked on the door. There was a bus parked out front with the windows papered over, and some cables running to it. At first I walked past the entrance doorway, but then a crewmember opened the door, so I asked him where the shoot was. “In here.” Suddenly Lydia, the woman who had recruited me, appeared at the door and said, “We’re all so glad you’re here.” What a warm welcome on a chilly, rainy day. She made me feel a real part of the world of Vogue.

Craft Tables?

I went in, and the first thing I saw was a cavernous space with three tables surrounded by a motley crew of people, and wall dividers set up beyond the tables. The first table sparkled with jewels, and there were about ten people seated around it. At first I thought it was a craft table that some of the extras had set up, to show their wares to each other and maybe do some work while waiting to shoot. This shows you how naïve I am!

I later spoke to a guy named Larry who was one of the people at the table guarding the jewelry for the shoot. Jewelry valued at millions of dollars! He said most photo shoots happen on the 8^th floor of studios, so this location was unusual in that the street-level door opened right onto the valuables. I didn’t notice that any of the guards were armed. They looked like ordinary folks. Later in the day when the shoot was underway outside in the bus, a styling assistant came over to the jewelry table and asked for the “cute bracelet.” It was dripping with diamonds, arranged in cute flower shapes. Yeah, I could go for cute!

One of the Extras

Then there was a table which had a group of actual extras seated around it, and more people seated against the back wall. I went over to the third table, which still had a few unoccupied seats. The bookers were sitting there, including Lydia and another woman named Morgan, who had worked with Lydia to recruit people off the street to serve as extras. I learned that the regular casting method of asking for extras through agencies hadn’t yielded the director’s vision of “real New Yorkers,” as everyone from the agencies looked like professional models.

This should have tipped me off that maybe there was a slight misunderstanding. I thought I’d been recruited because I looked like a stylish, attractive New Yorker. I forgot that I was “discovered” in the rain and in the dark, looking like a drowned rat after a workout. This is the “comp sheet” of photos that Lydia took of me on 6^th Avenue.

When I saw this, later in afternoon, I was truly horrified. They had picked me because they wanted me to look like this? I brought my actual Comp Card over and laid it on the table where the assortment of photos of the extras was arrayed, covering the horrid picture of me on the right. My illusions of my glamorous debut in Vogue were starting to crumble… But I’m getting ahead of my story!

I sat down in the empty chair, put down my bag containing modeling gear and an alternate outfit, and began looking around at the scene. I had brought everything a pro model needs, including nude undies, makeup, and so on. At this point I still had the dream that they might love my look and would ask me to wear some of the luscious clothes. Even though I knew this was farfetched, and I was simply a humble extra, I thought it could possibly happen and I should be prepared.

A Real Fashion Editor

On the table where I was sitting were several water bottles with names on them, including one marked “Tonne Goodman.” Yes, THE Tonne Goodman from Vogue was the fashion editor in charge of the shoot! She was very elegant, simply dressed in white pants and navy blouse, with a navy and white scarf wound around her neck, blonde hair hanging down, little or no makeup, yet with an aura of presence about her. I didn’t know who she was when I first saw her, but a quick Google on my phone matched the face to the name.

More About the Extras

The crew of extras was an assortment of quirky people, and I felt I belonged among them. All told there were about 20 extras. There was a heavy African-American man with close-cropped neon-reddish-orange hair, and a Japanese-American fellow with bright fuchsia hair. I didn’t meet these two, but I got to know a lot of people’s names as the day wore on. A guy named Juan Carlos, sitting beside me, was sporting a number of heavy silver rings, a tweed cap, denim jacket, striped pants, and a colorful scarf wound around his neck. Another woman, Cindy, also had a fuchsia scarf, and an actress named Kate had a magenta shirt and an orange jacket. Clearly they were going for color. These folks all had quirky style. I had worn my yellow leather jacket and black jeans, but Lydia suggested I change into my blue jeans, which I had also brought (after a hasty laundry load in the morning to shrink them back up after their soaking in the rain).

Children were also represented, including two darling African-American girls aged under five years old, named Nandi and Indra, with their mom, Lesley, from Costa Rica. And of course New Yorkers are known for their stylish glasses… An attractive woman with purple-framed classes turned out to be a former clothing designer named Simrita, who is now an import brand strategist. A butch-looking and very stylin’ woman named Linda caught my eye—in New Yorker black from head to toe with thick black-rimmed glasses and pink hair. I also noticed a largish dark-haired woman with dominant white-framed glasses. There was another baby, and three dogs with their handlers.

The Clothes Are the Talent

Our call time was 12 noon, and the shoot was scheduled to end at 5:30 PM, but it actually went until 6:30 PM, the drop-dead time for returning the bus (called the “picture car” on the Call Sheet I had received from the bookers). During this time there were multiple set-ups in which the “talent” was styled in different gorgeous dresses with shoes, jewelry, and in some cases, a hat.

The feature dress was a royal blue Balenciaga ballgown, flown in from Paris that morning for the shoot, and due back in Paris the same evening. The photos for that gown were taken in another divided area at the very back of the warehouse, from which a steady flow of classic jazz streamed all day long. No extras were used for the indoor shots, and few of us caught a glimpse of the actress wearing the signature gown. When I first arrived, the dress was hanging from a very tall rack near my table. It looked about eight feet long when it was hanging, owing to the length that eventually ended up horizontally arrayed around the wearer. Next to the hanging swath of royal blue fabric was a large piece of cardboard with a round circle of black fabric pooled on it in radiating circles. I found out that this was a black hooped underskirt that held the royal blue skirt out to a diameter of at least eight feet. These items disappeared for a while, and then returned after this part of the shoot was finished. The young man assisting with preparing this fantasy of a dress for the return trip to Paris didn’t know how to pack up the huge hoop skirt. The gown assistant’s boss eventually appeared, wearing a black t-shirt with Balenciaga written across it, and together they packed the hoop skirt with a lot of tissue before folding it into its cardboard casing. Zupp, off to France!

Peeking Behind the Curtain

Shortly after arriving, I noticed a few of the extras disappearing behind the divider and returning with coffee in cardboard cups, so eventually I ventured behind the barrier too. Someone asked what I was doing, and I said I was getting coffee, so I was permitted to wander and gander further into the depths. Immediately after the divider was an area set up for sewing and ironing, and behind that a green room identified by a sign that said “Green Room.”

There were racks of gowns, pant suits, and other clothes, arranged in a horseshoe shape with some tables to form the “styling” area. I spotted an astonishing white strapless dress of tulle, white feathers, and perhaps organza, with the midriff absent and the bodice attached to the skirt with leather strips, and both parts edged with grommets. Truly an edgy, hard-and-soft creation fit for an angel. What heavenly, beautiful clothes. I wanted to stand there forever and gaze at their beauty, but I was mindful that I was trespassing into territory that was above my paygrade, so I tried to eat up as much as I could with my eyes as I passed slowly by.

After the racks of clothes were several tables covered with row upon row of glorious, gorgeous shoes and boots. I wanted the two pairs of gold boots with six-inch platforms very badly! The shoe tables also had hats, handbags, and other accessories. It was really too much to take it all in, even though I walked past this area several times (very slowly!) throughout the day.

After the clothes and shoes was a row of makeup tables with lit mirrors, another divider, and then an area with tables set up for catering, as well as tables set up for the crew to eat at. At the back was the area I mentioned earlier, divided off and set up with lighting, reflectors, and camera equipment, as well as the source of the jazz music. There were a few gaps in the dividers, which allowed me to glimpse the set-up, but I was never nearby when they were actually shooting in there.

Glimpses of the Human Talent

Although the identity of the main talent is to remain a secret until the January issue of Vogue hits the stands, I will give you a hint. She is a beauty with short dark hair and scarlet lips, who stars in a British comedy series named like a cheap motel. And, she recently won a Primetime Emmy for said show. Throughout the day I glimpsed her going past in various incredible dresses, and rather large shoes. And several times in a white bathrobe and slippers. Of course, we were not to address the talent or look at her directly, but I’m sure everyone peeked after she walked past. She was always surrounded by stylist assistants, who held up the hems of the dresses as she crossed the warehouse and then traversed the wet sidewalk to get to the bus. “It’s trailing,” I heard one assistant say to the other as the talent went by in a particularly extravagant gown that was spilling onto the floor.

Hair and Makeup, Food for Fashion

We were served snacks and treats throughout the day, and while we waited for lunch, a couple of makeup assistants came to touch up the extras. Lydia had told me to do my own hair and makeup, so I was wearing my usual orange, gold, and blue eye makeup, a bit of contouring, and pink lipstick. Marijana, one of the makeup assistants, said my makeup looked good and I didn’t need touching up.

At around 1:30, we were given a very delicious and healthy lunch of salad, Moroccan-seasoned cauliflower and rice, and our choice of chicken or salmon. I had the salmon and it was herbed to perfection. Kudos to Red Hook Catering. We were cautioned not to eat too much as the crew would be eating after us. Of course I didn’t need this advice, since I wanted to eat lightly to remain svelte for the camera. For my big moment! Which I was super-excited about!

Going on the Bus

The afternoon proceeded with small batches of extras being selected and taken onto the bus for different scenes consisting of the talent in designer dresses with various arrangements of “New Yorkers riding the bus.” As the afternoon wore on, we were advised that the shoot was running long, and if anyone had to leave, they could go. One man who had never been on a set before had left before 1 PM, already tired of sitting around doing nothing. But I wouldn’t have missed a minute of this euphoric Vogue shoot for the world, so I texted my date to say I might be late, and prepared for my moment of glory in the sun. Periodically I touched up my makeup and checked my hair, so that I would be ready the minute I was called. It was very cold and damp in the warehouse, so now and then I did stretches to warm up and stay loose. So I would be ready for my big moment! Which I was super-excited about! Yes, I am repeating this point!

Finally it was my turn to go on the bus, along with 11 other extras of the original 20. A photo assistant told us where to sit or stand, while other assistants helped the photographer—the hot and hip Ethan James Green—set up the shot. On the right side of the bus (as viewed from where I sat, midway down, facing the front of the bus) were a couple making out, with a mother and infant behind them. Then two appealing young men, sitting together and exchanging names for the first time. Linda was behind this pair. Two good-looking, beefy African-American men wearing navy sweatshirts, who were twins, stood at the back of the bus, one on either side.

On my side of the bus, Juan Carlos sat in front of me and we were instructed to chat with each other for the shot. Ahead of him was Cindy, of the fuchsia scarf, who had been selected to hold a rather large pug-faced dog in a huge black tote bag. Behind me was Simrita. Soon after we were thusly arranged, the talent boarded the bus, wearing a stunning fuchsia gown with a black tuxedo jacket over it, adorned with multiple sparkling diamond broaches.

The Blocker

It soon became clear that Cindy, who had been instructed to stand in the aisle, holding the large tote with the dog, was entirely blocking everyone behind her on my side of the bus. The photographer was shooting from the bus driver’s seat, and he was shooting across the aisle to the long front bench on the right, where the talent was sitting.

Oh Man! Simrita and I spoke to the young photo assistant when she passed by, saying that we weren’t in the shot, but we were told we would still be in the shot. It was patently obvious we couldn’t possibly be in the shot. So after waiting for 6 hours and 20 minutes for our chance in the sun, Juan Carlos, Simrita, the second twin, and I were not used for the shoot.

Shot Happens

The photographer took 20 or 30 shots of the talent slouching on the bench. An assistant came in and tousled and sprayed her hair in between shots. They had a chat about the hairspray she was using. The dog peeked out of the tote. The baby teethed on the seat rail in front of her. Linda grinned like a fool, while the two young men alternatively smiled and pretended to sleep. The twins in the back stood gripping the overhead rails as though the bus was in motion. And Juan Carlos, Simrita, and I looked on as the ordinary New York scene became a fantasy image that may eventually appear on the glossy pages of Vogue.

Tonne Is My Last Hope

After the photographer finished shooting, the talent left the bus, and then the extras trooped out. I was on the verge of tears as I stepped out of the bus. Tonne Goodman was standing by the bus, graciously thanking each of us for our time. This woman really has class. I told her I was disappointed not to be in the shot, but that it had been a wonderful experience. She asked if I was sure, and she said I was probably in the shot. I said I was pretty sure I wasn’t. But I tried to salvage what I could of the situation. I gave her a copy of the WestView News, opened to my page, which I had planned to be reading in the shot that I was not in. I said to Tonne, “I’m also a Fashion Editor, in a small way.” She looked at the paper and said, “Oh…” I said, “Can I give this to you?” and she said “Yes,” and took it from my hands. That was a nice moment.

Maybe she will notice that I looked great wearing the ruby silk-wool dress by Engineered by Andrea T. Maybe she will think the October “Karen’s Quirky Style” photo is a cool shot, in the middle of a white-painted traffic diverter on Bleecker. Maybe she’ll feature Andrea’s clothes in Vogue in a future issue. Maybe she’ll ask me to wear them? Or she’ll like my writing and ask me to write something for Vogue?

It is a fatal flaw to get one’s hopes up like that. I left the set $100 richer, and perhaps much wiser than that, feeling absolutely crushed. I had come for the chance at the searing blessing of being on the pages of Vogue. None of the things happened that I had hoped for. Yet hope springs eternal. No doubt once the pain of this blow has receded, I will begin hoping for another miracle. Just as good as the miracle of spending a day on the set of a Vogue cover shoot. Or maybe even a tiny bit better!