People began to arrive as the clock struck eight. High tops and high heels mingled with one another as Teirra Chameleon, and her team of stylists frantically pieced together an unforgettable show in the cellar of Frank 
White.
As I stripped down to my bare essentials and hurriedly tried on my second ensemble, I looked around the activity filled cellar that I was in.
To my left a young alabaster toned model full of smiles. To my right, an aspiring stylist doing hair, make up, and fittings although none fit her job de scri ption.
In front of me a soon to be stylist to-the-stars whose fashion wand could make even Cinderella's step sisters look good.
I saw young, beautiful women who had come together, in an effort to make the dream of a close friend a shocking reality. Passion, fear, excitement, nervousness and self conscious confidence showed on the faces of these young women, who in just a few moments would be the center of attention in a room full of exhibitionistas, the fiercer cousins of plain and pretentious fashionistas.
Each group of women represented an era or moment in time. First up, the leggy modelette Mahogany. Silk scarves, velvet dresses and red leather gloves graced the bodies of the models that followed her onto the runway. 
But this event wasn't just about style.
It was a celebration of beauty, a confidence booster, a world created for us, by us in rebellion of what the industry norm currently is.
I spoke to one brainy belle who pointed out the beauty in seeing models every shade of cinnamon on the runway. I couldn't agree with her more.
As the show came to a close and all the modelettes gathered for the finale, in the cellar of this coffee house ode to biggie, one of them shouted OBAMA!, which started a ripple effect amongst this group of vibrant women.
Oh-BA-MA, Oh-BA-MA, Oh-BA-MA. We all chanted as if the name of our president elect signified that in between all the vogueing and twirling we’d achieved yet another feat in our formidable rise to success.
And so when the applause subsided, the curtains closed and the last confetti had fallen, the end was only really the beginning for those who believe that we all, fair or fawn, young and old... Can.
