The fashion industry is one of the most competitive and expensive industries in the world, and although I love my job and wouldn’t change it for anything, the details involved are challenging and far from mindless. Every day was a struggle, and we were constantly faced with obstacles that we had to overcome. I spent the majority of my time on tasks that had little to do with designing swimwear, such as finances, contract negotiations, corporate identity creation, marketing, and lots of other administrative work. It’s not just about being involved in creative photo shoots or promoting the brand at exciting events and receptions. There is so much more that goes into every garment that you wear.
How cool would it be to do a reality show about the unglamorous sides of the most glamorous industry in the world? There aren’t many inspiring and educational shows on TV these days, and this could truly showcase something different. Erika loved the idea and suggested we pitch the show while we were involved with the Miss Universe Pageant. We got in touch with a production company based out of LA that worked on some really popular television shows. We were incredibly pumped when the producers wanted to meet with us to discuss the idea. It was an opportunity for my company that I couldn’t pass up, so we headed out to LA.
I dressed as I would for any fashion-related meeting—I wore a tank top tucked into a short, tight skirt, a blazer, and very high black Christian Louboutin heels. Erika and I met the production team at their LA office, which looked more like a run-down old house with gray concrete walls. The girl working at the front desk was dressed like a real-life rock star, with piercings covering her ears, nose, eyebrows, and lips. She was very welcoming and offered us beverages while we waited for our meeting. The walls were covered with posters and awards they had received, but it was certainly no polished Marie Claire headquarters.
Three gentlemen awaited us in a nondescript office. When I walked in, they gazed at me like I was a minted sports car at a car dealership. Erika and I exchanged looks of discomfort. When we sat down on their old musty couch, a cloud of dust encircled us. I couldn’t help but ask the men confrontationally, “Do you like what you see?” It was the only way I knew how to break the awkwardness in the room.
The man sitting behind the desk, who was clearly in charge, finally said, “Sorry, Tala, we didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, but we look at you and this project as a business deal. We were observing you to see how you would look on camera. There were no bad intentions.” Before I could respond, he immediately added, “Is this how you always dress?” I couldn’t believe a man wearing baggy jeans and an old T-shirt made of dreadful cotton would judge my outfit.
I gazed silently at Erika as he continued, “Let me rephrase myself. Your outfit looks too classy, as if you were going to a job interview.” The men all chuckled at his comment.
I looked at him defensively and replied, “I’m sorry, but I am a little confused. In what kind of job interview would someone wear a miniskirt that barely covers her ass?”
He responded, “I love the skirt, but the blazer is too conservative. Do you ever wear your own bikinis?”
I replied, “Of course I do.”
“Frequently?”
“I wear them at the pool or on the beach,” I answered.
“Would you ever consider wearing them around the office?” He tried to convince me how sexy it would be, especially if I wore one while fitting the models in my Dar Be Dar bikinis. In the meantime, I was having a mini seizure inside from his lack of class and vision. He said, “You see, Tala, people need to relate more to you than to the models, because you are the main character of the show.”
I didn’t quite understand how people could relate to me more if I wore a bikini instead of being properly clothed. The premise of the show was meant to capture the struggles of an independent designer trying to follow her dreams, not how sexy an independent designer looked in a swimsuit. I get it—sex and drama sells—but I didn’t think being in a bikini on TV would excite viewers. At least, not in the empowering way that I envisioned.
Erika and I discussed our vision for the show and what we wanted viewers to take away from it. We didn’t come to any sort of an agreement, since it was just an informal meeting, but they said they would be in touch. When the meeting came to a close, the man looked at me as I walked out of his office and said, “You have very nice legs. You would look great in a bikini.”
I brushed off the comment with a forced smile. “I guess so.”
I had never felt more objectified. These men didn’t care about my story of change, the Miss Universe sponsorship, or my vision for the motivating premise of the show. And many people with similar interests as them wouldn’t either. Most people watch reality TV for entertainment and to escape the gloomy moments of their own lives. The producers’ sole focus was my marketability on television and a tacky vision. I didn’t want to put a price tag on my appearance.
Studies have shown that successful people stay away from reading novels, tabloids, and entertainment magazines. They don’t watch reality television unless it’s educational and beneficial to their knowledge. However, about 66 percent of those not deemed successful spend several hours per day watching reality television. Successful people would rather be educated than entertained. I sought to develop a show that would benefit entrepreneurs like myself, who had to start from zero without having a famous name or money. But the production company wasn’t interested in that.
We headed back to DC with only a week left before we were scheduled to leave for Miami and Vegas. Much to my dismay, there were major issues with production in Colombia. This is just a perk of manufacturing overseas. Deadlines and organizational systems don’t exist. The bikinis were supposed to be delivered to Miss Universe’s office in Las Vegas within the next few days, and they weren’t ready.
A few nights before having to make a last-minute trip to Colombia to get the suits ready, I met up with a friend of mine, Jonathan, for dinner. I told him about the unsuccessful meeting with the production company in LA, which ultimately fell through.
Jonathan told me he knew the producer of America’s Most Wanted very well, and he wanted to put me in touch with him. I giggled and said, “Maybe if he was the producer of Iran’s Most Wanted he would be more interested in a partnership with me.” Nevertheless, he gave me the producer’s contact information and suggested that I send him my proposal. Only a few hours after sending the email, the producer responded that he wanted to meet me in person the next day. Here we go again, I thought, maybe I should show up to the meeting in a bikini this time.
The following evening, Erika and I met the producer at the Four Seasons hotel bar in Washington, DC. An older gentleman in his sixties, wearing Converse shoes, came to greet us. There is something really cool about an older man in Converse. He seemed very easygoing. He was accompanied by his son and two other colleagues.
As soon as we sat down, he asked me about my background, what I envisioned for the premise of the show, and what specifically would occur in my life over the next two months. We started our pitch, which I rattled off in one long-winded breath:
“Tomorrow, I am traveling to a Colombian factory to pick up the bikinis. Then I need to clear customs and have them overnighted from Miami to Las Vegas from the airport. The following morning, I am holding a model casting at a Miami-based modeling agency. The models I choose will be featured in a photo shoot. Then I fly back to DC the next morning to finish packing for my six-week trip to Vegas, where I have Miss Universe and MAGIC trade show events every day. I am also hosting a fashion show with all the contestants from Miss Universe at the Mandalay Bay resort. After that, only God knows what’s next.”
He listened attentively and asked whether his crew could have access behind the scenes of Miss Universe. The organization ended up providing media passes to the production crew and clearing them to film at the Miss Universe locations in Vegas. He also asked if two cameramen could travel with me everywhere I went. I told him that wouldn’t be a problem and that we had ourselves a deal.
Erika and I walked out of the bar beaming. She looked at me and asked, “Do you realize what just happened in there?”
“Yes, I think I’m going to be traveling with a bunch of guys for the next two months,” I replied.
It was hard to believe that the producer had been so quick to pounce on the opportunity to document my journey with Miss Universe. He sent me a boilerplate contract later that evening. Eric and I went over the contract, which I signed and sent back the following day. Wait! I thought, Do I need to get plastic surgery now that I may be on TV?
Soon after that, I was in Medellín ready to pick up my bikinis with the two-person camera crew. They were extremely friendly, and it felt surprisingly natural having them around all the time. Maman was relieved that I had men traveling with me, so that I wouldn’t be alone, or even worse—kidnapped by the Colombian drug lords.
My production manager and translator, Evelyn, picked us up at the airport. When I got settled into her car, she turned to me and prefaced her greeting with, “Please don’t be mad.” At this point in life nothing surprised me anymore, so I was quite calm and ready for her to deliver yet another round of bad news.
Apparently, she had gone to the factory that morning and the bikinis still weren’t ready. When I arrived at the factory everyone was running around frantically trying to sew the hundreds of bikinis and finish them as fast as they could. Not a single bikini was completed.
Miraculously, the factory workers managed to finish all the swimwear that I needed for Miss Universe and the new collection that I was going to showcase in two big fashion shows, two hours before my flight was scheduled to take off. I think I had about a hundred nearly missed heart failures that day as I paced back and forth the messy factory trying to finish everything. I didn’t think I would make the flight, especially since I had to clear the swimsuits through customs, which is very strict in Colombia. I made sure to stand in the line for a male customs agent. This was one time I needed to put my professional flirting to good use.
The agent asked what I was carrying in my four large pieces of luggage. I replied, “It’s filled with very cute bikinis to gift Miss Colombia at the Miss Universe Pageant.” I went on to say how beautiful I found Medellín and how much I looked forward to meeting Miss Colombia. I didn’t even let the poor guy get a word in. I must have sounded like such an airhead. I continued to ramble on anyway, dying of laughter inside. Luckily, it worked. He smiled and let me pass through without looking through any of my bags. One less thing I had to worry about.
I knew that this flirtatious tactic wouldn’t work with U.S. Customs, especially as an Iranian traveling back to the United States on a one-day trip to Colombia. Before my trip, I had contacted a company that specialized in easing that process. They prepared the necessary paperwork before I landed just in case I got stuck.
When I arrived in Miami, I collected my army of suitcases and walked confidently through the customs line. The customs agent suspiciously asked me what I could possibly be carrying back from a one-day trip to Medellín, a city once known to be the world’s drug capital. I answered that I was bringing back bikinis for the Miss Universe Pageant and they weren’t for sale.
He shouted to his coworkers, “Guys, this is Miss Universe!”
“No, no. I am not Miss Universe! I designed bikinis for the contestants.”
He sent me to a waiting room where I stared at a white wall for five hours. Maybe if I were Miss Universe he would’ve let me go on the spot. The cameramen had already cleared customs and left the airport. I had a feeling this would be one of my last opportunities to be alone for the next several weeks.
Each bikini was inside a ziplock bag, which was inside a Dar Be Dar bag. The customs agents opened every single one of them. Miami International Airport is the air transport gateway for drugs from South America, so it came as little surprise that they wanted to check every little crevice. Fortunately, I wasn’t part of a drug trafficking cartel.
The customs authorities told me the entire process of clearance would take a few days, which I didn’t have. I called the Miss Universe Organization and they faxed a letter to expedite the process. As we waited for the fax, I pleaded with the customs agent to let the bikinis through. I explained that if he didn’t, my career would be shattered. The combination of my begging, the company I hired, and the organization’s letter worked. They made an exception, and the bikinis were cleared.
Now that’s what I call a close call. If the swimwear hadn’t cleared customs by that day, I am not so sure the contestants would have had a swimwear portion that year. I went straight to a FedEx flagship store, sat on the floor exhausted, and rewrapped every single bikini. Four large boxes and a hefty fee later, the bikinis were on their way to Vegas. I ended my trip to Miami with a photo shoot showcasing the new collection to present at the MAGIC trade show in Vegas.
The behind the scenes of success in fashion truly doesn’t look anything like the end results that people see. Sponsoring the Miss Universe Pageant didn’t just mean that I would wear a beautiful gown and walk down a red carpet with the contestants. It didn’t mean that I was going to be at fabulous parties schmoozing with industry moguls. I was a one-woman army, and this was the road I was traveling to get to that red-carpet fantasy. And there was nothing glamorous about it. But hey, God doesn’t give you things you can’t handle, so I engaged in every step of the process and made it work the best that I could.