I try to get off the runway without showing either fear or shame. One reason designers dress their models in heels is so we can't run away.
After George Moskal's set, I run upstairs and throw on my outfit for Anne Selden. I'm wearing a grey dress with red and blue accents under a red jacket that I wore for the LookBook photo shoot. Half of Selden's models have yet to be styled, and we race each other to the chairs.
Next, I head downstairs and take my place in the procession of Anne Selden models. The choreographer rushes over and whispers, "Don't step on the last segment of the runway. One of the legs isn't stable."
Freezing on the runway is the stuff of anxiety dreams; falling off is a million-hit YouTube moment The God Damn Doo Wop Band harmonizes onstage as I ascend the wobbly stairs. The audience is tired, having stood for three hours, but they cheer as I slip off my jacket and sling it over my shoulder. I switch places with another model and take my final pose: chin up, shoulders back, face relaxed and still. It feels almost natural.
I exit the stage with a mixture of reluctance and excitement. My feet are killing me in four-inch heels, but I'd wear them for another three hours for a few more seconds on stage. Fashion modeling may be all about the clothes, but tonight I feel like a real supermodel, part of the art itself.