“Are you standing? Are you seated? Full name, please.” The same three questions fire off with the precision of someone who’s been asking them all day – because she has.
Outside the Dilara Fındıkoğlu show, a woman in all black paces the queue with an iPad and a guest list, eyes scanning faces like she’s doing airport security.
Her name is Kounim. She does plenty – PR, modelling, DJing – but right now she’s the thing between you and the door.
On paper, it’s straightforward: name on the list, you’re in. Name not on the list, you develop a sudden belief in miracles. The trick is saying no without making it a scene — apology, sympathetic smile, a quick “let me double-check with the team” (even when the answer is final).
No one wants to hear, “You weren’t invited. Leave.” Even when they know that she knows that they know they’re not on the list.
"You don’t want to be rude," Kounim tells me after the show has started. "Because having negative energy is not good." Which is a polite way of saying: don’t make this my problem.
Her default line is gentle and immovable: “I’m so sorry, but I don’t seem to have your name here. Please step aside for now — we’ll see what we can do.”
But even diplomacy has a limit.
"I used to be like – ‘No, you’re not on the list. Move along,’" she laughs. "But I’m not anymore. It took many, many years. Of course, when I have to be strong and a little bit tough, I can be."
Right on cue, someone tries it.
"This is completely unacceptable," a tall woman in a white fedora – who looks like she’s used to getting what she wants – snaps. "I was personally invited. This is beyond unprofessional – I will be telling someone about this."
Watching Kounim handle it is entertaining. She doesn’t sigh, or rush to fill the silence – just nods understandingly, smiles and delivers the unwavering response:
"I’m sorry, but without your name, there’s nothing I can do. The show has already started. Thank you for understanding."
Just like that, the conversation is over.
Her tone is so composed, so final, that even the woman in the fedora looks slightly thrown off – as if she’d been hoping for a fight. With no ground left to argue, she exhales sharply, turns on her heel, and disappears back into the night.
Not everyone takes “we’ll see what we can do” as an answer.
“In the end, I have to flat out say no. And then they say, ‘Well…I’m a journalist.’ And I just repeat, ‘I don’t have you on the list, and everyone here is a journalist. Thank you!’”
From the outside, it looks like she’s deciding who’s worthy. In reality, she’s enforcing a list someone else wrote – which still gives her a certain kind of power.
“I see people – passionate students, young designers – and I would let them in if I could. But I’m just doing my job.” To be fair, if she just let in who she wanted, she probably wouldn’t even have a job.
As we wrap up our conversation, the show is nearly over.
Tomorrow, there will be another queue. Another guest list. Another argument.
And Kounim will be there, guest list open, doing the same three-question triage.
"Are you standing? Are you seated? Full name, please."