Fashion Week

In Paris, September's fashion week wound the entire city into a vast machine that never stopped.

When Su Jin's private jet landed at Le Bourget Airport, four different cars were waiting on the tarmac: Chanel's black Maybach, Dior's dark gray Maybach, Paris Aristocratic Family's black GMC, and Roger Vivier's creamy white Bentley.

The four cars stood side by side, like four horses of different colors, waiting for their owner to choose one and ride off.

Fang Ying stood at the foot of the aircraft stairs with four invitations in hand. Every one was for the front row, and every one bore the name "Su Jin." No title, no seat number, just her name. Her name was enough.

Su Jin came down the stairs, gave the four cars a single glance, and said, "Hotel first."

Chanel's show was at the Paris Grand Palais, at ten in the morning.

By the time Su Jin arrived, the streets outside the Grand Palais were packed so tightly that not even water could have gotten through. Fans and media crowded behind the barriers, cameras with long and short lenses raised in a metal jungle.

Her car stopped at a side entrance to the Grand Palais. Not the main entrance, but a side entrance-a small door reserved for Chanel's highest-level guests.

The door was black and narrow, just wide enough for one person to pass through. Two young women in Chanel suits stood outside, holding guest lists.

When Su Jin stepped out of the car, they bowed their heads in unison and said, "Ms. Su, this way, please."

Today she wore a suit custom-made for her by Chanel's haute couture atelier. It was tweed, but not the traditional, soft sort in beige or pale pink. It was black, though not purely black: the fabric was woven with the finest silver threads, which glimmered when the light struck them, like moonlight torn to pieces in the depths of night.

The jacket was cropped and loose at the waist, with rounded shoulders rather than sharp lines. Its round neckline was low, revealing her collarbones and a small patch of her chest.

The matching skirt ended two fingers above her knees. Its hem was raw and unfinished, loose threads spilling from the fabric like a thin black mist under the lights.

On her feet were a pair of Chanel's two-tone heels, with black toes and beige bodies. The heels were as thin as needles, but she walked steadily.

Her hair hung loose, the ends curling slightly. A draft at the Grand Palais entrance lifted it, then let it fall again.

The show had not yet begun when she entered the Grand Palais through the side door.

She sat in the middle of the front row, with Virginie Viard on her left and a woman she did not know on her right. The woman wore a Chanel tweed jacket, had graying hair, and wore sunglasses so large they covered half her face.

Su Jin sat down, and Virginie Viard leaned over and said something in French in her ear. Translated, it was:

"You look better in black than anyone."

Su Jin smiled and thanked her.

The show began.

Models emerged onto the enormous white runway in the center of the Grand Palais, one after another, wearing Chanel's clothes for the coming spring and summer. They were light and transparent, like gauze lifted by the wind and let fall again.

Su Jin watched them, sometimes nodding, sometimes expressionless.

When the show ended, the whole audience rose and applauded. Virginie Viard stood and embraced her.

The embrace was brief and light, like two people who had known each other for years meeting on the road, patting each other on the shoulder, saying, "Long time no see," and then continuing on their separate ways.

When Su Jin came out of the Grand Palais, the fans outside had not yet dispersed.

They screamed when they saw her.

Su Jin obligingly signed autographs for them. One fanatical French fan even wanted to kiss her cheek, but she only smiled and patted the fan's head.

Getty Images posted its photos two minutes after she got into the car. Nine unretouched shots, without any edits.

She stood by the Grand Palais's side entrance, her head turned toward the camera, her hair blown across her cheekbones. She did not brush it aside. Her black tweed jacket was black in the sunlight, but silver light flickered within the black, like moonlight torn to pieces in the depths of night.

The most popular comment read: "She stood there, did nothing, said nothing, just stood there. But everyone wearing Chanel looked like they were wearing her old clothes."

Next came Dior's show, at the Rodin Museum at three in the afternoon. Su Jin changed into another outfit.

It was a creamy white satin gown from Dior's haute couture atelier, with a deep V-neck that plunged below her chest, revealing her collarbones and a small patch of her breastbone.

The back was bare from her shoulder blades to her waist, the groove of her spine forming a fine, deep shadow under the lights. The skirt was fishtail-shaped, narrowing from the knees down into an extremely slender curve at her ankles, like a fish's tail.

The satin was thick and draped heavily. When the light hit it, it reflected nothing, only absorbed it, like a layer of milk set upon the surface of her body, unable to flow.

On her feet were a pair of white Dior strappy sandals, their transparent heels like two crystal pillars.

Her hair was swept into a low bun and secured with a white rose hairpin. The pin was porcelain, a cold white that reflected no light, only absorbed it, just like the dress.

A pair of Dior pearl earrings hung from her earlobes. The pearls were large, too round to look real, like two unbreakable moons with their edges polished smooth.

She sat in the middle of the front row, with Dior's CEO on her left. The show was held in the Rodin Museum's garden, where Rodin's sculptures were scattered about: The Thinker, Balzac, and The Burghers of Calais.

Models passed between the sculptures, wearing Dior's clothes for the coming spring and summer. They were light and transparent, like gauze lifted by the wind and let fall again.

Su Jin watched them, thinking about which outfits she would take.

At last the show ended, and Dior's CEO hugged her tightly and said, "You are today's."

She stood in the garden with The Thinker behind her. Her creamy white satin gown gleamed in the afternoon sun, and her bare back was almost the same color as the dress. But her skin was warm, while the dress was cold; there was light on her back and shadow on the dress.

She smiled and waved to everyone.

Paris Aristocratic Family's show, meanwhile, was in an old warehouse by the Seine, at eight in the evening.

Paris Aristocratic Family's design director had personally invited her over a video call, urging her to come and saying she was the show's absolute muse.

Su Jin changed into another outfit.

She wore a black leather trench coat by Paris Aristocratic Family, long enough to reach her ankles. Its belt was cinched tight, squeezing her waist into an impossibly slender line, like an hourglass pinched in the middle.

The coat was made of soft lambskin, thin and light, clinging to her body like a layer of breathing black skin.

Its stand collar rose to cover half her neck, leaving a small patch of skin visible beneath her ears.

On her feet were black square-toed boots by Paris Aristocratic Family, their soles so thick it was as though she were standing on two slabs of black brick.

Her hair was combed all the way back, swept completely away from her face with no loose strands at her temples, leaving her entire face exposed.

Her makeup was much heavier than it had been during the day.

Her eyeshadow was black and smoky, blended from the roots of her lashes all the way to her eye sockets. Its edges were blurred, as though she had stood in the dark for a long time and the darkness had surrounded her, but had not swallowed her.

She once again sat in the middle of the front row. The show was held in the old warehouse, a tall building with a sheet-metal roof punctured by several holes. Moonlight slipped through them, falling on the floor, on row after row of black chairs, and on the models.

The models emerged from the darkness wearing Paris Aristocratic Family's clothes for the coming spring and summer: black and enormous, like a procession of moving buildings.

Her face could no longer be seen in the night, only her eyes, amber-colored with a fine golden ring around each pupil, like two lamps that would never go out in the Paris night.

Someone there secretly photographed the scene. It was reposted a hundred thousand times on Instagram in ten minutes, and the most popular comment read: "She stood in the darkness, and the darkness was no longer darkness. It was her backdrop."

Finally, the show for Roger Vivier, the brand she endorsed, was held the next morning in an old building beside Place Vendôme.

Su Jin did not change. She wore the black The Row turtleneck she had worn when she returned from Cannes on the first day, a pair of dark gray Joseph wide-leg trousers, and white RV sneakers. Her hair hung loose, and she wore no makeup.

When she walked in, Roger Vivier's global brand director was waiting for her at the door and led her to the front row. She was the only person in it.

There was no one to her left, no one to her right. Only her.

The show began. Models came down the stairs wearing Roger Vivier's shoes for the coming spring and summer, gorgeous and dreamlike.

At the end, the whole audience rose and applauded. The brand director came over, crouched before her, took off her sneakers, and replaced them with a pair of Roger Vivier's newest smoky pink strappy sandals from the top-of-the-line Très Vivier collection, with slender silver straps and heels as thin as needles.

She stood up in the strappy sandals and walked out of the show.

Place Vendôme shone white in the afternoon sun, while the statue of Napoleon atop the bronze column gleamed gold at its highest point.

At this moment, Paris undoubtedly belonged to her.