Paris, 1998
When Farah met Jeremiah, he was already working on the first range of lip glosses for King Cosmetics.
The year they found each other, Farah was in Paris for fashion week. She had booked 20 designers, a rarity for a young Moroccan model, and was neck-deep in frills, poofs, tutus, and runway glitter.
Farah was what the industry belles and beaus described as a ‘classic beauty’: tall, svelte, natural curves in the right places, full lips, fuller smile, and that gap — Farrah’s gap was loved by many fashion journalists.
On the third evening of fashion week, at around 7:30 p.m., we find Farah in a petit magasin searching for the drinks aisle. Just a few moments ago, she received a call from her agent that gave her good enough reason to procure a bottle of bubbly intoxicant.
If you care to know, the agent called to inform Farah that she had booked Saint Adú, a Black luxury fashion house. Saint Adú would not just be a dream booking for Farah — it would also be a career-changing walk.
The stakes were high, yes, but Farah needed to celebrate and give herself enough time to enjoy the news, the potential of it, the sweet sight of success on the horizon, the flight, shows, and glam looks, and the clothes, of course — couture, genre-bending, provocative, and desired by all.
And so, with her mind made up, Farah stumbled out of her bedroom and into a charming store around the corner from her rental. She walked around the bread aisle, passed by colorful jars of marmalade and jam, tried a sample of brie from the platter, and finally arrived in front of the shelves with glimmering gold caps.
And there he was, inspecting a bottle with an intense gaze, a firm grip around the base, and a little black shopper by his feet with two bolded words in red ink: King Cosmetics.
I know King Cosmetics, Farah thought as she slowly approached the shelf.
As a matter of fact, she did know King Cosmetics quite well. She met Cecilia King at a beauty shoot in Houston two years ago. Cecelia was a poised but free-spirit beauty with a harmonic voice and a razor-sharp mind. After the shoot, Farah had found a silver lipstick tube and a hand-written note on her pink dresser:
A classic red for a classic beauty.
One day, we might name a lipstick after you, Farah.
Cecilia King.
Farah turned the tube in her hand to read the name of the shade scrawled underneath in red ink: Cecilia.
And now she was standing in a petit magasin, inches away from a man whom she suspected was connected to a brand that was loved by many Black women.
Jeremiah moved slightly and suddenly, his gaze, piercing and sincere, was on her. He had his father’s dark brown eyes, a feature that was both striking and familiar. She remembered seeing those eyes on a front-page profile on Sebastian King’s success in a highly competitive industry that allowed very few Black pioneers through its doors.
Sebastian’s son was looking right at her and Farah was unsure of what to do next. He was taller than her and dressed in a long, gray raincoat, black slacks, and a black cashmere sweater. He was effortlessly stylish.
“Farah Ayad. As I live and breathe.” Jeremiah returned the bottle to its empty row, briefly turning his face away from her.
“And you are?” Farah asked with a guarded voice. She didn’t care if her question sounded rude or ill-mannered. Jeremiah spoke her name as though he knew her from her awkward teenage years.
“Where are my manners? My name is Jeremiah. My mother has spoken highly of you multiple times. Cecilia King is very hard to impress, so you must have been something special at the shoot.”
“Your mother is an amazing woman.” Farah lowered her guard and willed herself to be present. First the Saint Adú news and now this special moment with Jeremiah King.
“Cecilia is the only shade of red I wear out. I love your lipsticks.” Her voice was softer this time around and filled with genuine admiration and excitement, emotions that were hard to contain in that moment.
“You have my father to thank for that,” he replied with a wink. “You know, meeting you here feels like kismet.”
“How so?”
“Well, I had planned to call your agent to book you for a campaign video we want to shoot in September. Manhattan for two months. All expenses on King Cosmetics.”
“I cost a pretty penny, Jeremiah.”
“I can handle whatever you throw at me, Farah. I’m a King man.” Jeremiah pinned his gaze on her, and Farah felt herself melting under the heat of his attention. Even though she didn’t fully understand what was unfolding then, she didn’t want to walk away.
Farah cleared her throat and broke the silence. “How many other models will be in the campaign?”
“Just you.”
“Just me?”
“That’s right. I want you as the face of our new lipgloss collection, but you have to want it too.”
“Wow. I’m so honored. I’m a big fan of King Cosmetics. Please call my agent. I’m in Paris for a few more weeks.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you at the Saint Adú show. My team is handling the beauty looks for their new collection.”
“I just booked them. What a coincidence.” Except that it wasn’t. There were no coincidences when it came to Jeremiah King.
“I know. Moustafa is a dear friend.” Jeremiah gave her a boyish smile before picking up his black shopper. “Enjoy the champagne, Ms. Ayad. You deserve it.”
At that, he walked away, leaving Farah with the aftertaste of their sweet exchange.
