I should never be allowed to meet anyone I even vaguely admire, alone, ever again. I had a Ralphie moment from The Christmas Story. For anyone who doesn’t know what that means…enjoy this You Tube clip:
I’ve been looking forward to the Scott Schuman book signing for The Sartorialist, ever since the news of his book was announced in January. I’ve followed his blog for a few years now, and have found lots of color and styling inspirations in his photography. Needless to say, he’s my personal celebrity, and I was really excited to meet him.
Of course, I entertained daydreams of all the witty things I would say, and how he would be so taken with me, he would insist on taking my photo, and immortalizing my awesome style on his blog for all to see.
I made my way to Barney’s in Beverly Hills, parked, and made my way up to the 5th floor. If I were smart about this, I would have taken the elevator, straight to the 5th floor, like a normal stylish person who knew what she was doing, however, in my excitement, I walked through the main lobby, to the giant spiral staircase, and made my way up 5 flights of stairs…in heels. I arrived on the 5th floor, a bit winded, sweaty, nervous, and anything but glamorous.
I arrive, and my friend is late, so I’m all alone, Scott is a few feet away from me, and I can’t get my hands to shop shaking…when did I get so nervous?. I see free champagne in the corner and think, “oh good, that will calm my nerves.” I grab a glass, stand in line, but before I can take even two sips, a group of people in front of me leave. Suddenly I realize I’m next in line to meet Mr. Schuman. I’m not ready!
I walk forward, put my glass down, shake his hand, all with a severe case of the shakes. Seeing this crazy person (aka, me) he now has to deal with, Scott attempts a joke to lighten the situation, which goes right over my head because all conversations from this point forward are in a weird nonsensical slow-motion.
I had worked out a little something witty to write in a book for my boyfriend, but in my nerve induced fog, I couldn’t stammer out what I wanted him to write. He signed my books, I asked for a picture, and handed my camera over to a lady who was handling that kind of stuff. I’m smiling, Scott is saying something I can’t understand, the flash of my camera never goes off, and before I know it, I’m walking away with my books, glass of champagne, and wondering what the hell just happened.
Long story short, my picture never got taken, I acted like an idiot in front of someone who I’ve always wanted to meet (why, oh why can’t I be as glamorous and charismatic as in my head), and my plan of having a clever inside joke scribbled in the penmanship of my favorite fashion photographer in a book for my boyfriend never materialized.
Oh well…at least I got my books signed. Oh yeah, and free champagne was pretty cool too. On a side note, Scott Schuman has awesomely blue eyes.
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