Recently I complained to my friend Nenad of a pain in my back. I told him because I didn’t expect him to do anything more than say let’s go for lunch or let’s go to the movies but instead he orchestrated a hundred meetings with doctors, none of whom spoke a word of English and most of whom tried hard to dismiss my complaint with offers of aspirin. Without Nenad I would, literally, have gotten nowhere. Turned out I have a couple fractured vertebrae and I’m now strapped into a torso brace.
Nenad is the uncle of a beautiful maiden. This lass, a model, was hired to work the catwalk in an upcoming fashion show. Since Nenad had plans to be out of town on the day of the show he asked me to be his ambassador.
We sent word to the designer and asked for tickets. For a date I invited my friend Lokica Stefanović (a famous dancer here in Serbia) to accompany me, not only I adore her but also she is friends with the designer. I had tickets, I had a stylish date and now all I needed was to pull myself together. How exactly do you rock a torso brace?
One option was to don a Dracula-style cape. I went the other way. First stop was a hairdresser for indiscreet stripes of blue and green. Next was a make up artist to paint my face like a whore for Halloween, then quiet black pants and white shirt and all topped off with the brace.
It was just assumed my brace was a corset and the latest in hip fashion from the West and Lokica and I were the darlings of the photographers. We happily posed for the flashing bulbs.
Don’t be surprised to see my mild S&M look on next year’s Serbian runways.

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