Crazy-Good/Crazy

A flip-back diary of my feelings during the creation of a collection

Post Runway Show: I feel depressed. What now? How can I avoid the post show press conference?

During the show: my name is announced for me to take a bow. I feel irritated. Why bother with it at all? During the show: the last model walks out into the arc lights. I feel relieved. The show went off without a hitch.

During the show: buttoning up garments, tying closures on models, I feel like I am on steroids. Adrenaline high. I scream, I hug, I manage to squeeze in a smoke break.

Pre show: I spot mum and friends seated waiting for the show to begin. I feel happy and blessed. Morning of the show: I feel nauseous. I need a bucket near me, and a bottle of water.

One day to show: I am filled with trepidation. Preps for show are done. There really is nothing left for me to do.

I still refuse to leave my room, somehow feeling if I step out for a drink or a meal, it’ll all go wrong. My fellow designer friends are functioning normally. They are so well adjusted. I hate them.

Three days to show: Model castings and fittings. I feel like the second lead in every Bollywood movie—inconsequential. There is nothing really for me to do. I have the shortest fitting schedule always. The entire exercise takes 15 minutes. There is no point having a sit down with the hair and make-up artist. Even with references provided, they will still do their own thing. Why bother?

Five days to show: Prepping guest-lists, last minute dry-cleaning, collecting accessories from vendors. I feel like The Brain Whisperer. I can hear a pop in my head each time I feel like I’m experiencing an aneurysm. Apparently, we as a nation do not understand the significance of RSVP. I’m willing to bet any amount that on the morning of my show, I will have people calling and texting me for invites.

14 days to show: I feel crazy-good/crazy. The last batch of printed textiles comes in to the workshop.

They’ve turned out great! But wait! Is there enough time to create a minimum of four garments out of these fabrics to have a cohesive sub-story in the collection? Crazed.

18 days to show: I feel like I need to finish the world’s supply of ice cream.

29 days to show: I feel a need to ameliorate. Actually I don’t. This day just needed a word I do not understand.

31 days to show: I feel there needs to be a way I can expand time. One month left.

37 days to show: I feel, dare I say, happy with the way preps for fashion week are progressing. 55 days to show: Pattern cutting and calico toiles are done! I feel like I deserve a pat on the back. Except that if I ask my tailors to do that, they’ll certify me insane.

61 days to show: I feel a manicure session coming up. Finally, print artworks have been sent across to my printers. Screens will be made. Soon. Hopefully. Hours on the computer; my right palm can carry out only one function—cradling a mouse. Patterns are being cut; I’ve got callouses from using old school iron scissors. There is no emoji that can represent my physical state of being. What’s that you say? You’ve found one with a hunchback and deformed hands?

63 days to show: I am indebted to my Meitei friends

for their instructions on how to pronounce Manipuri cuss words. With everyone in Kolkata familiar with English, Hindi and Bengali cuss words, screaming out a thunaba or a thigun means nothing to them and everything to me.

71 days to show: I feel snails would outrun me at this pace. Colour samples have been finalised. I mean, how difficult is it to decide between two shades of black? Shapes have been frozen.

79 days to show: I feel I am a functioning depressive. During ideation, if I am momentarily happy, the ideas I come up with are scrapped within the hour. Creative juices flow well when I brood.

83 days to show: Music is sorted. I feel like an entourage is in order. For every showcase, I decide on music first.

I know which tracks are going to be played. These tracks are on 24/7 in my studio, workshop, car and home. This time, I’m leading with Shelter by The XX. I imagine myself being part of The XX, holding intimate gigs in my studio, workshop, car and home. I’m crooning Shelter with such familiarity, it seems like I’m a songwriter too. I am tone deaf.

90 days to show: I feel like I’m exotic. Hotter than the tropics. No, wait. I feel like I need to feel. ASAP. Three months left. Just the storyline in place. There are, however, no catalysts to get my brain to work. It’ll happen of its own accord. I slip out of the studio for a drink. Expensive wine and wasabi nuts. Now I feel exotic. Where art thou, Pitbull?

A few snippets from my journal leading up to a showing of my Spring/Summer 2013 ‘Grotesque Nonsense’ collection at the Wills Lifestyle India Fashion Week. The collection was based on how Eastern concepts get lost in translation when they travel Westwards.

About The Author

Kallol Datta