The Emperor’s new clothes by Katia Elkaim

LThe season had been in full swing for more than a fortnight but the highlight of this fashion week was undoubtedly the Missa Gore fashion show. For hours, the Parisian crowd was gathered in front of the very "old style" warehouse in which the event was taking place.

Missa Gore knew how to make you wait. The designer presented a new collection only every two to three years and his production, confidential and selective, was already sold out before she even presented it.

No one knew what this individual looked like, she didn't display any gender and jealously guarded the secret of the very nature of his humanity. Rumors were going around, some claiming that it was only an artificial intelligence.

For the benefit of a much coveted sesame, Cecilia was part of this privileged jet set, who not only had the right to be featured in it, but above all the great honor of being one of the happy few chosen to spend an indecent amount of money and wear one of this year's original new suits.

Outside, in the bustle, her face completely masked, as required by law, Juliette prayed to be the lucky plebeian who would have the good fortune to win the one and only original outfit, charitably donated by the famous fashion designer.

Her garment, barely still thermic, didn't let anything show through. It was a restored seven-year-old model, bought second-hand from a dealer. Even the "temperature-taking" function had never really worked and the last time she had wanted to enter an administrative building, the guard, a very human being, had disdainfully gauged her: "Go and buy yourself at least a thermometer if your peel doesn't work; at this temperature you should be dead burnt. »

While Cecilia was sinking in an immaterial armchair as soft as a cloud, Juliette was being trampled on her toes by a colossus even less well off than she was.

She didn't really care about that outfit. She just wanted to get a good price for it so she could survive.