fashion week (month) is finally over and i’m back im finally feeling my feet back on the ground. is paris ever not a whirlwind? i laughed so hard i cried, i cried from being tired, i cried from being alone, i cried from being pickpocketed, i cried from missing a show , i cried on the phone, i cried in a backstage, a starbucks, on the metro, in paperboy, and at home. (pro tip: don’t get your period on the last day of fashion month, it will make your last week a living hell) and bar all of this - i loved every single joyous and hellish moment. every ‘colleague’ who saw me and knew not to say anything, or gave me a hug, or a laugh or a smile or a snack or a kind word, gratitude for the real shitty times that make all the good bits shine so fucking bright. grateful for a season of honesty and new levels of achievement and communication and boundary setting. i learnt to say no and i learnt to ask for help and i learnt to say yes, yes, fucking helllllll YEAH, over and over again. it’s a wild little world we enter into and live in for a few weeks, and i’m grateful for every family member, for the close ones and the second-cousins ones and the hilarious ones and the grumpy ones, the girls the boys the NBS the beautiful magical trans, all the queers (some of the str8s). the really seriously nice PR’s and the friendly parisian security guards (those men picked me up and spun me round at least once a day!) , the models the editors and buyers the photographers. god i wanna list you all by name but i don’t wanna accidentally forget anyone. also the HUGEST shoutout to rick owens for the best catering forever till i die - swipe for proof. i gotta run, my friend is waiting downstairs and we’re going for ice cream. i love you all so much. i see you, i hear you, i’m honoured to be around all of you. yours in service always, Cris xxx