Roman Escapades

Alex’s guest post makes it sound as though I spent two weeks gallivanting through Rome with nary a care.

That’s not entirely true.

I spent two weeks gallivanting through Rome with precisely one care, namely, the dearth of tea in Italy.  I was nearly forced to drink a cappuccino, the horror.

No, but really, it was a rollicking good time.  And I suppose I should explain a bit more fully what I was up to.

You might recall my mentioning, earlier in the summer, that I was slated to appear in a fashion film for Richard’s line, Cavalier.  Normally, we advertise by dressing as piratical gentleman and commandeering pleasure yachts in the Mediterranean.  (No, I know.) But Richard decided he would like to try his hand at land-based conquests, and so this film was born.

The script was…well there wasn’t really a script.  There was merely a scenario: two Lotharios, one gay, one straight, go to a party as each other’s wingmen where they end up meeting their objects of pursuit and proceed to chase them across the gorgeous Italian countryside until conquests are made and everyone falls in love.

The bloke playing the straight lead–this sort of vaguely rakish Ken-doll who insisted upon calling himself ‘Britain’–thought it was charming.

His counterpart–a spunky American model named Molly with hair straight from the 1930s and a queer girlfriend named Lamplight–thought it was horseshit.

And I, as well as my counterpart Fox, saw it for what it was–the absurdist theatre of Richard’s most tongue-in-cheek dreams.  We were able to convince Molly of this, with Lam’s help, and so filming began.

The first day of filming was a bit stressful, I must say.  I’m quite used to being dressed up and paraded about at this point, but moving cameras are quite different from stationary ones, and the pace was arduous.  Then there was the lack of tea.  And the fact that I can’t ride a damn bike let alone a Moped.  And the sheer weight of performing ‘macho’ all day, as Fox played the more effeminate role on account of his delightfully elfin appearance.

But I hit my stride fairly quickly, and ended up rather enjoying myself.  The countryside is truly magical, with all its rolling hills and climbing cypress.

roman countryside

Now imagine a warm breeze ruffling your hair…

Marc joined me on set at least once a day, as well, to giggle at my ‘sexy face’ and make eyes at me whilst I marched around in jodhpurs and jackets.  And Fox was a delightful companion once he overcame his nerves about playing opposite ‘Mr. Brutus’, as I’m known throughout ghost Italy.

Meanwhile, the kiddos took to Rome with renewed fervor.

J went about everywhere in his little tunica and bulla, accepting parcels from townsfolk with the seriousness of mind that becomes the son of a Roman priest.  He also quite bonded quite with Claudius this visit and spent a great deal of time in the barnyard, learning to corral animals and read weather.

Mira did a bit of solo wandering, getting to know the land and the landscapes.  She also spent some time on horseback, introducing Nox around–Marc’s sneaky method of drawing her out into the town and forcing her to socialise.

And in all, we managed to use the time away to check in with a number of other friends.

Marie and Girafe came down from France for a ‘picnic’, which I should have known wouldn’t be a mere picnic.  They arrived with a boatload of lavish pillows, which Marie flung about a clearing in the countryside while Girafe made mysterious calls on his feather-covered mobile.  All of a sudden we had an oddly poofy, organic gazebo effect happening, and a vast array of food trucks from which to choose.

Delphi came out from the city no fewer than three times a week for afternoons that bled into suppers that bled into cocktails.  He and Claudius are no longer hiding their item-hood. They were as cozy as could be, and utterly sweet besides.  My favourite detail of their relationship: as Claudius is prone to forgetting to clean his spectacles, Delphi wears a soft cloth as a pocket square these days.  My heart!

And at the end of the trip, yes, we did go laze about in New Zealand with Matiu and Teddy and their son Miri.  I was quite ready for the time away from cameras and back in nail polish and loose tees.  Marc was ready to shed the immediate responsibility of representing Rome back to itself.  Mira and J were greedy for our time after all the excitement–quite gratifying, hehe–and I scarcely went ten minutes without a tiny hand in mine or a sleepy little face on my shoulder.

Now all that remains for the end of the summer is Marc’s participation in the war games.  He didn’t ‘play’ last year on account of the WWII theme, and he’s actually not leading any troops this year, either, to give other generals a chance to enjoy their moment in the sun.  But he will be providing live commentary from the stands this weekend, which is bound to be both enlightening and hilarious.  It’s a sea-battle, and he’s hoping they provided for ghost sharks to eat the fallen, because of course he’s hoping for that.

sea battle

Oh shit is ghost shark get out! – Marc

Oh, and I suppose I also have a birthday coming up, but I’m not terribly anticipatory.  It’s 199 this year, and I begged for a small gathering since I know for a fact I’m not escaping some monstrosity for my 200th.

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Salut! is Husband Guest Post Time

So, Elias is be like super cray busy after Halloween. Ghost fashion week is be November 11-15 this year, and he is have five show for walk in because he is be super model.

(How is like, Marcus, be marry to super model? Oh you know, is pretty fucking great, other Marcus.)

Two of show he is be lead model for, which is take lot of time and prepare for interview and thing. One of show is be like super high fashion 18th century with looooot of fit time. One of show is be first walk with—Richard pirate fashion—so he is still work on brand and do meet with. And other is be basic walk, but is still take time.

So anyway, he is be like, Mahhhhhhhhhhhcus, you are so best and always be done with work for line like month before fashion week so how about you are write guest post for November when I am be cray busy.

And I am be like, fine, but is be November 12 post and is Marion birthday so you are sure you are non want do?

And he is be like, non is fine, you are do. Is make sense for love of afterlife to write about love of life. I am like.

And I am be like, best, I am like too.

Problem: Every time I am sit down and start write, Elias is be like, oooooOOOOooooo what you are write about, I am see? And I am be like, I know you are excite about, but actual fuck off. And he is do for like six second or so and then be like, now I am see? So I am just stop write until he is be in middle of fashion week and non see, because I am want be surprise.

Right now Elias is be do pre-interview for Herschel line and then he is do eat and last minute fit and thing, so I am have time before show for write post.

Here I am go!

* * *

Happy Birthday for Marion! and Surprise Story for Elias

Once upon time there is be tiny pony name Marion Rose.

Unless you are live under rock you are know what tiny pony is look like.

In case you are live under rock, here is be tiny pony. OMG THEY ARE BEST.

In case you are live under rock, here is be tiny pony. OMG THEY ARE BEST.

Marion Rose is be tiny pony in Victoria time when all of England is live on eat smoke and cheese and sugar. And she is be like super mega tiny. Like, there are be lot of tiny pony in Victoria time, but she is be most tiny of all of. And she is have super shine chestnut coat and best tiny pony fashion, and she is TOTAL head kick you if she is non like what you are say.

Example: She is want head kick like all of parliament, all of time.

There is also be other tiny pony in Victoria time who is be more like mini-horse, because he is be so tall. He is be name Elliot and he is be so dark black like night and have curl mane and non fit in any of stable. Part because people are be like, gross…dark, curl pony, do non come in, and also because all of world is make for aaaaaaactual tut tut crumpet tiny pony, non for mini-horse.

Anyway, Elliot is be like super determine mini-horse, and he is end up go to school. And one day he is be eat grass by step of university stable with all of pony friend and he is look up and be like, holy shit…that is be most beauty tiny pony I am ever see.

And other tiny pony with speckle coat is be like, ummmmm you are know is lady tiny pony right?

And he is be like, sic, I know is weirdo, but I am total into.

So speckle pony—Geoff pony—is help make introduce, and Marion Rose is be like, OMG you are best mini-horse in all of world.

Problem is be, Elliot is hear like whole life that mini-horse are be worst, and he is have like no idea how talk to lady.

Now, most of tiny pony are probable non be up for deal with sad, mumble mini-horse. They are be like, wellllll, actual, I guess what I am really want is tiny pony with big stable and sword collect and dumb, boring life where we are just do season and then sit around hate each other all of winter time…tiny pony Victoria, living dream.

But Marion Rose pony is be like, Jesus Christus that is sound like worst thing I am ever think of, and so she is do lot of thing for show love for mini-horse.

She is do thing like, encourage when mini-horse is neigh with music. And she is non make fun of when he is non know spell pattern for word. And she is read with and non care if he is read slow. And she is take hoof on street and glare head kick thought at all of tiny pony who are look at and be like, gross. And she is say mini-horse is be handsome and love and smart.

Occasional, she is like…gentle head kick mini-horse and be like, for real, stop mumble and smile is non kill.

Then one day there is be tiny pony ball.

Marion Rose is definite go to, because she is be part of tiny pony society. And she is want dance with mini-horse like so bad, but he is non get invite.

So, for prove love, Elliot is ask one of tiny pony friend sign over invite for and then he is borrow tiny pony suit that is show too much hoof and try comb all of dark, black curl, and show up for ball.

He is be so nerve he is basic like almost throw up all of oat.

But then he is see Marion Rose at ball be so super mega tiny and feisty and he is be like, I am basic die if I am non dance with.

And she is see mini-horse and be like, everyone is shut up right now and hold champagne, I am go dance with mini-horse.

They are dance like whole night.

Then before ball is end, they are be so sneak and leave and Elliot is escort Marion Rose to house, and they are be like, welp, guess we are never ever want be apart now.

Is take like two more year and lot of work and head-kick, but eventual they are be marry. They are have pretty goddamn best colt name Jon who is have kind of dark, curl hair and kind of chestnut coat…and who is be kind of mini-horse tall, but definite tiny pony style…who is basic be best of both of.

And Elliot is be like, I am so happy I am probable just die of.

And Marion Rose is be like, I am know sic? I am best.

***
Now, in afterlife, mini-horse is be super model. He is be write, he is be parent, he is be act and sing and dance, and he is read all of time and be so smart.

Part of is be because tiny pony husband is be like preeeeetty fucking best and encourage.

But lot of is be because tiny pony name Marion Rose is work so hard for love mini-horse.

Amo, Marion. Gratias tibi ago.

THE END

Back to Work?

If there’s one thing that positively guts me, it’s change.  I can handle about two changes at a time, and anything more than that leaves me morose and exhausted–hence the late post.  It’s not a particularly charming personality trait, but there it is.

As it just so happens, there are approximately 6,000 changes in progress at AMMA, and, therefore, going back to work this week was quite difficult.

Primarily, I’m dealing with the burden, if you ask me, opportunity, if you ask Marc, of releasing my contract.  This is the four year contract I signed when I started at AMMA in 2011, and it has been nothing but gloriously comfortable and productive.  The fine print never came back to bite me, the staff writing position was never arduous, the ensemble modelling was terribly fun, and having AMMA on my side in negotiations with high-fashion runway folks was not only a relief but utterly necessary.

Now I’m being told–in the most complimentary fashion, I’m assured–that I’m too recognisable for ensemble work, too adroit for staff writing positions, and too independently successful to continue with agency representation.

I know.  I know it’s ridiculous to complain about such things, I do.  I’ve made good on my responsibilities, garnered opportunities, and become more coveted than I ever thought possible, and I should strike out on my own.  But I’ll be damned if I’m not just miserable over the idea of leaving AMMA.  They’ve been so wonderful, and I feel so ungrateful.

I expressed this opinion to Robert–CEO, general hardass, and good friend–and after he was finished calling me a number of rather unseemly things and raking me over the coals for naivety, he admitted he was happy to hear that they would be missed and that he’d keep me if he could.  But he had to stand by his decision.  I’ve done more than enough for the company.  I have outgrown the contract. He will not be setting me up with a new one.  It’s for my own good.

Recognising that I was pretty torn up about the whole thing, even if I was attempting a brave face, Marcus took me out to supper on Friday night.  We went to our favourite spot–a tiny Indian restaurant draped in silks and smothered in pillows–and sat in our favourite corner booth.  At the end of supper he folded his napkin and said, “Do non be mad.”  Then he pulled a key out of his pocket and slid it across the table to me.

As it turns out, Marcus, who has always been more of a shrewd and independent businessman than I, saw this contract release a mile away.  And since he had planned to give up his own contract when it expired due to personal and creative differences with the editorial board he secretly purchased new offices two years ago.

That’s right, he had decided to move out of AMMA and across the street into a three flat brownstone two years ago.

I was mad.  Then I was grateful.  Then I was mad that I was grateful.

Then I saw the look on his face, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.  I realised that it was actually a rather big deal for Marcus to recognize that he had trespassed on my autonomy, rather than thinking that he was a 100% unproblematic white knight and know-it-all.  In general, high-ranking priest/official/judge/generals of Ancient Rome were not taught to be apologetic.  And there he was looking apologetic.

It didn’t fix everything but it sure as hell helped…

So, we grabbed a bottle of Bordeaux to go and visited our new offices, wandering around together hand in hand while he explained his thought process and talked about the design plan that has been rattling around in his brain for two years.

Namely, I get the garden and the second floor of the brownstone for whatever fashion needs I have.  I can have an office with a window, or I can burrow into the back corner of the semi-basement and surround myself with books and lanterns, whatever I like.  From those spaces I can sell individual pieces of writing to AMMA as a guest contributor, I can schedule and spread my time more evenly among my high-fashion designers and participate more fully in their businesses, and I can hire myself out as a consultant and runway coach.

The main floor and the top floor, then, are Marc’s, with a flagship haute-couture boutique and tailoring suite on the main and a facsimile of his AMMA offices on the third in addition to a conference room.

Furthermore, I get to keep my staff.  My personal assistant, Danny, is coming with me, as is his new assistant Lucas.  That looks terribly extravagant in writing.  What it really boils down to is that Danny and his husband want to become foster parents and so he hired someone to answer the phones and make the copies so that he can focus on the more complex tasks from home with a baby on his knee.

Marc’s staff is coming, too: his wildly, joyfully aggressive PA, Fleur; his studious artisan of a first assistant and junior partner, John.

Conversations about changes we might make to his plan (which is, admittedly, a great one) turned into conversations about the opportunities the place might offer us.  And those conversations turned into reflections on how it really is rather swell to be able to share your work with your spouse…with minimal bloodshed…and won’t it be grand to go into work next week in our own JS Designs headquarters, to have the kids with us at work whenever we want, and to launch whatever comes next for us from a place of full independence.

And, yes, it will be grand.  A bit scary.  But grand.