When the alarm rings, she steps into the spotlight of her own life.
In a world that demands constant performance, every morning ritual—every carefully chosen accessory and untucked shirt—becomes an irrevocable act of reinvention. This collection follows a busy woman whose daily routine blurs the line between authenticity and illusion, revealing that in the relentless pace of modern life, the truth is as fleeting as the moment she dares to be truly herself.
Words by Calla Henkel, a long-term friend, as well as an artist, writer, and theater director based in Los Angeles. Her work explores themes of community, performance, and urban mythology through projects like TV Bar and New Theater Hollywood. Her debut novel, Other People’s Clothes (2021), weaves thriller elements with a sharp critique of creative culture and voyeurism. She is deeply interested in how social interaction and artistic engagement shape the spaces we inhabit.
Ottolinger
Deep breath.
Scan the room.
That’s it. Just walk.
Left. Right.
Left. right.
I’ve done this a thousand times.
Millions of times.
One foot, then the other.
But if I think about it, it becomes impossible.
Like the dreams I have about driving.
An inevitable collapse. A blackhole of memory.
Gas. Break. Foot. Leg. Mangled light pole.
I need to breathe.
No one knows I have to pass through an invisible veil.
No one knows I am wearing a silicone mask.
Hit the mark. Pivot.
Hip out.
Eyes hard.
I am wearing clothes and walking.
If the world is a runway.
Then I am an airplane.
Don’t make eye contact.
Just walk.
Lips tight.
Neck firm.
Hips moving.
I am an actress playing the role of a woman walking.
I am a woman walking.
I am a woman walking for you.
Inhale. Exhale.
Hit the mark. Pivot.
They will never know what is happening inside of my skull.
They will never know the way my feet feel in these heels.
They will never know what I will eat for dinner in the dimly lit
brasserie.
I should not think of the future.
Of the meal to come.
No, I need to be present now.
To be here.
To be seen. That is enough.
Soon it will be as if I have slipped off the planet.
Their awareness is the only thing making me real.
I am a sign post. A temporary marker, a balloon in outer space.
The audience is my only tether.
A lead ballast.
One step and then the other.
Right left. Right left.
Soon I will return to the text messages silently stacking in the pocket of my coat.
And the emails I should have sent weeks ago.
Inhale. Step, look softly to the left.
Next foot. Then the other.
I have done this a million times.
And I will do this a million more.
I am walking.
Brow slightly furrowed.
Now I turn. Now I breathe.
In. Hold. Out.
In. Hold. Out.
I want to take a nap.
I want to write a novel.
I want to take a photo beautiful enough that I never need to take
another.
I should do one of those meditation apps in the hotel room later.
Sit on a folded white towel.
Transcend.
How can I transcend if I can’t even be present here, now?
Who is the girl on the right?
Why is she not even looking?
When will people get off their phones?
How can anyone transcend if they are always on their phones?
I want to scream at them.
It is enough to be here.
To be breathing the same air.
You do not need to prove it later.
I need to release the tension in my neck.
I need to pivot in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
And turn my gaze to the left.
Right foot, then the other.
Right foot then the other.
Focused yet natural.
Mechanical yet supple.
Hungry but not asking for it.
Scan the room.
Breathe. Move forward.
This is another walk.
It is always happening.
And it has already happened.
Time is a looping rodeo and I am the horse.
I am the horse and the clothes are the lasso.
The clothes have caught me.
Placed me here.
Without them, I could be anywhere.
I wonder what will happen later.
I wonder if the party will be fun.
If she will text me back.
I need to be here. I wish she was here.
That is the other thing isn’t it?
There are infinite possibilities to how it will all turn out.
I have a psychic. I have an intuitive. An astrologist. And a witch.
You would think I already knew.
You would think I would have accepted the things I can not change.
You would be wrong.
I need to focus on walking.
One foot and then the other.
This ancient dance.
Direction and purpose.
One foot then the other.
I am yet another thoughtless leader.
Scan the room.
Fill lungs with air. Release.
I want to be here now.
Sound by Gerome Gadient, Cosima`s brother, an artist, composer, and DJ based in Basel. He creates surreal soundscapes by blending sampled material from digital and (non-)human environments. His work, often presented in subtle scenographies, combines vocal recordings, synthesis, and sampling to form unique sonic experiences. He has released music on tape and CD and will soon self-release his first extended play on vinyl.
Thank you: Ecco-kollektive, Fielmann, G-shock, Makeup Forever, Schwarzkopf, SKIMS, Vorwerk
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