To TriGemini, who caught the fact that Sakura's life is on a semi-repeat, this chapter's dedicated to you!
IV. Tomoyo
Paris, France
It was Fashion Week in Paris, the time of the year when all the biggest haute couture houses of the fashion industry showed off their newest collections in lavish shows that were dripping with excess, vanity, and mind-blowing insanity. On the famed street of rue Faubourg St.-Honoré, the fashion show of designer Tomoyo Daidouji was about to take place. Lauded as Mario Testino's new discovery, it was the Japanese designer's first show in Paris. The ubiquitous press were in full force, celebrities were present, and editors of fashion magazines were ready to scrutinize every outfit coming down the runway. In short, it was just an average, normal fashion show.
Problem: Someone tried to vandalize the limousine of the Japanese princess.
Emergency: Anna Wintour, chief editor of American Vogue, was not in the front-row.
Disaster: Catherine Deneuve showed up unexpectedly and there was no seat for her.
Catastrophe: Head make-up artist Gucci Westman was ill, and directions for the models' make-up were missing.
Calamity: Supermodels Daria Werbowy and Gemma Ward could not fit into their chosen outfits.
It was full-blown panic, absolute mass hysteria backstage as people rushed to sort out the problems. Daidouji Tomoyo had never in her life experienced such psychotic mania.
This is what you wanted...
Ever since she could remember, Daidouji Tomoyo had loved drawing and clothes, preferably together. To her, creating works of art from luminous silk or rich taffeta was magic, a rare gift bestowed on mere mortals through the grace of Kami-sama. Fashion designing wasn't just a talent or a hobby of Tomoyo's, it was a religion. She worshipped it, saw it, touched it, lived off of it. She could still remember her earlier days, fresh out of the most prestigious fashion design school in the world, Paris's Parsons School of Design. She could remember staying up until the early hours of the morning, designing, cutting, sewing, turning figments of her imagination into a reality of cotton, lace, cashmere...and then having her dreams of being a real fashion designer crushed as designer after designer turned her down. Donna Karan, Ralph Lauren, Balenciaga, Yves Saint Laurent...one after another either gave her a flat "No" or a doubtful "Maybe." It was a humbling experience,yet at the same time one that fueled Tomoyo's desire and determination to become somebody in the cutthroat industry of fashion.
It was one day when Tomoyo had a revelation. Why the hell did she keep pursuing the people who did not want her? She wanted to be her own fashion designer, to have her own line and her own name. So why did she keep on interviewing with the same people who doubted her and sneered and looked down their artificial noses at her?
When the going gets tough, the tough get going. And that was what Tomoyo did. With the sponsorship of her mother's toy company, she put on a small show back in Japan during Tokyo Fashion Week. Few people attended, and there was barely any press coverage. But it was Tomoyo's luck that on that day, one of fashion's heavy-hitters was in attendance: Mario Testino, the most eminent photographer in the business that discovered and made dozens of the fashion industry's biggest careers including supermodels Gisele Bündchen and Jacquetta Wheeler.
It was Tomoyo's big break. Testino had loved her work so much that within a few short weeks, Tomoyo's designs were worn by supermodels in fashion magazines all over the world: Vogue, W, Vanity Fair. Overnight, she had become a success.
And now here I am, in the most romantic city in the world on the fashion industry's biggest stage. Since her discovery, she had given dozens of runway shows: Tokyo, New York, London, Milan. But never had she done one in Paris, arguably the most important of them all, and she was determined to make her debut to the French public a memorable one. Forcing herself to take a deep breath, Tomoyo walked onto the raised platform in the backstage area, a peaceful oasis in the noisy, panicked melee.
"Everyone we have less than five minutes until the show starts!" she yelled in barely accented French, a language she picked up effortlessly while studying design in Paris. "Models, line up by the runway entrance! Get checked for any last minute tears or rips. I don't want you guys flashing the audience. Garren, fluff Kate's hair more. Mute Karolina and Carmen's lips please, will you Pat? They're too bright, I'm getting a headache looking at them. Where are my runway cheerleaders? Chloé ? Frédèric? C'mon, c'mon, people, hurry!"
There was a frantic scrambling as everyone headed to their respective positions and two minutes before the show was to begin, everyone was in place.
"Alright girls," Tomoyo shouted, "make me proud!"
And as the music blared overhead through the speakers and the runway lights turned on and illuminated the catwalk in an ethereal glow, one by one the models strutted out in various outfits to be greeted by the flood of white light from the press's cameras. It was adrenaline-inducing, a wonderful, dramatic high for Tomoyo and as she heard the audience gasp upon seeing her designs, she felt on top of the world. Whether or not they were gasping due to the beauty of her clothes or not did not matter to Tomoyo; all that mattered was that she finally made it to where she dreamed of.
When the show finished half an hour later in a frenzy of colorful strobe lights and sparks shooting up from the glittery runway, Tomoyo didn't feel the need to wait for the newspapers tomorrow to say that her show was a success-her gut instinct knew it. As she walked onto the runway to take a bow, the audience gave her a standing ovation, cheering and clapping for her enthusiastically. She couldn't have asked for more.
Walking backstage, Tomoyo smiled as she was clapped on the back by various people.
"Great job, Mademoiselle Daidouji. Splendid."
"Beautiful, beautiful clothes. You've set a new standard for the other designers!"
"You're elite now, Daidouji."
Tomoyo could have sang out loud, she was so happy. You're elite now. She was now head of fashion's newest, youngest house of haute couture. Where you deserve to be.
"Miss Tomoyo!" a familiar voice called out. Turning around, Tomoyo saw her assistant Chantal, an attractive young French girl with wavy blonde hair and blue eyes.
"Yes, Chantal?"
"Your offices in Hong Kong just received an offer from a Tokyo client. She wants you to design a wedding dress and three gowns for her bridesmaids."
Tomoyo sighed. "Chantal, you know the wedding dress for that Japanese magazine was a one time thing. I'm moving into haute couture now."
"Valentino, Alexander McQueen, and Vera Wang all do haute couture and wedding dresses." Chantal pointed out.
"I'm not those three!" Tomoyo said exasperatedly. "I don't like working in pure white and I-"
"Miss Tomoyo,this woman isgetting married to one of the biggest investment bankers in Asia and he has a lot of influence. I don't think it'd be wise to turn them down."
Tomoyo scoffed. "What the hell can he do? Limit my stock options? Tell them they can go to hell." She began to walk away but stopped and walked back, still fuming. "Who are these people anyway, thinking they can buy me out?"
Chantal was about to protest her boss's false statement but decided it was better for her to just say the facts.
"Ranma Tsumori and his fiancée Sakura Kinomoto."
Ooh...will that ring a bell for Tomoyo?