I wear a simple dress, nothing flashy or bright, which doesn't hint at my usual preferences. The color is pale, almost timid, a far cry from the colorful tones I normally reach for.
But slipping into a place crawling with press requires caution, not fashion.
I layer a long overcoat over the dress, tugging the lapels close. A plain black hat, large sunglasses, and a black mask covering everything from my nose to my chin complete the disguise, and my hair is twisted into a tight bun.
I learned the hard way that some fans can recognize me from the back of my head alone. The way I usually style my hair is practically its own signature.
Greg had assured me earlier that my security team would handle everything, that I wouldn't so much as brush shoulders with the press.
I arrive at the hotel just before three, early enough to beat the chaos but not early enough to look suspicious.
Jean is by my side, brisk and composed as always, with an earpiece clipped neatly to her collar.
