*Cover Girl!*

In sixth grade, I was invited to a friend’s birthday party. Along with the customary RSVP request, the invitation asked for movie input and listed several old and new titles. No one was surprised when the DVD player began reading The Lizzie McGuire Movie. In fact, we were pretty much thrilled. For months afterward we’d quote it in the halls, and sing the songs walking down the street. ‘’Have you ever seen such a beautiful night? I can almost kiss the stars for shining so bright…’’ We wanted to go to Italy and be mistaken for a famous singer! We wanted to have a gorgeous partner to ride around with on motorcycles. I’m pretty sure that more than one of us would’ve jumped at the chance to model an inflatable igloo like Hillary Duff’s character. In fact, we’d have jumped at the chance to just watch something as glamorous as a fashion show. And jump is exactly what I did. Without further adieu, here is the story of my début into the Bolivian fashion scene, accented by haha, The Lizzie McGuire Movie’s Soundtrack.

‘’Wake up in the morning, looking a little rough…’’
When I was invited to a contest to find the most beautiful woman of all Latin American countries, I was more than a little excited. It was hosted by Yanbal, a huge South American makeup company. Lucky for me, one of my fellow exchange student’s host moms has a great position with Yanbal, and was able to get seats for her gringa daughter and three friends at the show. Exciting!!! Except, oh my gosh, what would I wear? Really, this was a hard question. After I finally picked my dress and heels, there was the problem What to do with my hair? I’ve always had straight hair, but no matter the layers or sweeping bangs, it’s impossible to get it to lay straight. Well, with little time, and littler makeup, my friends told me to go with it down. Hair and dress were taken care of, but my face was still a little paint-free. Bolivians are beautiful, and like to paint themselves up if it can in enhance that beauty. One coat of mascara simply wouldn’t do it if I wanted to fit in with this crowd, especially with a bunch of beauty queens. Sharing a mirror with my friend’s mother was a bit nerve-wracking. Her entire job is makeup! What if I was doing it wrong? Apparently I wasn’t, and soon the five of us left.

‘’Wet your lips, and smile to the camera…’’
Upon entering the hotel in which the event was being hosted, we were amazed and a little nervous to walk down the long red carpet. Our fearless, professional leader hustled us along. What’s another model or fifty to her after all? She introduced us to some…people. I’m not exactly sure who, and then she left us on a couch. She sat at the other couch and was eventually joined by other pros. It took a moment of sitting quietly to realize that there were only a few such couches in the room. The rest of the room was dedicated mainly to the cat walk, with a table for the judges, and some stands for the millions of paparazzi. The room slowly filled, and with the low colored lighting and live soft jazz music, Spanish of course, it took on the atmosphere of a cool coffee house. An atmosphere that immediately dissipated as spotlights lit up the run way. We were only minutes from the show!
It was then that the paparazzi decided that four gringa girls sharing a couch anticipating the show were the perfect opportunity to test their cameras. Over and over we were asked to smile, sit closer, and write our names onto pads of paper. One reporter made the mistake of trying to learn our names by having us say them, but as he ran into the unspellable names of the United States, France, and Germany, he quickly gave that idea up and pulled out a pen. It’s curious to be photo-ed at a beauty contest. You know that if you make the paper, your forehead will be shiny and your dress a little wrinkled from sitting. You know you’ll be sharing a page with the beauty queen, and in comparison you feel like an eleven year old with her first zit. It’s still a lot of fun though, and seeing your face in the Sociales (social pages) is a very, very cool experience.
Soon enough the show began, and beautiful women sauntered down the catwalk, turned, pouted, and smiled for the cameras. I loved watching their feet, if only because the five inch heels were so gaudy and, yes, gorgeous. I love shoes, and got several good pictures of these ones, though I can’t imagine wearing them for any longer than your average beauty show. I see foot problems in their future. I didn’t see much more of their future than that though. The whole show, including announcing Cuba as the winner, took little more than half an hour. I enjoyed every minute of it, but it sure was a short occasion.
Afterwards the press crowded Cuba, and we were left to talk amongst ourselves on the couch. The live music started up again, and small trays of food were brought around. I sampled what tasted like a McNugget on a stick. Between the food and drinks, I talked to a college student sitting next to me. It was a very strange conversation: a poor hybrid of Spanish and English. Such is my life now.
Soon after taking pictures with Her Royal Highness herself, we left. It was only nine thirty or so. Evidence of our being there showed up in El Mundo, a local newspaper, two days later. Yes, our foreheads were shiny and our dresses were wrinkled, but you could tell we were having a great time. That is possible in and out of the movies.


Note: I am not going to site these songs. Please don’t report me for plagiarism. If you’re really that curious, Google them yourselves.

Oh, and stay tuned for the next part of the Fashionista in Bolivia saga: The Hair. It actually reminded me a lot of The Princess Diaries, but I don’t think I’ll quote in that one. XOXO