anna waiting outside missoni after the show for her colleagues, visibly distraught.
after the vogue editor stomped out of the show midway through, bodyguards rushed to her as she nearly collapsed on the streets of milan, vomit streaming down her cheek onto the arms of a passerby who came to her rescue.
"anna, what’s wrong!" franca sozzani yelled as she rushed out after the show, a half-smirk forming on her face.
"the prints…" she groaned weakly to her personal assistant, as bottled water was procured and a doctor was summoned. "oh…the prints…"
"i’ve never seen her this way…" the assistant hastily explained to the growing crowd of paparazzi and reporters. "not even after rodarte…"