Barack Obama must be elected President of the United States. It’s his worldview, his clarity of judgment, and his just plain right-mindedness that resonate with me. Figuring that my efforts were best spent raising money for the campaign, I have thrown myself into a new world—one in which fluffy chatter and frivolous praise are replaced by a get-to-the-point directness and disciple-like devotion. It’s intense and intoxicating. Much has been said about Obama’s rock-star appeal: the ability to fill 75,000-person venues; the way his arrival in any public forum generates tears and frenzy (as I witnessed last week as white-haired event attendees stood on chairs, risking bodily harm to take pictures of the Senator); and the rapture that ensues—all warrant such comparison...I have to confess I felt a certain shame that the dress I wore—a bright-red Prada number from next season that my former boss, Carol, insisted I buy the day before—cost more than the $1,000 ticket to the event itself. After surveying the large crowd, however, I quickly realized that this dress was a big standout in a sea of black, brown, and grey. How this paid off I’ll share in a moment.
The town-hall style staging of the event meant that, during the delayed start, I was compelled to work the room, mixing and mingling with my new friends on the campaign—all of whom I’ve come to fixate like a transfer student in a new high school might on the cool kids in class...
Now, at least, I was on my feet as Senator Obama entered the room. Fate had blessed me in this moment, as I realized that the aisle that was keeping me from my seat was created for him and his secret service escort to make their way to the stage. Within seconds, he was a few feet from me. Cameras were flashing, everyone was cheering, and I knew this was my moment. I pushed my way up to the barricade as he shook hands with as many people as time would allow. I squeezed up front, but Obama was moving quickly and just passed me by. Then, in a moment of divine intervention, he saw me, clad in my red stop-sign of a dress, back-tracked ever so slightly in his procession, grabbed my hand, and gave that brilliant smile of his. I literally said out loud to the woman next to me who witnessed my good fate, "I’ll never wash this hand again."
Smantha Fennell is a fashion columnist for ELLE.
LINK: http://fashion.elle.com/blog/2008/07/joining-the-oba.html
A multiple Obamagasm.