The information in this title probably doesn’t surprise you. And yet even though people know I wear a bra, I generally try not to show them I wear a bra.
This particular incident involves the lovely gentleman pictured left. Armand Hammer. You might remember him from such things as The Social Network. Or from being named Armand Hammer.
Back when The Social Network came out, I was assigned to go to a Chicago press day for the film. I’d be interviewing Mr. Hammer, Aaron Sorkin and Jesse Eisenberg. You can imagine how excited I was. I even wore my floral printed linen dress and high heels, as opposed to my usual jeans, ballet flats, and cozy sweater uniform. I also had on a black bra I don’t wear often, mostly because one of the straps is perpetually twisted and digs into my back. I can’t remember why I wore it that day. (Please don’t ask why I hold onto a bra I don’t wear because I have no good answer.)
Anyway, Mr. Hammer goes first. The interview is being videotaped, and I’m trying to act all cool and collected and like I do this kind of thing often. (I don’t.) So I sit opposite the Winkelvi, and this guy is handsome. I mean, look at him. And when I want to appear comfortable I go straight to goofytown. I make jokes when I’m nervous. So I’m going on about who-knows-what to this handsome actor who seriously oozes gentlemanliness. And poise.
So there I am jabbering on, and it’s just me, Armie and the camera guys. Then Armie says to me: “I don’t mean to be crude, but I think your straps have fallen.”
I look down, and somehow—and this has never happened before or since—my bra straps on both sides have slipped underneath the sleeves of my dress and are resting on my elbows.
What?!?! How does one not notice that her bra straps are just resting in the crook of both elbows?
There I was. Facing the classiest fellow I have ever encountered. (This is not an exaggeration. Please look at him. Again.) He’s a man who uses the word “crude” in passing, and I can’t even get my clothes to function properly.
I know that having a bra strap show is not the worst of wardrobe malfunctions. Even if it is both bra straps, and it’s not just peeking out of your shoulder but resting halfway down your arm.
And yet being called out by the handsome star of a Best Picture Nominee, when you’re trying pitifully hard to act like you belong, is a low point.
If you’re wondering what I said in response, it was something to the effect of: “Oh thank you! I certainly wouldn’t want to look that way in front of Aaron Sorkin!” Or something equally lame and absurd.
Are you cringing yet?
Have you had any mortifying brushes with fame?
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