So, I went to the David Jones show on Wednesday.

The last time I went to a fashion show, it was also David Jones and I gave birth to Remy about 48 hours afterwards. I credit watching Miranda Kerr walk the runway in a bikini for bringing on my labour 10 days early. I just wanted to get a head start on bouncing back into my bikini body! Woo!

That was 18 months ago.

Regular readers here and anyone who’s read my book will know I go to barely anything. Even when invited. I’m not really a Going To Social Functions kind of person. Maybe it’s because I had to do so much of it when I worked in magazines. I used up all my social energy eating small bits of food on crackers and and now there’s very little left. I prefer eating my meals at my desk in front of my computer while writing because I’m a big basket of fun like that.

I procrastinated until pretty much the last minute and had virtually decided not to go when one Paula Joye persuaded me to. “It will be good for your writing,” she said, meaning “you have to get out of the bloody house sometimes and put on some shoes and make-up if you want to have anything to write about”.

This is true. I RSVP’d yes. Late.

I used to be so good at this kind of thing but I’m really socially unfit. The thought of facing hundreds of people, many of whom I know, and making all manner of small talk was a bit overwhelming. Fortunately (and some would say purposely), I decided I just HAD to post a Christina Hendricks Frockwatch to go with this post and arrived late to the show which was held at the Horden Pavilion. The invite said arrivals from 10:30, parade starts at 11:15, event concludes at 12. I do love knowing what to expect in any social situation so I thought that was very helpful to spell it all out.

I met Paula in the carpark at 11:05. We walked in at 11:08. There were several up sides to this.

Firstly, the whole red carpet thing was over. I always find this very angst-making so that was a win right there. Usually, I try to sneak behind it. The only thing worse than being grabbed by a PR and shoved in front of a wall of photographers who are barely able to disguise their dissappointment that you are not Lara Bingle or Megan Gale and making you feel like a loser is not being grabbed and feeling like a loser. So missing that was a win.

[You can see the red carpet and some key Miranda looks here in today’s new DJs Frockwatch]

The other up side was that when I went to collect my ticket, they discovered the envelope with my name on it was empty and my ticket had been given away. Because I was late and they figured I was a no-show.

I could see on the envelope that my seat allocation was row B, which I was totally expecting. The moment I was not an editor or working at Channel 9, I dropped from the front row. Amazingly, my world has kept turning. More about that shortly.

Without any actual ticket, they decided to upgrade me to the front row and gave me the ticket of someone else who hadn’t shown up or who was later than me. I was quite chuffed about this even though I pretended not to be. Is my self-worth tied to what row I’m sitting in at a fashion show? It is not. Sometimes when I’m feeling insecure.

Paula naturally was in the front row already. Always is. Her fashion pedigree is impeccable. Mine, in case you haven’t guessed, is not.

We scurried inside to take out FRONT ROW seats and had to make our way through a sea of people. Everywhere I looked was a conversation I couldn’t be bothered to have. Then I found myself bumping in to someone I know doesn’t like me. She knows I know she doesn’t like me. So I did what any mature woman would do. I pretended my phone was ringing and had a very animated conversation into the dead handset.

I used to be far more practiced at being insincere. Now, not so much. And did I mention I’ve almost forgotten how to walk in high heels?

I was wearing mostly Sportsgirl by the way. I knew it was pointless to even begin to try and work out how to look fashionable so I just went for my current look: Sportsgirl faded jeans, a top I bought after my Shop Til You Drop shoot, my cream Witchery jacket that goes with everything and a Sportsgirl hat that looks like straw but is actually made from paper. And heels that are ridiculously high and should be charged with crimes against women’s feet.

Seeing me looking a bit deer-in-the-headlights, one of the organisers who I know, grabbed my hand and started leading me to my seat. “But wait!,” I tried to explain. “My ticket was gone so they gave me someone else’s seat.”. Sadly, he misunderstood and thought I’d been given a worse ticket. “Oh we can’t have that, can we!” he said, grabbing the A-row ticket out of my hand without looking at it and whisked me through the crowd to my original seat. In row B. “You’re right behind Paula. Enjoy!” he said, kissing me on the cheek and dashing off.

Bummer that. Oh well. The good thing about the second row is that it’s easier to gape openly at the front row without them gaping back at you. Not that the front row gapes. They all look frightfully bored and over it, which, often, they are. Full of magazine and newspaper editors, celebrities, gossip columnists, news readers and media executives, you are seated as a direct result of what you can do for David Jones. This is the rule of fashion show seating all over the world.

So I don’t take it personally. Well, I try not to. Until I started looking at some of the people in the front row and mentally wondering what they actually CAN do for David Jones. And then a nagging little voice started asking “Are you really less important than HER or HIM?” as I spy yet another part-time newsreader or aging socialite sitting front row. David Jones, have you met the Internet? Isn’t it lucky that I’m neither petty nor bitter and that my ego isn’t at all dented by where I’m sitting at a fashion show? Ahem.

No seriously, shut up Mia. Put your manners back in and think about this. Really, I was happy to be there and perfectly content in my seat.

Because I don’t get out that much, I do enjoy the spectacle of it. I’m not at all jaded like I used to be when I went to such things all the time. The lights and music, the make-up and shoes, the models and the audience watching, I had a very jolly time.