Dreams do come true

Hello, hello, hello—welcome to this week’s maxi challenge, aka me holding myself accountable and actually making a post.

Recently, I had the opportunity of a lifetime—one I’ve been dreaming of since I was ten years old. I walked in New York Fashion Week.

Yes. Me. On an NYFW runway.

If you had asked me even a year ago if this was in my cards, I would have said, “Oh, absolutely not.” I never took the conventional steps—no modeling agency, no perfectly curated portfolio, no industry connections pushing me forward. Instead, I built my life the old-fashioned way: working myself to the bone, grinding for financial stability, and hoping that somehow, somewhere, my moment would come. And it did.

In a time when existing as a trans woman in America feels more precarious than ever—when women's rights are hanging by a thread, LGBTQIA+ individuals are under legislative attack, and society seems to be unraveling under the weight of billionaires and fascists—I never imagined that I would be standing on a runway, making my debut in fashion, unapologetically myself.

But there I was, walking in a collection by Bella Pietro—gothic, ethereal, and dripping with enchanted forest magic. And if that wasn’t enough to make my soul combust, the venue was the very church where Alexander McQueen debuted in New York. So, in some twisted, incredible way, I now share a piece of history with him. (Internally screaming.)

The trip itself? Pure chaos. I drove down from Maine in a snowstorm, barely surviving the trek. But the madness was worth it—I crossed paths with the Rickey Thompson, who called me Rihanna (still processing that). I reunited with old friends, made new ones, and—one of the biggest highlights—I attended a party hosted by the legendary Suzanne Bartsch. If you know, you know. And yes, I looked absolutely cnty* in a pink, white, and magenta feather corset I made myself.

I got back to my apartment at 3 AM, too wired to sleep, so I wandered the city until 4:30 before waking up to start model prep. Running on fumes, but somehow, everything still felt like a dream.

What struck me the most was how much my circus training prepared me for this moment. I knew, deep down, that everything would come together at the last minute and that the audience would love what they saw. But let me tell you, not everyone in that room shared my confidence. The backstage energy? Pure chaos. A sea of frantic humans, roughly 5’4” or over 6' in height, running around like headless chickens.

And then came the journey home.

Picture this: This generation’s Ice Storm of ‘98, but in 2025. Snow turns into a treacherous mix of sleet and rain, and then temperatures drop drastically, freezing everything over. I left at 9:00 AM to get a head start, but even then, I barely made it out. I witnessed two cars flipped over, three multiple-car pileups, two tractor-trailers in the ditch, and one car fully facing south in the northbound lane—meaning they spun out into the guardrail. I drove for nine hours, four of which were at 30 mph with my hazards on, thanks to visibility being limited to just two cars ahead of me.

This was after an 11:00 AM call time, a 10:00 PM show ending, and post-show dinner and drinks. Exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But somehow, I still made it to work on time today. And despite everything, I am still floating on cloud 19 from the weekend’s events.

I am beyond grateful for this opportunity, and I know this is just the beginning. More is coming. I feel it.

Stay tuned, and check out my Instagram @jamieedeppp for images from my NYFW debut. ✨