THINGS didn’t work out too well the last time a man clasped my hand, told me to look in his eyes and swore I could trust him.
But just before midnight on Monday, when German stuntman Jochen Schweizer uttered those very words in my ear, I decided to give him a shot.
It wasn’t as if I had much choice.
Standing with the balls of my feet hanging over the rooftop nine stories above Rockefeller Center, I was strapped into a body harness that was hooked, with an alarmingly thin rope, to a hulking overhead rig.
I was on the verge of what Schweizer warned me was “the point of no return” – the split-second after you stretch your arms out “like Jesus Christ,” lean forward, and “confidently” propel yourself off the roof to begin vertically scaling the façade of the 100-foot building.
Schewizer and his troupe of 17 fearless, hard-bodied acrobats dangled above the ice-rink area, just across from NBC headquarters, Monday night to rehearse for New York’s first vertical fashion show, a stunning spectacle of showmanship that’s being presented today (at noon and 7 p.m.) by the hipster superstore Target.
Putting an innovative twist on the traditional catwalk presentation, Schewizer has literally turned the runway upside down – a marketing trend that’s gaining momentum among the notoriously competitive and attention-seeking fashion companies.
Last week, Calvin Klein promoted an 11-year-old scent ck one by creating the first “live” billboard in Times Square.
The 24-hour publicity stunt, which featured models romping around inside a three-story space designed to look like a perfume bottle, garnered the company plenty of ink.
It’s a coup Target hopes to pull off today when Schweizer’s acrobats, clad in the company’s new fall fashions, leap off the Rockefeller Tower and perform their jazzy routine which – from the ground – looks like they are dancing down the face of building.
In reality, as I discovered after reluctantly leaping over the ledge (an experience Schweizer aptly describes “as the most lonely moment of your life”), your feet have next to no contact with the wall.
Instead you just hang there, suspended only by that extremely thin rope, which is controlled by a team of technicians you can’t see because they’re on the roof and you’re facing the pavement.
Splaying your arms in the air, you’re too scared to scream. Instead you wonder whether you’re going to pass out, throw up – and reckon probably both.
Remarkably, this is the moment the trust thing finally kicks in.
After a sticky start on the ledge – when, during “the point of no return,” I tried to explain to Schweizer that I’d changed my mind and he sternly informed me that delaying the inevitable “won’t make this any easier” – somehow I remembered the pointers passed onto me by the acrobats. Don’t look down.
Arch your shoulders.
Tense your muscles to prevent your stuttering body from spazzing out.
And concentrate on your hanging technique – a knack, I discovered five minutes after meeting Schweizer, that is not one of my natural strengths.
After checking that I wasn’t afraid of heights (I lied) and fitting me for a harness, Schweizer had tried to give me a taste of what that lay ahead by latching the back of my belt to a piece of scaffolding so I could get used to the sensation of dangling.
As unnerving as it was, the practice hanging didn’t come close to the surreal experience of the real deal.
After recovering from the initial body-numbing shock of making that first leap, I grabbed Schweizer’s hand and started on a bouncy dance toward the street.
Keeping my head as high up as I could, I tried to pay heed to the most repeated piece of advice from the acrobats who, by now, I could hear cheering me from below: Enjoy the exhilarating experience.
I did try, but it didn’t really work. All I wanted to do, I decided as I inched down past a couple of tree-tops, was reach the bottom. Gently.
Increasingly happy, I swooshed down the final three stories of the building into the arms of a hunky German acrobat. Schweizer must have mistaken my tears of relief for tears of joy.
“Want to go again?” he asked.
“No f – – – ing way,” I cried.