By Gaynor Alder

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A day at the races is all about the hat and its popular counterpart, the fascinator – although in recent years the hat has taken back stage to its fabulous cousin, the headpiece. Whatever headpiece you decide upon, it can never be too big, too outrageous or too fabulous. The dress comes in with a nail biting photo finish at a close second, and heels are a must, even though you will be walking over grassed areas. When it comes to grooming, the lights, camera and action of this event demands the dedication of an actress getting ready to walk the red carpet at the Oscars.

If products are my religion, then surely glamour is the God that I worship, and there are many race day faux pas that I consider blasphemous. Amongst these are the streaky orange Page 3 girl fake tan, people who drink too much and people that take their shoes off. No matter how sore your feet are, shoes are not an optional item in public. EVER. Equally as offensive is spending any length of time in general admission.

Going from the marquees to general admission is like going from Chanel to Supre. My one and only experience leaving behind the winning trifecta of chandeliers, champagne and canapés to try my luck in general admission left me staring longingly at the marquees like a 6 year old who didn’t get invited to the party of the most popular girl in school. I was surrounded by punters wearing thongs, and the champagne at the bar was nastier than the Sass & Bide copy dress all the girls were wearing.

However, even I, Patron Saint of Glamour came unstuck last year. As my dress was hanging in the wardrobe months in advance, I thought I would be clever and make my own fascinator. This would’ve been a spectacular show of creative genius, had I not run into a fake nail and shoe crisis. Did I mention that it was the day before The Cup?

My project management was in serious jeopardy. I was charging around Chadstone searching for a new pair of shoes, whilst breathing into a brown paper bag to abate a looming anxiety attack. Late in the piece and running short on money (compromising on the shoes was never an option), I decided I would see if I could do my own acrylic nails. How hard could they be?

They, of course, were an absolute disaster and there was no way of removing them short of chopping off my hands. I was up into the early hours alternating each hand in acetone, whilst using my free hand to glue the Parisian feather to my headpiece. The next morning, I had to dash to Priceline (forgoing precious preparation time) and buy horror of all horrors, some stick on false nails to cover the disaster. Seriously racing against time, I arrived at Flemington’s International Lounge, with a head piece that was albeit the most fabulous in the room, but would be lucky to see the days end, and hideous stick on nails that kept threatening to fall off into my champagne.

I’ve learnt my lesson, and this year I will be starting my preparations early. So follow Onya Magazine’s Spring Racing Beauty Feature over the next four weeks, to arrive at the races with all the style, grace, precision and beauty of a winning filly.