Last week I attended the official opening of the Calvin Klein store in the V&A Waterfront. A regte celeb-studded affair, things got pretty crowded so I didn’t manage to snap too many clothing piccies but we’re talking Calvin Klein here, darlings. You can rest assured that everything is gorgeous in that typical Ck understated fashion.
After a bit of a schmingle, I realised all the goodie bags had gone to the early birds (i.e. my friends who waved them in my face going naaaaa-na!) and threw a mild strop because I’m not an especially nice person. Fortunately, one of the tres mooi model doormen, Shawn, was able to help me out.
Anyway, that’s how I managed to nab possibly the very last goodie bag containing a bottle of cK one EDT and you have no idea how happy it’s made me. You see, back in my hometown of li’l ole Port Elizabeth in 1996, only the coolest girls in the world who had ‘rich’, older boyfriends wore cK one. Me? I wore a dupe that Woolies used to make that I saved up for with the pennies I made working in a clothing store every Saturday. And get this – it was a ‘rave scene’ clothing store. Oh yes. This li’l flash back couldn’t get anymore 90s even if the Spice Girls popped up. But ja. I’m now a spoiled, semi-jaded beauty editor who’s given more fragrances than is fair but I you have no idea how happy this scent is making me right now. It’s like my little spandex-wearing, moon boot-clad, glow stick-shaking 15 year old inner child has finally arrived.
After the event, a rocking after party took place at another venue but the only pic I have of that where I haven’t been shot from a fat angle is this one.
Oh! Wait! And there’s this charming shot of me happy crying into the bash’s killer good risotto, having completed eight days of Atkins in a desperate bid to expose abs for an upcoming bikini holiday.
But ja, that’s about it. Insert sad face here. This was the result of me being a total moron and almost destroying every electronic item I own in two seconds flat. I popped into the bathroom, you see… to reapply my lipgloss… and put my handbag in the (dry) sink not realising the tap above it was one of those automatic sensor ones. This resulted in Chiano Sky and Roxy Burger finding me scrabbling on the floor, gripped by madness, in an attempt to dry the contents which included a semi-brand new cellphone, camera and a disc of precious wedding pics*, the latter belonging to Expresso stylist and blogger bestie Elrico Bellingham. In fact, that last thing he said to me was ‘I’m having you collect them for me because I trust you with them‘. Arrrrghh! Fortunately, both Chiano and Roxy are good with paper towels and hysterical people. Thank you girls!
Anyway, after I could be sure my brand new HTC (which I love, love, love – review and comp coming shortly) hadn’t died a watery death, myself plus Roxy and Misty Louw decided to pop into Orphanage. Being an old ex-90’s teen who can sadly still recite all the words to every Britney Spears song in creation, I faded early, but went to sleep in a beautiful cloud of cK one, dreaming of a time when my thighs didn’t touch and, if your hair could do the ‘Rachel’, you were one lucky, lucky girl.
*It’s fine, I promise! I love you lots! Don’t hate me!