She beams. Even though we’re inside, she still has a pair of darkly tinted sunglasses on. “I almost took it out right before Amarah went down the runway. I’m glad you liked it.”

I feel myself nodding vigorously at Nell, then force myself to calm down so I don’t scare her with my bobblehead routine. “It was truly inspiring,” I say with minimal head movement.

Just then an assistant arrives at Nell’s elbow, whispering something about her after-party.

“Ah well, I guess it’s time for me to head out,” she says to me. “I’ll see you there, Rachel?”

Nell’s voice plays on a loop in my head (she’s glad I liked her show! Me! Rachel Kim!) as I hurry back to my hotel room to change into the perfect statement outfit for the after-party. Something that says cool and chic and, obviously, Nell-approved. Luckily, I have just the outfit in mind.

Hanging in my closet is a freshly pressed Nell Kramer menswear suit jacket. I bought it on a whim back in Seoul, and have been waiting for the right moment to try it. I slip it on, wearing it like a minidress and pairing it with a pair of black nylons and stiletto heels. I touch up my matte red lipstick in the mirror and step back to see the whole picture. It’s perfect. Except…

I take in my side view. The jacket is cut too low for me to wear a regular bra and too oversized to wear no bra. Catch me at the right angle and I might end up with a nip slip. I silently curse myself for not being more prepared as I call Jongseok about getting some fashion tape. It’s a little awkward, but our managers have been called upon to procure more embarrassing things than this.

Five minutes later, I throw on a sweatshirt and answer the door, where a concierge presents me with a roll of Scotch tape.

“Oh,” I say. “I needed fashion tape? It’s double-sided?”

He gives me a perplexed look—he has no idea what I’m talking about. And I’m not sure if it’s the language barrier or the fact that he’s probably never needed to use the stuff himself. He takes a strip of tape and rolls it back onto itself, making a double-sided loop.

“No, no,” I say. “Double-sided fashion tape for clothes. I need it to stick to…” I gesture helplessly at my boobs. He stares at me. I stare at him.

“Oh. Oh.” His face goes red. It’s awkward. Oh so awkward. He clears his throat. “Oui, mademoiselle. I’ll, um, see what we can find.”

A few minutes later, a concierge (noticeably not the same one from before) knocks on my door with a cheap stick-on bra from the convenience store down the street.

“This was all I could find,” she says. “Will it do?”