Short opening

He hated mobile phones. He watched a group of models sitting around, devices in hands and no conversation. Lights flickered across their faces whilst their thumbs punched the screens. It was almost amusing seeing them…almost. They were sat in unique designer clothes, like a party out for the night; made up to the eyeballs and no speaking allowed as they all lounge in sullen silence, a technology created noiselessness.

Watching them, his mind wandered to a not so distant past when those chairs would be full of smiling chattiness. Each one was a fellow brother or sister of the profession that had stories to tell and anecdotes to chuckle out to the amusement of the others. Their names were as familiar to him as tea to breakfast. Naomi, Kate, Linda – all regulars that were no longer regular. He missed that. The names. Who were these people sitting around?

Now, things moved at an unnatural pace, so quickly that breathing seemed an inconvenience that interrupted the flow of movement between people and shows. There was no time to form relationships any more, no time to talk walk or cloth or smiles. Smiles had been replaced by suspicion eyes, moved just enough, if you spoke, to look over the carbon cockpit of letters and colours. Breaks didn’t involve coffee in convo, instead it was sit and be swallowed by the bubble they created for themselves. Now, everything was so…impersonal!

There were times when models would instantly look up and smile when I entered the room. There’s no ego there, it was simply that they saw a friend, someone they would talk to and recount reminiscences. Their eyes always filled with friendly warmth, sizzling suns sitting in expectant excitement.

It saddened him that fashion was no longer a way of life for these young ladies. Instead it had become simply a job, a way of making money. Slither from one walk to another. Models used to be proud of walking for him; their heads would rattle as they lead down the aisle. No one even recognised that he was the designer, that he was Marc Jacobs, that he was friendly and approachable. Not as approachable as their phones and their online universe.

A soft tinkle inside his pocket vibrated the end of his thoughts. He ignored it. That was the beauty of being human, the ability to ignore technology if he wanted to. He glanced again at the girls. Well, most humans, he thought.
Gripping the sides of his chair, he raised himself up to giant and breathed deeply. There would be no phones on his walk, he thought as he walked over to the potentially sizzling suns. Stuttering glances flickered over the phones as he approached them. He could see recognition in some eyes that mooned over him. He smiled warmly. They smiled back. “Right,” he said. “I’m Marc Jacobs, and you are?”