Eight weeks until New York Fashion Week.The number haunted me. Eight weeks to finish twenty looks, each one using construction techniques we were still perfecting. Eight weeks to train the production team, source all materials, handle fittings, coordinate with hair and makeup, book the venue, arrange music, manage lighting, and accomplish a thousand other details.I barely slept. My pregnancy exhaustion was getting worse, not better, but I couldn't slow down. Every day felt like running uphill with weights strapped to my body.Model castings started on a Wednesday morning. We'd rented a space downtown with good natural light and enough room for models to walk. Riley had contacted agencies across the city, and we'd received responses from over a hundred models interested in walking our show.I sat behind a long table with Riley and the casting director, a woman named Simone who'd worked every major Fashion Week for the past twenty years. She was blunt, efficient, and had an eye for wh
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