London Fashion Week. The words echoed in my mind as I dragged my full kit through the tube at rush hour. Commuters pressed in from all sides, my arms aching as I tried to keep my bags from being crushed. No one made eye contact. I clung to the pole, focusing on the thrill of where I was headed.
The venue was buried deep in an industrial area in East London, hidden behind graffitied walls and rusting gates. For a moment, I thought I was lost until I heard it—the unmistakable buzz of backstage chaos. Inside, the cold air hit me hard. The space was raw and urban, with concrete floors and flickering overhead lights. Models in oversized coats huddled near radiators, their faces fresh and waiting for transformation. Stylists called out over the clamour of hairdryers, and assistants rushed to organise supplies. This wasn’t just hectic; it was alive.
I took a deep breath and found my station. My heart raced in anticipation.
The key makeup artist arrived with a calm command and creative vision. She surveyed the room, her sharp eyes cutting through the chaos. “Bold but controlled,” she announced, gathering the assistants. “We’re going for post-party glamour. Wet textures, glitter, and contrast. Think lived-in, but not sloppy.”
I leaned in, absorbing every movement as she demonstrated. Glitter shimmered under the lights as she layered it with a soft touch, pressing it in with her fingertips. “This look needs to feel effortless,” she emphasised. “Watch carefully. One demo, then you’re on your own.”
The senior assistant, a no-nonsense woman with a razor-sharp gaze, snapped at me. “Station. Skin prep is crucial.” Her tone left no room for error.
I steadied myself, placed MY MAKEUP MAT down and opened MY SMALL CANVAS BAG full of products. I reached for the Skin Wizard Hydrate and Glow Serum, knowing it was my ace. The formula sank perfectly into the model’s skin, giving that luminous sheen the look demanded. I worked carefully, blending foundation to a barely-there finish before layering the textures—hydration, subtle shimmer, controlled glitter placement.
The noise faded as I locked into the process, step by step. This was it—my chance.
Finally, it was time. My hands were steady as I guided my model towards the key artist for approval. The walk felt like an eternity. The key artist turned, her eyes narrowing as she took in the look. My heart pounded so hard I thought everyone could hear it.
She inspected the model’s skin, tilting her head. Seconds stretched painfully long. Did I get it right? Would she send me back to fix it?
Her gaze met mine, and after a pause, she gave a small nod.
“Good work.”
Relief washed over me so fast I nearly staggered. I kept my composure, but inside I was soaring.
But this was just the beginning. The real chaos was about to begin.
