Cassie Lane reveals what a WAG goes through on Brownlow Medal day

CASSIE Lane, the former girlfriend of Collingwood player Alan Didak, takes us inside football’s biggest night and what a WAG goes through to look like a winner on the red carpet.

CONGRATULATIONS, you’re invited to the Brownlow! Only five players per team receive an invite. You’re one of the rare WAGs who get to strut the red carpet and have their outfit judged by people with no formal knowledge about fashion.

First: a dress. You received the invite a week ago with no notice, so get cracking.

Sorry? You’re driving to Chadstone? You can’t buy a dress off the rack! You must be handed a dress by a designer, otherwise you’ll spontaneously combust when your foot touches the carpet (nobody knows if this is actually true, because they’ve never been foolish enough to risk it).

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Former Collingwood footballer Alan Didak with then-girlfriend Cassie Lane at the 2006 Brownlow Medal.

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If you’re a lesser-known WAG you must accept the dress you’re given. Brace yourself for the worst dressed column, because your fate is hurtling towards it, and some other (most likely deranged) person has the steering wheel.

But, take it from me, being labelled the worst dressed isn’t so bad. You’ll cry for two, maybe, eight days, maximum. You’ll even laugh about it eventually. I’m chuckling about my worst dressed experience right now, and that was only ten years ago!

Next, pamper yourself. Now the fun begins. Have a facial, but not the relaxing type, rather, the laser that burns the top layer off your face type. Abstain from carbohydrates. Whiten your teeth. Get a spray tan, a manicure, a pedicure and a wax.

Whiten your teeth again because of all the coffee you had to drink to stabilise your heartbeat after the carbohydrate withdrawals made you cataleptic. Do all this while your partner watches Entourage re-runs and moans about being bored. Restrain yourself from stabbing your freshly manicured nail into his eyeball.

 

 

Cassie Lane reveals what a WAG goes through on Brownlow Medal day in order to look like a winner on the red carpet. Picture: Tony Gough

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It’s the big day! Now the fun begins. Did I say that already? I meant it was coming. Get up early. There’s no time for breakfast, nor time to wash the fake tan off your pillow, towel, dog, ceiling etc.

Now sit in a chair for five hours while someone jabs you in the face and rips your hair out. I told you fun was just around the corner!

Rush to the hotel. Put your dress on and sulk at the mirror. Nothing ever looks the way you envisioned because you don’t live inside a Clarendon filter and Instagram has ruined life for all of us. Starving, you eat everything in the mini bar. Rookie error my friend, now you’ll have to suck your stomach in for two whole hours.

Did you just walk past a bush? Smile, silly! The paparazzi are everywhere. I know your back aches because you can’t sit in that dress and you’re wearing stilts masquerading as shoes, but what did you think this was, a Snuggie conference? Sure, your face is numb and you’re unsure if you’re smiling or baring your teeth like a snarling Chihuahua, but remember, you never see a glum WAG in the best dressed column.

It’s your turn to walk the carpet. As everyone constantly reminds you, this is your time to shine! And they mean this quite literally: your highlighter will reflect the camera flashes, your dress will sparkle. Just don’t ruin the illusion by revealing your independent thoughts.

Apparently, once, a girl accidentally uttered a word that wasn’t her designer’s name and she was never seen again (that might also have been because she broke up with her partner, but you get my drift).

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Cassie Lane. Picture: Tim Carrafa

BROWNLOW MEDAL RED CARPET: THE STYLE THAT MADE A STATEMENT

Do a little spin and then head inside before the infernal count-fest begins. Among all the hype and chatter about designers and diamanté G-strings, everyone neglects to inform you that the Brownlow is actually akin to the most tedious game of Bingo ever.

Go to the bathroom twenty minutes before you feel the urge because that’s how long it takes to get that dress off.

You’re about to enter the WAG inner sanctum where footballer’s wives huddle in gossipy groups and others slip furtively into cubicles in pairs. Don’t be fooled by the floral scents and porcelain surroundings, this is a WAGs natural habitat and you best tread carefully. Though unspoken, the hierarchy is so palpable you can feel its weight pushing you down a few social rungs.

The bathroom is a sort of AFL Narnia, where things that matter in the outside world like, say, being a nice person or knowing things hold little to no sway. The only thing that really matters in this self-contained ecosystem is your partner’s status and, maybe, how many Instagram followers you have.

Thankfully, the main currency in the WAG economy is compliments. Girls you’re too afraid to look at will say something nice about your dress, possibly in exchange for praise of equal value. Don’t get me wrong, they are all very sweet. Just remember, you’ve entered their territory, and whatever you do, do not upset the alpha.

Cassie Lane at the 2006 Brownlow Medal.

By the time you get back to the Palladium, filming has started and the doors are locked. You miss the main meal and fill your stomach with the leftover champagne in the foyer, while sharing war stories with the other exiled WAGs. By the time the doors are unlocked, the winner’s been announced and everyone’s heading to the after-party.

The next thing you know, you’ve cornered Shane Crawford and are confessing, teary eyed, that you loved him when you were twelve, the same year no boys would kiss you because you had helmet hair, while he tries to escape your firm grip.

Your partner announces you’ve had enough because the only things in your stomach are Chandon and the ten pillow chocolates you found in the housekeeping cart stranded in the foyer. Finally you get to rest your bleeding, bobby-pin pierced head on the hotel pillow. Before you know it, you’ll be slipping into a blissful dream about next year’s Brownlow. Now, wasn’t that fun?

And, um, maybe don’t buy the newspaper tomorrow morning.

Cassie Lane is the author of How To Dress a Dummy (Affirm Press, 2017)