I make my way backstage, and the roar is unreal. There are people drinking champagne, models undressing, hors d’oeuvres being passed. Kate Moss stalks past, looking bewitched. I find Jacobs at the center of a crush of editors, friends, celebrities, all pushing in toward him. By the time I get squeezed up to him, he is maniacally smiling and laughing, his eyes lit with the kind of joy that a boy who has just scored his first home run might evince: I did it!
Mark Jacobs
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