When I was growing up, my mom used to tell me that, quite honestly, I walked like a man. This didn’t offend me in the slightest and I’d admit to just about anyone that it was true. I never wore heels or even wedges because I could barely walk in them. As someone who is 6’0 tall, getting a lift was never a real concern for me. I was more than happy to clunk around in my flip-flops, doc marten’s, and ballet flats. As I would barrel down the stairs from my bedroom to the kitchen, my mother would complain that I was literally shaking the house. I found this funny and continued with it well into my late teens. I never thought to change anything about my gait. I relaxed on the sides of my feet, I tripped on a frequent basis, and I just laughed off my clumsiness.

Well, when I booked my first “runway show” (aka, a JC Penney’s Fashion Show hosted by Tim Gunn) in Manhattan, I basically stopped breathing. My agent, Carri, had called to let me know and after about 30 seconds of silence on my end, she proceeded with a long string of “hello?” and “are you there?” type questioning. I finally gasped and said, “Yes. Ok. Ok. OK. I’ll be there. Thanks for calling. Bye.” I was shocked, petrified, and sick to my stomach. My mind raced with frantic thoughts. These thoughts went something like this: What?!? I thought plus-size models didn’t have to do runway shows!! How many runway shows do plus-size models really do? Is this going to be a frequent occurrence? Um, what if I fall? I always fall…especially in heels. What if I can’t walk in the shoes they give me? What if they’re the wrong size? OMG, what if they’re 6-inch heels? I’ve never been able to do anything but stand in a pair of those (and that usually included me holding onto a person or a chair). Why is this happening?

After about 10 minutes of complete and utter panic, I finally calmed down. I had agreed to do this show and even though it wasn’t even close to something like the catwalk of Milan Fashion Week, it was still an alarming prospect for me. I was going to have to bite the bullet, practice in my newly purchased pumps, and pray that I somehow managed not to make a complete fool out of myself in front of Tim Gunn and hundreds of people at the Manhattan Mall.

The day before the show, I had a brief fitting. It was the end of September and still unnervingly warm outside. I showed up in my little sundress and sandals expecting to put on, at most, a fall sweater and a pair of jeans in an air-conditioned dressing room. Boy, was I mistaken! The dressing rooms were balmy and hot as models and people from the production team rushed in and out. On top of that, the show coordinator handed me my worst nightmare: a wool grey dress, a pair of thick tights, a heavy grey coat, a beret, a long magenta scarf, a pair of gloves, and….HEELED black boots (which I must add were at least a half size, if not a whole size, too small for me.) My stomach lurched a bit, beads of sweat rolled down my back, neck, and forehead. But, I had come this far, and there was no going back. I was stuck. I was going to have to show up here tomorrow, put on my “model face,” and walk down the long slick white runway set up in the main entrance to the mall.

That night I could barely sleep. I tossed and turned for hours. I kept running every possible scenario through my head in hopes that I would be prepared for anything. Unfortunately, all that worrying couldn’t prepare me for the two things that were about to happen.

As I walked from the east side to the west along 34th street, a bunch of teens were congregating in the middle of the sidewalk. I had left my apartment slightly later than I had planned and therefore, was in a rush. I tried to quickly make my way through the crowded area when some 15-year old kid turned around swiftly and kicked me (hard) on the tip of my toes. I was wearing flip-flops (as usual), so this did not bode well. The nail on my second toe split and blood began gushing out of it. I hobbled my way to the nearest convenience store a few blocks away, leaving a thin trail of blood behind me. I bought a pack of band-aids and began making my way to the show. It hurt. I was going to have to do something to stop the throbbing!

Once I arrived at the mall, I found my way to the nearest bathroom and cleaned up my dirty toes and blood-stained sandals. I wrapped a few pieces of toilet paper around my toes and used the band-aids to hold it all together. It still hurt but I could tolerate it. In that moment, I was soooo thankful that I had a pair of heeled boots rather than some open-toed flat! At least I could stuff all of the toilet paper inside without anyone knowing!

I went down to the fitting room to get changed into my one and only look. The toilet paper helped…A LOT! I couldn’t walk at 100 percent, but it was going to have to be good enough. They told me to come hair and makeup ready, so the only thing left to do was have the on-site make-up artist touch up my already fading eye shadow and lipstick. The show was about 10 minutes from starting and I was ready to take on the runway. I gave myself a little pep talk and told myself that I was going to OWN it. I was going to knock everyone’s socks off with my big smile and confident stride. I was tenth in the line-up, so I knew I’d get the scoop from the others models about what it was like out there and how and where I should walk. The production staff already briefed me that Tim Gunn and his co-host, Leah, would be talking about each look as it came down the runway. They also mentioned that listening carefully would be beneficial because either host might instruct you to take off your jacket, hat, purse, etc.

It was my turn. I waited in the wings of the catwalk patiently and nervously. The production coordinator gave me a firm tap on the shoulder and whispered “go.” The bright lights hit my face and I was flooded with the sounds of hundreds of people chattering and pointing. I thought I might fall. Then, I thought I might succeed. I strutted down to the end of the runway, when a funny thing happened. My walk was fine. I remained fairly calm. But, then Tim Gunn and Leah began to discuss my outfit. Tim asked me to remove my jacket and Leah replied immediately with “Keep it on!” I froze. I didn’t know what to do. Truth was, Leah knew the dress was going to be showcased later in the show on another model and Tim did not. Then, in my state of confusion, Tim asked me to walk directly to him (which I was told not to do) and HE removed my jacket and proceeded to discuss my cap-sleeved knee-length dress. I was stunned and had no idea how ridiculous I looked wearing a short-sleeve dress with a pair of gloves (which, by the way, one glove was one size too small, so I had been hiding it under the jacket sleeve).  Tim and I both laughed it off, but kept our professional demeanor. He thanked me and led me off stage. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn’t fallen, but was still shaken from the jacket mishap. No one seemed to be concerned, so I was out of the woods. I had survived!

I walked in the finale with all of the other models without a hitch and despite my little misfortunes, I was really proud of myself. I had done it. No one could tell me that I was that clumsy Amanda with the hilarious walk anymore. I had just been PAID to walk. I felt empowered and relieved that I had overcome one of my biggest fears. Although it wasn’t perfect, it was my best…and considering the circumstances, I felt my best was more than good enough.

Read Amanda’s last post “Intro To International Insanity“.

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