UNWRITTEN: Mode Suisse Edition 20 | Unusual almost love story that wouldn´t exist if…

She knew she would not even write a comma, because she mainly came there to perceive the atmosphere, scents and energy of the fashion world and to let it all flow through her whole body and mind. She wanted to remember it. As long as possible. It was supposed to be a beautiful moment. It was supposed to last as long as the beautiful moment was supposed to last. Every beautiful moment has its own watch and its own timer. Hemingway said. His Rolex Oyster Perpetual quietly counted 20:29.

With the first step into the hall, she took a deep breath of this exciting atmosphere, that reigned there. She came alone, but someone courageously spoke to her right at the entry. He held a kind of retro drink. She would have said no, if she would have an opportunity. He took her hand and walked her to the seat, that he had picked for her. Confusion turned into excitement when she smelled his fragrance. A mix of tobacco, sandalwood and bergamot. A dangerous combination, that inspired someone once to create a perfume, Death in the afternoon.

And he seated her on the chair in the third row.

They call me Hemingway. By the way.

She was thinking about how this strong drink in a beautiful champagne glass fits into the concept of a production hall from an old brick factory. How it fits into this raw environment, that could turn into a fashion delirium any minute.

Hemingway kept her company all evening and occupied her mind and her left hand while she nervously squeezed the trigger of her camera.

She felt safe. She felt irresistible. She felt like some

one.

I did not know you are interested in fashion. “Interested, not interested. I’m here to be here“, he said calmly and held her left hand while she pulled the trigger nervously with her right one.

He asked if she had a pen and a notebook. She had nothing. She knew she would not even write a comma, because she mainly came there to perceive the atmosphere, scents and energy of the fashion world and to let it all flow through her whole body and mind. She wanted to remember it. As long as possible. It was supposed to be a beautiful moment. It was supposed to last as long as the beautiful moment was supposed to last. Every beautiful moment has its own watch and its own timer. Hemingway said. His Rolex Oyster Perpetual quietly counted 20:29.

And she took a sip from the drink in the crystal glass.

In her head she searched for the right words and arranged them into sentences and endless lines of silence. She pretended coolness. She was betrayed by the fast but short movement of tossing her legs over each other. She was impressed, how Casella Meyer was able to move art from the street to the fashion runway, in a few minutes. Nude colors of presented outfits calmed her again, but she was immediately disturbed by a green provocation in form of a leather handbag, decorated with feathers by Nina Yuun x Leonie Risch. It evoked everything in her, including the enormous desire to own it. A dress like metal caught her attention so much that she watched the beautiful dark model from her first step to her last. Sarah Bounab (Head Geneve). She gave her everything she could give. The look, the recognition and all her feelings, the applause and especially the silence. Without a sound she begged Hemingway to hold her hand tightly, because she had a strong urge to move discreetly to the front row, and perhaps even closer. She could not imagine what she was capable of. She knew she could not understand a single dress unless she saw them up close, touched the fabric and saw one perfect stitch after another. And she will look for the knot like a dot at the end of a sentence to understand the meaning of each dress. And so she perceived the colors, the art of lights, the graceful movement of the models along the runway, the bold creations of Mourjjan x Ginny Litscher, and the noisy applause…

Hemingway held her hand for a moment as he escorted her home. She took a breath, to say something.

Pri prvom kroku, ktorý urobila, keď vkročila do haly, vdýchla vzrušujúcu atmosféru. Prišla sama, no hneď pri vchode k nej niekto odvážne prehovoril. Držal v ruke akýsi retro drink. Odvetila by nie, keby jej dal príležitosť. Drzo ju vzal za ruku a odviedol ju na miesto, ktoré vybral. Zmätok a nervozitu vystriedalo vzrušenie, keď zacítila jeho vôňu. Mix tabaku, santalového dreva a bergamotu. Nebezpečná kombinácia, ktorá raz niekoho inšpirovala k vytvoreniu parfému Death in the Afternoon.

A usadil ju na stoličku v treťom rade.

Volajú ma Hemingway. Mimochodom.

Rozmýšľala nad tým, ako tento silný nápoj v nádhernom pohári na šampanské zapadá do konceptu starej výrobnej haly tehlovej továrne, ako zapadá do tohto surového prostredia, ktoré sa malo každou minútou zmeniť na módne delírium.

Hemingway jej robil spoločnosť celý večer a zamestnávala jej myseľ a ľavú ruku, zatiaľ čo ona na svojom telefóne nervózne mačkala spúšť fotoaparátu.

Cítila sa v bezpečí. Cítila sa neodolateľne. Cítila sa ako

jediná.

“Nevedela som, že ťa zaujíma móda.” “Zaujíma, nezaujíma. Som tu, aby som tu bol” povedal pokojne a držal ju za ľavú ruku, zatiaľ čo ona pravou nervózne stláčala spúšť.

Spýtal sa, či má pero a zápisník. Nemala nič. Vedela, že nenapíše ani čiarku, pretože tam prišla predovšetkým vnímať atmosféru, vône a energiu módneho sveta a nechať to všetko prúdiť celým telom a mysľou. Chcela si to zapamätať. Tak dlho ako sa len dá. Mal to byť krásny moment. Mal trvať tak dlho, ako krásny moment dlho trvať má. Každý krásny okamih má svoje hodinky a vlastnú časomieru. Povedal Hemingway. Jeho Rolex Oyster Perpetual potichu napočítali 20:29.

Krištáľové sklo jemne cinklo pri dotyku pohárov, s ozvenou, ktorá v nej ešte dlho rezonovala.

Hľadala v hlave tie správne slová a usporiadávala ich do viet a nekonečných riadkov ticha. Predstierala sebavedomie a pokoj. Zradil ju rýchly krátky pohyb prehodením nôh cez seba. Zapôsobilo na ňu, ako Casella Meyer dokázal za pár minút presunúť umenie na módne mólo priamo z ulice. Telové odtiene prezentovaných outfitov ju opäť ukľudnili, ale vyprovokovala ju zelená kožená kabelka zdobená pierkami od Niny Yuun x Leonie Risch. Evokovalo to v nej všetko, vrátane obrovskej túžby vlastniť ju. Kov ako šaty a šaty ako kov upútali jej pozornosť natoľko, že krásnu tmavú modelku sledovala od prvého kroku po posledný. Sarah Bounab (hlavná Geneve). Dala jej všetko, čo mohla dať. Ten pohľad, uznanie a všetky jej pocity, potlesk a hlavne ticho. Nemá prosila Hemingwaya, aby ju pevne držal za ruku, pretože mala silné nutkanie sa nenápadne presunúť do prvého radu a možno ešte bližšie. Nevedela si predstaviť, čoho je schopná. Vedela, že nemôže porozumieť ani jednému oblečeniu, pokiaľ ho neuvidí zblízka. Pokiaľ sa nedotkne látky a neuvidí jeden dokonalý steh za druhým. A uzol bude hľadať ako bodku na konci vety, aby pochopila význam šiat. A tak vnímala farby a hru svetiel a ladný pohyb modeliek po móle a odvážne kreácie Mourjjan x Ginny Litscher a hlučný potlesk…

Hemingway ju ešte chvíľu držal za ruku, keď ju odprevádzal domov. Zhlboka sa nadýchla, aby niečo povedala.

“Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?”

Ernest Hemingway, Men Without Women