Met Balls Of Expectation
Follow The Masses Or To Thine Own Self Be *Human
When I was asked to shoot music legend, Mikita Nirraje, I couldn’t believe it. As I tend to walk opposite the masses, I declined most celebrity cover shoot offers. Working with a major talent could go a number of ways. Some of the super successful who’d found peace within had no reason to treat another less than. They were aware of culture’s obsession with imperialist status quo’s and loved themselves enough to not feed into insecurity. Ironic to think of generations that demand respect but fail to specify mutual reciprocation. Alas, ancient social conditions perpetuate the same old idol worship. Wanting to look like someone who’s ugly on the inside is still on trend. There’s no accountability requirement if you look right. But this was Mikita, her poetic rhythms spoke to me in those first albums. Empowering phrases that reminded not to give up, because arriving to a place of understanding that living isn’t necessary being alive, meant life was about the journey. She and I share the same zodiac sign; Sagittarius fire queens and for me that meant something. I was excited to pick her brain, see what kind of woman she was creatively and intellectually. I’d heard negative reviews from industry colleagues. Apparently passive aggressive, condescending and behaved monarchal. Creatives, like myself, have personalities that can easily be gaslit and labeled crazy. Often traits of great innovators. I’ve dealt with many a woman on a bad day, nothing was going to damper my elation.
Mikita was gorgeous, a successful Black female entrepreneur, and a fashion girl. Her porcelain textured, no make up natural caramel brown skin took my breath away. We were asked to shoot two covers the same day the week of the Met Ball! I pulled 20 racks of beautiful prêt-à-porter, something of miracles during such an important fashion meets art focused red carpet event. Nina Garcia complemented the first shoot rack with enthusiasm on her way out of Mikita’s separate wardrobe studio with Ariana Grande and Stephan Gan. The talent crew was filming her documentary throughout, and although we were in many, the set was quiet. The mood; calm and peaceful music played, yet slightly nerving. While stylists can be considered sales associates these days PR’s expect to be told all the details of your shoot. As if their input on product sales promotion would ultimately determine the fashion direction of the story. Quite the absurdity. Despite their persistence to confirm who I’d be shooting, I mentioned two celebrity supermodel names and said we wouldn’t know until the very last minute. I wanted to show what I was capable of without the constraints of system structures. There was no way I’d not push whatever roadblocks down needed to deliver beyond expectation.
The first cover went smooth. She was ecstatic, jumping with excitement while looking through the imagines. I attempted small talk while dressing her, she maintained a guarded wall, nose in air. I understood, and was up for the challenge. The power of self doubt can draw inaccurate conclusions, but how could Mikita be insecure. She was our cover star, a millionaire, adored by crowds, had started from the bottom and made it so courageously to the top. How does a successful woman possibly lack such gratitude and self-love. There was a moment of seemingly child like dismay when my assistant accompanied me to set for the first look. Mikita asked abruptly who she was, why she was there, and that she be removed. My assistant ran off of set feeling shunned. Mikita realised the irrational reaction and apologised immediately. Explained it made her nervous when people stared at her. How did one woman at such level of achievement make a young woman feel unwanted and rejected on a set full of people only there for said star. How could one be showered with so much love, yet not love themselves enough to interact with compassion and empathy. Is idolising celebrity a vulgar idolisation of another human that is not yourself? Thus enabling the subconscious belief than one human is inferior to another, that we are not equal?
For six hours we shot four beautiful images plus a cover. Greg, the photographer, and I kept squeezing each others hand in glee at the results and her response. We really did make a great team. Within thirty minutes we were set up and ready for cover two. Finding out only an hour later, she wouldn’t be ready for the next set until midnight, I gasped in exhaustion. One of my green interns forgot to pick up important extras and told me, naturally, when alternatives were closed. After too much Red Bull, on set for 12 hours, and overtired from the weeks preparations, I attempted to bond again disclosing pieces were missing while assuring we’d make do gloriously regardless. When I presented the next rack of looks her face maintained resting disgust, as if what was “missing” triggered her insecure little girl, as if done on purpose against her. Her studio manager, who’d been spoken down to earlier, attempted to speak to me in the same way. I was too tired, to secure in myself to let anyone, especially another woman, speak to me in any way that wasn’t with respect and gratitude. I explained that we could make do with the exquisite pieces before her, others below, or I could call it and pack up. I reminded I wasn’t going to make royalties on the added record sales from the free press, let them know I had a Cartier campaign the next morning, and out of respect for me as an equal human I wasn’t going to debate with any of them after I’d waited two hours without warning. Her agent did that quick Roger Stone style word flip and asked why I was getting upset, suggesting I calm my tone — of which was indeed calm, defending myself didn’t mean I was disrespectful. Mikita and her team sat and starred at me quietly shook that I’d stuck up for myself. As if because she was who she was I was expected to kiss her feet even without reason. She got her attitude together and ended up in almost all of the looks I’d presented. As three o’clock in the morning rolled around it was officially a wrap. She was smiling again, ear to ear, grabbed my hand, clutched it tight, and mimicked the words thank you. Looking deep into each other’s eyes was the moment I’d waited for all evening. The opportunity to connect as women, sharing the same space sans competitive cat fight.
In retrospect I think about how a woman with so much accomplishment and advantage would rather project their insecurities on other women in the form of condescending passive aggression. Is it always a conscious choice or a cultural condition? We all have our own rights to feel how we feel; betrayed, backstabbed, untrusting, and on guard, but realising that most of it reflects how one feels toward themselves has enabled me to give other women more grace. I think she respected me more for speaking truth in the situation, not treating her like an immortal. Ultimately I’d been able to style a celebrity the way I saw them, not as their characters were perceived. It was indeed a glorious triumph.
