Once again, starting this by saying I dropped off the map for a substantial period of time. But what a surprise its because I was busy working. And this time it was Dior who swallowed me up, the cheeky thang yo.
Last Friday got a call from my correspondent at Dior (who by the way is super awesome) and said a couple managers have been asking and they want the dress. Easy right? Just glue a few perfume cards to a bit of paper and make it look pretty, yeh not so much. Especially when you're a sticky person like me, not getting peanut butter on the white Dior dress was the first challenge (which i failed within 2 hours of making).
I’d like to take this opportunity to give a public apology to anyone who has encountered me in the last week. I’ve been an insane, crazed version of myself. My flatmate has come home to me rocking in the fetal position on the floor, crying on the sofa, running around the flat hysterically laughing when the pressure got a little to much, oh and asleep sitting up with my head in a basket of fruit. I think its safe to say the stress got on top of me a tad. I had to set my alarm at 6hr intervals throughout the first three days to wake up in the middle of the night to do another layer of papermache. I can tell you now, no one, NO ONE should be papemacheing at 4am. I commandeered the lounge space meaning for the last 7 days we have been watching 1/8th of the telly while the monster dress just stood there like ‘Yeh what. Try move me. I dare you’.
Anyway I managed to churn it out, looked beaut as well, freakin’ massive, but beaut. But then came the problem of having to photograph the dress, because It was such short time scales I didn’t have a chance to book a studio shoot, oh and the fact the dress didn’t fit through the door, did I mention that added issue? So I roped in all my favours, got a photographer round, who for the record- corr mother may i. Had one flatmate in the dress (perfume cards digging into places I don’t think she even knew existed) and then the other flatmate running around holding various bits of the dress and giving style advice, this involved a lot of “You’re a tiger! Smise, Smise with those eyes! You’re a goddess, Give me more!”. While I did really helpful things like twerk up against the dress (not kidding when I say I lost my marbles, they might as well have been on another planet).
But I did it, we did it I should probably say. Dress delivery was a whole other palaver in itself, England was doin its thang and raining like a mumma. Anyway with some bin bags and a strong man we managed to get it to Dior. I placed it lovingly in the window (my first shop window, holllla) and then put my dumpster promo around it so everyone knows its my super great company who did it. Then realised I spelt my own website wrong on one of the signs, nice one Daisy, you fuck whit. No one is going to get anywhere searching ‘Dupster’.
My slow demise is listed below in pictures. Hey I can be a normal person again now though, my boyfriend bought me pickled onions as a well done. True love?