Play No Games

It’s the frenetic energy of being backstage and being smack dab in the middle of organised chaos; dressers, hairstylists, and makeup artists alike swarm around you as you’re taking off clothes and putting on your next look, hopping from one foot to another as you wriggle into a pair of seven-inch heels. The rhythmic beat of the music is loud in your ears, and it matches the pounding of your heart as the adrenaline rush takes over; you’re hyperaware of the near-frantic shouts of people urging you to get in line, to get ready—hands pull away from you at the last minute and you give yourself a moment to centre yourself. You breathe, and you get into character.

Then you’re flying, out onto the long stretch of the catwalk and into a sea of blinding lights as the cameras all go off at once. The cacophony of the audience is a wall of sound that hits you, and you’re keenly aware that all eyes are on you now. So, you put on a show.

But what happens when you exit stage left, and are faced with an even bigger, more convoluted platform as the physical digitises to adapt with