Memoir installment #7

More from early Lucky—including an Anna encounter

The Met Ball, exterior

Lucky was on a small roll, but we still had miles to go, and I still had plenty to learn—about the job and (just as important, I was learning) all of its trappings. Once, during that first year, I'd flown down to Palm Beach with a handful of other editors in chief and publishers for a big beauty industry convention, and on the flight back, Allure's editor Linda Wells, who was sitting a row ahead of me, turned around and asked if I might like to take her husband's seat at her table at the upcoming Met Ball, as he was unable to attend. I was pleased to have been asked—editors in chief at Conde Nast didn't generally stick their necks out for the editors of other publications in the company—and the generosity of Linda's invitation struck me as kind.  

Still, I was not looking forward to the event itself—it wasn’t quite the big deal it is today, but it was still a very big deal. I was quite anxious about my ability to pull the evening off without humiliating myself in one or more meaningful ways. The fashion department was enlisted to find me a dress to wear for the night that, Cinderella-style, would be returned to the designer in the morning. I would go on to borrow many dresses for many events over the years, but this was the first.

Most of the designer samples the fashion editors called in didn't quite fit me, as I had not yet whittled my body down to editor in chief size* (the stress of the job would take care of that soon enough). So I chose a simple long black sheath dress. I looked fine—not fantastic, but good enough—and decided to be OK with that. I had already observed that, at any fashion event I attended, I was neither the best nor the worst-dressed person in attendance, but fell somewhere in the sticky middle. I could live with this. The thought even comforted me, and I still consider it whenever I’m getting dressed to go out.

My boss James learned of my invitation to the gala and invited me to attend with him and his girlfriend at the time, a pretty and serenely composed society girl named Amanda. I was deeply grateful, because the thought of turning up solo at the Met Ball was terrifying to me.