Not Exactly an Ego Trip

One of the center's reporters, Ida, asked me if I'd like to go with her to a Fashion Week Sarajevo show and I said sure. The show, one of many showy events in the city, is running at the Bosnian Cultural Center and each night the work of three designers is exhibited.

I probably should have been warned when Ida began talking about what we'd wear -- matching business suits like mother and daughter. My friends know that my fashion statement is -- I really don't care so long as it doesn't pinch.

Ida, however, went to the hairdressers after work, and when I met her at the Center her hair was swept up and around elegantly into a fluffy ball. Ida weighs about 60 pounds and is fashionably hipless and flat. She wore a sleek tight black jacket and shiny boots. I meanwhile am in an outsized suit and sweater borrowed from sister Lisa with my hair pulled into a knotted elastic band.

Two of the three designers who presented actually had great stuff and we had seats directly in front of the end of the runway. As an Fashion Channel addict (incongruous with my image I know but this happened a few years ago in Mongolia when not a single TV show was understandable and so I watched runway models for hours, even tried to copy that bizarre gait) I actually had a good time.

Maybe the best part of the night was that it gave me material for my required Bosnian Class composition. In translation and thus grammatically: "Last week, Ida asked me to go with her to Fashion Week. Naturally, I said, "Yes." I liked it very much. We saw many pretty women. We saw also a few nice dresses. But many were ugly or crazy-looking. Some men took photographs of the pretty women with their cellphones. Ida was lucky and won some cosmetics. My punishment (for this night of entertainment) was that now I feel really fat, short and ugly."