Gala Dinner Do’s and Don’t’s

Once upon a time, two magical therapists bummed off the end of a conference so they could go shopping in uptown Istanbul. The girls had plans. Big plans. Hit up Victoria’s Secret first, and then buy some amazing sunglasses that would take them glamorously through the Greek Islands leg of their journey, in a few days’ time.

The Australian dollar was buying 2 Turkish Lira at that time, so everything was half price, really. And it was the annual Istanbul Shopping Festival. A fairy godmother couldn’t have conjured a more perfect outlook for these two.

With multiple bags on their arms, the girls traipsed through the magical city streets en route to their hotel room, because in 3 hrs, they had to get out their magic wands, and completely transform themselves into glamazons. They had a ball to attend. Also known as a Gala Dinner. It was going to be held on a sunset cruise on the Bosphorus between the two continents of Europe and Asia.

As they walked along in their flat glass slippers, the girls got easily distracted by what had to be the longest fashion catwalk known to mankind – plonked right on the main street, seemingly materialising out of nowhere. Elf-like models were walking up and down the shiny white road showcasing the latest costumes available during the Istanbul Shopping Festival. One of the girls – let’s call her ShoeGal, had been to a fashion show before, but she was still just as transfixed by the models and beautiful clothes and shoes as she had the first time. It was as if the Fashion Goddesses had put a spell on her. The other, BlueEyes, didn’t know where she would find a prince to snap Shoegal out of that spell, but telling her that time was running out seemed to do the trick.

After a hop, skip and a jump into a sunglass store in an obscure alleyway, both came away with some magnificent Tom Ford and Donato Ricci sunglasses. The girls suddenly realised that all that swanning about had cost them time, and that they now had 1 hour to leg it back to the hotel room, get ready for the dinner, then catch a taxi to get them to the meeting point at the museum. In true style, they devised a plan of attack as they power-walked their way back to their hotel.

ShoeGal – ‘How about I have a shower first because I take the longest and anyway, I have to wash my hair’

BlueEyes – ‘Cool, while you do that, I’ll sort out what I’m wearing. It’ll either be the blues dress or my tropical maxi – I’m not sure. But don’t take too long in the shower because I need to wash my hair too’.

ShoeGal – ‘Ok, I’ll be super quick, like 5 or 10 min? Is that enough time for you? Also, whilst I straighten my hair, you can have the bathroom, and I’ll do my makeup out here’.

BlueEyes – ‘Yep that works. Oh, by the way, I’m sorry I took so long at H&M. That’s the first time I’ve ever been in an H&M store, and I just couldn’t stop buying stuff’.

ShoeGal – ‘ WTF??? I didn’t know that! Don’t ever apologise for shopping. H&M is sacred….Do you hear me? Sacred’.

Both rushed through the doors of their plush hotel apartment and carried out their plan with military precision. By some sort of miracle, they were clean, dressed to the nines, made up with perfect hair, sauntering along in their high heels and at the museum in 45 minutes. They silently gave themselves high fives for the effort, because they knew that they could easily just say ‘hello’ to each other in 45 min – let alone get ready for an event.

ShoeGal had chosen a familiar, form fitting black and white maxi dress, high heels, statement earrings and Chanel-red lips. To complement her namesake, BlueEyes had gone with a blue bodycon number, red lipstick and had the winged eyeliner trend down pat. This was a ‘gala dinner’ after all.

They both stared as the rest of the guests began gathering at the museum to meet the bus taking them to the port. It was suddenly very clear that our two heroines were way too overdressed. ShoeGal gaped in horror as a lady in a way-too-big denim shirt dress and wedge flats walked past her. She had thought those things had died out in the mid-90’s. Denim-Lady was quickly followed by Man-in-Khaki-Knee-Length-Shorts-and-Nikes. The girls checked themselves over. Had they missed the memo? Was this some sort of joke? This was a ball….I mean, gala dinner… right?!?

The rest of the guests came streaming in. Flats, flats, flats – a sea of flats which made both girls turn into giants, coloured kaftans, day dresses with no makeup, muu-muus, ¾ length pants, runners, tartan  shirts, backpacks, t-shirts, flip flops…..oh the flip flops….

Rather than slip into despair, click their heels and proclaim that ‘There’s no place like home’, BlueEyes made a decision that they would own this moment and tower over them all. They were going to be a model of the belief that simply because you have dedicated your life to the care of other people – does not mean you have to hobo yourself down. They were going to fight for their right to be fabulous. ShoeGal noticed that they were obviously being checked out, and bitched about, by a bunch of wicked stepsisters huddling together in a corner. She really couldn’t care less at that moment because she was starving.

The legendary Istanbul traffic meant that the group were 1 ½ hrs late to meet their boat, and the first thing ShoeGal did when she boarded was to claim a stake at a snacks table, and grab a very big glass of champagne. BlueEyes and ShoeGal were then better able to admire their surroundings. The Bosphorus was amazingly beautiful and lit up by moonlight and the lights from sparkling bridges running all alongside it. More lights twinkled from glamorous houses on the shore, which looked like they belonged more on the Californian coast or in some sort of daytime drama series.

The girls were soon joined by an elderly man who began to make conversation. All about himself. And no one else but himself. He asked whereabouts in the world the two had come from, but when they asked the same question of him, he smugly replied that he was a Professor in Historical Genetics, and that there was ‘only one human race’, so the question of ‘where he came from’ was obsolete. His haughtiness was a very thin smokescreen for his very thick accent. He was clearly American.  He then proceeded, without any prompting, to tell them the whimsical, longwinded and boastful – tale of how he had won the affections of his much younger wife – whom he pointed out in the crowd. The wife seemed like she was running away from him and trying desperately to make friends with anyone who would talk to her.

The girls then said they had someone extremely important to talk to – each other – and hightailed it out of there.

After fighting it out for a place at the dinner table, they next encountered a lovely English couple who didn’t talk all about themselves, and as it turned out, knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone that they knew.

The husband, who was quite kind and was impressed by the girls, then proceeds to ask a very intellectual question about their opinions on the cohesiveness of a particular therapeutic model. Having had a few too many and unable to think clearly but wanting to sound smart, ShoeGal mumbled out some reply about how all models are incohesive to some extent, but they all seem to try to do good things and don’t they just boil down to the same issue so, really, they are cohesive, and by the way, could you pass the butter?

BlueEyes says later that all she wanted to do was LMFAO and say that in the whole scheme of life – YOLO and who cares about model cohesiveness.

The night dragged on with people getting excessively drunk, gathering in magical circles of eliteness and doing weird dance moves – including an interesting array of cossack sit-ups. BlueEyes was getting a lot of attention from the Turkish wait staff and they all lined up to pose for photos with her on their smart phones. Other ladies were trying to set her up with their sons in Sweden, in (subtle) exchange for an invite to the castle in the sky (otherwise known as the Hilton Hotel pool) the next day – where the girls were staying and had exclusive access. ShoeGal patiently drank her overly alcoholic vodka and orange juice whilst looking out at the inky waters of the Bosphorus, praying fervently that she wasn’t going to vomit all over her nice dress as the boat swayed and swayed.

After about 3 hrs, the boat came to a stop. Although the cossacking continued, the whole group had to be banished off the boat by the wicked captain to meet their bus to their hotel. The girls were so grateful that they would wake to a soft, comfortable bed (with no peas in sight), plush pillows, fancy surroundings and the promise of a sauna / hammam / more drinking at the pool bar – the next morning.

Two tired therapists – ever so slightly tipsy- sat next to each other on the long bus journey back to the castle. Hilton. Back to the Hilton. They leaned on each other, and fell asleep that way – one’s head on the other’s shoulder – all the way home. They didn’t need a modern day Prince Charming or a Mr Big to save them from a Gala Dinner do-not-do. They had each other.

The end.