Botter A/W ‘20

February 8

“Tighter,” I breathe, as my stylist Roxy tightens my cinched corset. I’m serving sexy, layered pin-up goodness in an archival Jean Paul Gaultier satin bra top, two latex garters, and multiple pairs of nude tights. As I step into my GIVENCHY cutout pumps, I reiterate, “Even tighter, please.” One last cinch, and I take a last full exhale as I glance in the mirror. We’re off to our event with Grailed.

“Don’t forget,” I grab my whip. It’s time to party.

As I get out of my car, I’m blinded with flash photography from The Cobrasnake. “Oh my god,” I scream, “We did it! I’m in New York!”

Outside, people were wrapped in giant parkas and jackets, braving the slush for a chance to get into the coveted Grailed function. Inside, sexy, sweaty bodies were shoulder to shoulder jiving to Cash Cobain. Fully clothed, I still felt so naked as I danced to the beat.

“I know who you are, and I just wanna let you know I LOVE WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!” A woman screams as I twirl my whip around. Discovered even in the darkness, my heart bursts with joy over the small recognition. We don’t stay too long, and my photographer carries me, bridal style, to my Uber to avoid getting any slush into my heels.

It wouldn’t be the last time I’d be getting princess treatment, because the next day we had something epic planned…

February 9

As I sat in my submissive’s car, my eyes peered over the entrance of Elena Velez’ show. My posture is enforced by a vintage leather neck corset, making my neck stand tall. My breasts are squeezed into a Dolce & Gabbana bustier, my left arm is wrapped tenderly by Shibari rope and a gsongim purse. Looking down at my fetish ballet boots, I couldn’t help but smile. Well, I can’t walk in these so what comes next is truly inevitable.

Glancing at my sub, he was styled out, too. Clad in a COMMONWEALTH trench and Bryan Jimenèz jeans, you almost forgot his beautiful face covered by a latex gimp mask. “Let me know when you’re ready,” I say. He nods, and as we approach the entrance, he hoists me up.

With my sub carrying me, once again, bridal style, our march toward the door felt like slow motion as cameras flashed and people parted to make way for my grand entrance. I consider myself an artist. Sitting front row on my sub’s lap was simply the only way I could imagine being at my first ever fashion show.

My sub’s commitment to pure silence was emphasized when Elena Velez personally greeted us. Her energy welcomed me in– I felt understood, artist to artist. Her collection’s theme was “nautical goth”, and I felt like a goth mermaid who lost her legs, a siren who could barely sing.

The show did not disappoint. Each model emerged wet, sensual, dripping in their own storyline with a different walk, expressed by her clothes draped over their body. Everything– hair, skin, clothes– looked like they had crawled out of a marooned island and onto the runway. Simply incredible.

Before we leave, Jean-Luc interviews me while I’m perched on my sub’s back. The adrenaline from our stunt gives me a high that’s similar to when I know I’ve completed an epic scene. The energy in the room is buzzing, and as I disrobe in my hotel, I finish the night off with Valentine’s Day chocolates from Supermoon Bakehouse.

“Is this ube?!” I exclaim, as I take a victory bite.

“Yes, the head chef is Filipina!”

“Oh, kababayan!” That means, fellow countryman in Tagalog. Oh, to feel community and like I belong. New York, you’ve been so good to me so far.

February 10

Since I’ve arrived in New York, I’ve had no eyebrows. They’re wiped clean off every morning by my makeup artist, Devon. We’re replacing my long, blonde hair with a black, curly wig by my hair stylist, Jean.

Today, we’re fully reimagining myself.

Today is a big day. Today, I’m attending LUAR.

In 20° weather, I stand tall in a Ludovic de Saint Sernin bra, Phoebe Philo jeans (with glimpses of my ass and thigh revealed from the unzipped back), insane Saint Laurent Fall 2017 gloves, and ALAÏA heels (with the toe cleavage!!!). Despite wearing pants for the first time this week, this was the sexiest I ever felt. Let me repeat, toe cleavage???? Come on.

Oh, my purse is gifted from LUAR, a sexy Brown Croc Small Ana bag, perfectly matched to the rest of the unique look. With white fluff emerging from my gloves, I look like a fallen angel.

This fallen angel falls right into her seat at LUAR, across from Bloody Osiris. I excitedly read the letter-style show notes that Raul left on the chairs. “El Pato,” I say out loud.

I’m learning that fashion shows are the designer’s love letter to not only their brand, but also performance art. As the lights dim and the music blares, models confidently strut down the runway. I see silhouettes my mind has never fathomed before.

‘I TALK SHIT ABOUT YOU IN SPANISH,’ screams a model’s shirt as they jolt down the runway. A model emerges covered in feathers. Another, with hands constricted in that feminine, stereotypically “gay” hand gesture and eyes concealed, walks next. So much to think about, I can’t help but beam during the finale, trailed by Raul himself. Fashion, at the end of the day, is rebellion.

The afterparty begins, hips sway to the beat of Spanish music. In the distance, I spot Amanda Lepore and can barely contain my excitement. Is today the best day ever?! Sitting at the LUAR show, then meeting one of my longtime idols, it felt like the universe was telling me everything I needed to know about being in the right room.

To me, both LUAR and Amanda represent the same thing– the courage to trailblaze the freedom of being exactly who you are. While the two are different aesthetically, the message is shared. The bravest thing you can do, is to be.

February 11

THE BIG DAY Standing in Anna Bolina’s backstage, dozens of hands were adjusting my dress, my hair, my face, everything, in a frenzy. The techno music and flickering lights made what was otherwise a normal glam room feel like an underground club, bursting with energy. Usually, my heart would be racing with the bassline, thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong for my first walk. Especially with the fact that I was closing her show in towering Pleasers and a tight dress, weighing over 30 lbs, that was beginning to slip down my chest as it was being sewn to my body.

Like a swan, fashion shows may appear beautiful to the viewers, oblivious to the furious flailing below the surface. It was a miracle that I was completely at ease. It felt natural to walk, I’d rehearsed it in my mind over a million times since I was 12 years old—how much more ready could I be?

In the chaos, my eyes kept landing on my casting photo, taped to the wall. It was a promotional photo for a porn I shot last year. An act that I thought would bar my entry into this space for so long was now used as the digitals for the whole room to officially reference.

Growing up, I practiced model poses in the mirror during commercial breaks of America’s Next Top Model. I cut out poses from magazines and glued them to my notebook. I always gravitated towards the femme fatale or sex worker in movies—I’d see her as a force of nature, so powerful that even the protagonist couldn’t overcome her womanly wiles. I’d dream about becoming her—and a dream it was, for so long, because I always thought it was impossible. I’m too short, too curvy, not the right look…then, I got into the adult industry and those dreams felt even farther away. But, as the world shifts, we’ve seen groundbreaking progress from ex-adult stars like Mia Khalifa walk KNWLS or Lana Rhoades dripped in Alexander Wang. I’m starting to see the horizon, fashion is integrating elements of sex work into style. But, could it be? I’m an active performer, and not just that, I’m a loud one. I scream SEX from head to toe, I’m heavy handed with it, and I have no intentions to pipe down.

Dear Anna Bolina, it was an absolute privilege to walk my first runway for you. And it meant the universe to close it, in 7 inch Pleasers nonetheless. I never, ever thought I’d be so welcomed into this space, and it is an absolute honor and privilege to carry a vision of freedom of self. It wasn’t just a walk to me, it was a march into the future. Fashion is rebellion, and that’s what sex work is. And we’re here to stay.

On the runway, my eyes had finally gotten used to the flashing lights. My walk was probably a little over a minute, but it felt like centuries. It was a memory I’d never forget.

“We. TORE!” Anna screamed as we piled back into the backroom. I’m bursting with energy that she was happy with my walk. If I was a mermaid unable to walk at Elena Velez’ show, I was even more constricted with the gown’s heavy weight and length wrapping my legs in true bondage, so hearing her excitement made me brim with pride.

I headed to change into my afterparty outfit, possibly the best thing I’ve worn in my life… I’m almost naked in my custom SS25 dress by Mowalola and archival Helmut Lang heels, but I’m wrapped in the most delicious Rick Owens Porterville double donut coat. Finished off with Anna Bolina sunglasses, all eyes are on me as I rushed out of my hotel lobby in the snow.

See, I’m like Tinkerbell. If I don’t get attention, I wither away and die. Tonight probably gave me, like, 7 more years of life. I love being the SITUATION. It fuels me. I also love that all week, I stayed in my true style, which is screaming SEX at all times, but with intention and elevation, thanks to my team Kirsten and Roxy. As I step back into Anna Bolina’s, the Cobrasnake spawns in front of me yet again.

“Love it!!” He smiles, flashing away, “Fucking SICK!” The first time we met was at a Pornhub party last year. For the longest time, I thought ‘making it’ would mean I’d have to abandon my roots. But sex and fashion go hand in hand– it’s a language without words, and oftentimes can’t exist without the other.

As I party the night away, I have a good feeling in my stomach. Although this was the end of NYFW, for me, this was only the beginning.

Never a goodbye, always a see you later,

KAZUMI