Scott Schuman was significantly shorter than I had imagined him. He was immaculately dressed – as to be expected. He wore dark pants, white Converse, a white button up shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a medium blue blazer.
Everybody knew who he was but no one made a fuss about it. He chatted with the people hosting the event and then took a seat behind a table draped with a piece of white fabric. He wrote with Sharpies. There were spare ones in case the ink ran dry. He was polite, chatty, and genuine with each person who brought their copy of Closer up for him to autograph.
He made each person feel as though they were the only ones in line. He asked you questions about yourself. The spotlight wasn’t only on him. I was 5th in line. He asked me my name and shook my hand. “I’m Scott,” he said, as if I didn’t already know. He asked me what I was doing. Going to school? Working? What was I studying? What did I want to do in terms of a career? I choked when he asked me if I had a favourite fashion journalist – silly me.