The launch event for “V by Chloe” was a masterclass in gilded illusion. It was held in a renovated industrial warehouse in the Meatpacking District, a cavernous space of exposed brick and polished concrete that had been transformed into a temple of minimalist chic. Blinding white lights crisscrossed the ceiling, catching the smoke from strategically placed fog machines and making the air glitter. A sleek black runway cut through the center of the room, leading to a stage where our brand’s logo—my logo—was projected onto a towering screen, the elegant “V” now intertwined with Chloe’s saccharine, looping signature.
I watched it all from the glass-walled tech booth overlooking the floor. From here, I was a ghost, an invisible god with a perfect view of the stage where my life’s work was bein
