How Versace Changed my Life.

Milan

September 1982

 I hopped on a bus to my first appointment at an office on a narrow one-way alley hidden in the tangled city of Milan. The building I was to enter was lined with perfectly coiffed shrubs planted in large, dramatic vases and flawlessly symmetrical. There on Via Borgo Spesso, wearing no makeup, jet-lagged, dressed in Massimo’s button-down shirt and a jean skirt. I caught my reflection in a window. It was hard to believe that just a week earlier, I had been working and partying at Studio 54.

With one hand, I opened the heavy glass doors that lead up an opulent staircase, and with the other, I grabbed tight to my portfolio of novice modeling photos.

Well, you’ve made it this far, nothing to be afraid of now!

A secretary walked me to a lavish office dripping in bright yellow and burgundy satin with flashes of royal blue. There, a well-dressed, bearded man with a receding hairline waited for me. He was sitting behind a massive, ornate mahogany desk covered with fashion magazines and sketches.

He stood up, shook my hand, and in his thick Italian accent.

“Ciao, I’m Gianni Versace. Please, sit down.”

I sat in a leather chair facing him. I had heard the name Versace but didn’t think anything of it. I really had no clue that I was sitting in front of the man who changed the fashion world, who pushed traditional fashion establishments with his intense designs, lavish bedazzling, and outrageous animal prints. This was probably a good thing because I talked to him like he was an old friend. We got to chatting, and he asked me how I got into fashion.

"I made my first dress when I was eleven.” I reminisced. “It was yellow gingham cotton, printed with tiny red flowers and ruffles down the front. I won second place in a sewing contest."

His eyes lit up, "Me too. I designed my first dress at nine. My mother had a tailor shop in Calabria where I grew up."  He said with a cheeky grin.  A bond was formed.

Versace studied my photographs, pointing at one, and said, "You look stunning in this red dress."

“Thank you.” A fluttering of hope left my lips but I was too embarrassed to look into his eyes. I didn't want to leave his office; I felt like I had found my first friend in Milan. We spoke a bit more, and the meeting ended with a hug. 

On the bus ride back to my pensione, I looked out of the window in complete contentment. People were dressed beautifully and walked slowly- no one was in a hurry. The bus hummed past a huge cathedral and a castle. I think that I'm going to like it here. I hoped I could stay for a long time.  

A few days later, the agency called to tell me I was hired for the Versace photo-shoot. A rush of adrenaline went through my body, and I was on cloud nine. I couldn't believe that I was getting paid more in one day than I usually made in three months. Of course, I was scared because I didn't know how to model, but excited about my first modeling job. I felt good about myself; I could see a glimmer of hope for my future. Gianni Versace believed in me. A model was born.

***

The Versace shoot was at Piazza Duomo, the big cathedral in the center of Milan. A big white tent was set up on the side where the stylists and makeup artists were frantically buzzing about. After they were finished with my hair and makeup, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. I actually looked like a model from a fashion magazine. I smiled. If only my friends in Minnesota could see me now!            

There was another model on the set, and it felt a bit awkward sitting there and not speaking. Perhaps we could bond over the excitement of being models.

"This is my first photo shoot.” I made conversation. “Do you have any posing tips you could give me?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "Ask the photographer, he'll tell you what to do." then she stood up, turned like a military soldier, and stomped off.

 If I make it as a model, I will never be that mean to another person, I vowed.

Hundreds of tourists stopped in the piazza to take pictures and gawk while I was getting ready to shoot, making me nervous. My lips were quivering, and my palms sweaty. 

The handsome, young Versace photographer looked like a rock star with his wild long blond ponytail. He shook my damp hand.

"Bonjour, my name is Steven." He said with a smile.

I gazed into his baby blues, "I’m Cindy. Nice to meet you." I couldn’t stop staring at him. Now, I was even more nervous.

My legs were shaky while I stood in the center of the piazza, wearing a taupe colored long jacket with large shoulder pads and a skirt with white trim underneath. I was grateful when the stylist put a giant hat on my head to hide under.

Steven was giving me directions; “Relax your face, chin down, put a hand in your pocket, try both hands in pocket, turn head to the left, etc. I guess he got the shot he wanted because after about fifteen minutes, he said, “Great job. You can change into your next outfit.”

I was feeling more confident. Wow, two thousand dollars for getting made up and wearing beautiful expensive clothes. I wondered if all modeling jobs were this easy.

The second outfit was a white linen crossover dress with white sandals. The makeup artist touched up my lips while the hairdresser pulled my hair into an up-do. Again, I followed the directions from the photographer.

My last change was a cream and khaki two-toned sweater with cream-colored wool pants. I sat on a step for this shot, which made it easier for poses.

After modeling three different outfits, I was finally feeling at ease, and then the shoot was over. 

***

A month later, I was shocked to see my picture on the cover of W magazine in New York City. My first modeling job, appearing on the cover of a magazine. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I really could succeed in the crazy world of modeling.

I sent my mother the cover of the magazine along with some other modeling photos.

About ten days later, she called.

"Why did you send these?" she asked.

"Mom, those photos are of me in fashion magazines, like Vogue!"

"I don't know what Vogue is, but I know what you look like, and this isn't you!"

I finally convinced her that it was me in the pictures.

"They're nice." She said.