I am a guy who lives in New York. I have never attended a runway show before. The closest I’ve come to participating in New York Fashion Week is one night where I heard there were free tacos on Bond Street. And there were — in addition to people wearing leather slacks.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12th
6:35 p.m. On the subway with a very large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Fighting a terrible hangover and also indigestion. To prepare for the glamor of a fashion presentation, I made sure to drink bourbon the night before and eat a fried chicken torta for lunch. I feel perfect.
6:59 p.m. At Central Park South for the Moncler Grenoble show. I follow signs to the presentation at the skating rink in the park. I decided to skip dinner and stay hungry, to feel what these fashion people feel.
7:06 p.m. At the rink. The photographer tells me the whole show is outside. It’s 29 degrees out.
7:14 p.m. The Moncler show will be happening on the ice. To prepare for the ice-skating, there is a Zamboni cleaning the ice. I never thought I would be at a fashion show with a Zamboni, but I like it.
7:16 p.m. I take that back. I am freezing to death. There are a few space heaters, but only for VIPs. I hope you are warm, Bill Cunningham and Waris Ahluwalia.
7:25 p.m. I walk past the station handing out free hot chocolate. It’s a nice gesture, but don’t these people realize how much warmer cocktail wieners would make us all feel?
7:30 p.m. I stare at the red carpet tent to see if I recognize anybody. There are probably some people I should recognize. I think one of these guys used to date Marc Jacobs? There is lots of exaggerated laughter and thrown-back heads. I can only imagine what joke makes them laugh so hard. “ ‘Monte Carlo’? No, Olivia, I said ‘Monaco’!”
7:45 p.m. The show starts. It is an ice dancing show. I am so cold. It’s incredible they were able to teach all these models to ice skate so quickly. (I am kidding. These people are semi-professional ice skaters. Most of them do not look like models ...)
7:50 p.m. One skater falls down. The show still calls for him to strut and smile arrogantly. It’s embarrassing in light of his fall.
7:52 p.m. The skaters do a dance to M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls.” I bet M.I.A. would be furious to know that a fashion skate-dance was happening to her music. It’s so against her carefully considered and well-articulated political positions! Yeah, right. I’m sure she’d be fine with this.
7:59 p.m. There’s some kind of big finish. The choir tries to get the crowd to clap but the crowd is freezing, and applause doesn’t sound so good in gloves.
8:02 p.m. I quickly file out for the next show. There is something democratic about fashion people in winter clothes. No one looks classy. Just super-cold and bundled up.
8:11 p.m. Arrive at the Park Avenue Armory for the Tommy Hilfiger women’s show. Already this is much more exciting. The space is gigantic. I read it’s supposed to look like Versailles. Did Versailles have tiny pebbles and three trees? Then yes, that’s exactly what it looks like.
8:16 p.m. They don’t have a seat assignment for me, so a nice lady named Haley with an iPad and a headset puts me in G-2-29. I’m in the second row! Is that good or bad? I feel like it could be worse. There is a serious-looking fashion person next to me when I sit down. She says “Bonjour,” and I laugh, which is rude.
8:18 p.m. Waiting, trying to look normal. I take notes in a notepad so people assume that I am an important and unsuspecting street-style blogger. I have not warmed up from the Moncler show yet. My legs are that type of cold where maybe I peed myself but there’s no way to be sure.
8:20 p.m. A fancy young man I later learn to be style blogger BryanBoy is seated directly in front of me. A few fashion girls come over and make small talk. They ask if he wants to share a cab to a party later. He says, “Oh, well I got a car for it, and ...” They get the message and walk away.
8:24 p.m. There is a beautiful and stylish mom across the runway. Her 6-year-old is a vision. He’s got messy blond hair and is wearing an ascot, blazer and striped socks. He’s eating a mozzarella stick, and he offers some to his mom. Where did he get those? Is he taunting me? He’s barely out of diapers, better dressed than me and in possession of mozzarella sticks. I’m a grown man and I should have those whenever I want. I hate him.
8:27 p.m. The show starts. It is a genuinely thrilling live event! I try to nod and really pay attention to the clothes. “Hmm, yes, shoes.”
8:30 p.m. Realize I’m right in the path of a large bank of photographers at one end of the runway. I get insanely self-conscious. All I want to do is use some Chapstick but I’m afraid I’ll be caught in a photo basting my pursed lips with lip balm. I try to look serious.
8:33 p.m. The show is over. I’m on the wrong side of the room, but I think I see Tommy Hilfiger come out. “All You Need Is Love” is now playing on the sound system, which seems like a good song to put on while the designer takes a bow. What is he so proud of? His show had almost no ice-skating.
8:40 p.m. People file out. I stare everyone down and try to see if they are famous. They also stare me down and double-check that I’m not.
8:55 p.m. In a cab headed back to Brooklyn. It was weird being alone at the shows, and frustrating to not be able to form intelligent opinions about what I’m seeing. “Those sleeves are long.” I wonder if Mr. Hilfiger knew I was wearing a pair of his company’s underwear that I bought at a Marshall’s near my parents’ house. Probably not.
MORE FASHION WEEK COVERAGE
FROM THE RUNWAY: Oscar de la Renta
FROM THE RUNWAY: Naeem Khan
OUTTAKES: J. CREW
FROM THE RUNWAY: Rodarte, Marc by Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang
FEATURE: All that glitters
ON THE SCENE: Fete accompli
STREET STYLE: Ciao, bella
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 12th
6:35 p.m. On the subway with a very large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Fighting a terrible hangover and also indigestion. To prepare for the glamor of a fashion presentation, I made sure to drink bourbon the night before and eat a fried chicken torta for lunch. I feel perfect.
6:59 p.m. At Central Park South for the Moncler Grenoble show. I follow signs to the presentation at the skating rink in the park. I decided to skip dinner and stay hungry, to feel what these fashion people feel.
7:06 p.m. At the rink. The photographer tells me the whole show is outside. It’s 29 degrees out.
7:14 p.m. The Moncler show will be happening on the ice. To prepare for the ice-skating, there is a Zamboni cleaning the ice. I never thought I would be at a fashion show with a Zamboni, but I like it.
7:16 p.m. I take that back. I am freezing to death. There are a few space heaters, but only for VIPs. I hope you are warm, Bill Cunningham and Waris Ahluwalia.
7:25 p.m. I walk past the station handing out free hot chocolate. It’s a nice gesture, but don’t these people realize how much warmer cocktail wieners would make us all feel?
7:30 p.m. I stare at the red carpet tent to see if I recognize anybody. There are probably some people I should recognize. I think one of these guys used to date Marc Jacobs? There is lots of exaggerated laughter and thrown-back heads. I can only imagine what joke makes them laugh so hard. “ ‘Monte Carlo’? No, Olivia, I said ‘Monaco’!”
7:45 p.m. The show starts. It is an ice dancing show. I am so cold. It’s incredible they were able to teach all these models to ice skate so quickly. (I am kidding. These people are semi-professional ice skaters. Most of them do not look like models ...)
7:50 p.m. One skater falls down. The show still calls for him to strut and smile arrogantly. It’s embarrassing in light of his fall.
7:52 p.m. The skaters do a dance to M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls.” I bet M.I.A. would be furious to know that a fashion skate-dance was happening to her music. It’s so against her carefully considered and well-articulated political positions! Yeah, right. I’m sure she’d be fine with this.
7:59 p.m. There’s some kind of big finish. The choir tries to get the crowd to clap but the crowd is freezing, and applause doesn’t sound so good in gloves.
8:02 p.m. I quickly file out for the next show. There is something democratic about fashion people in winter clothes. No one looks classy. Just super-cold and bundled up.
8:11 p.m. Arrive at the Park Avenue Armory for the Tommy Hilfiger women’s show. Already this is much more exciting. The space is gigantic. I read it’s supposed to look like Versailles. Did Versailles have tiny pebbles and three trees? Then yes, that’s exactly what it looks like.
8:16 p.m. They don’t have a seat assignment for me, so a nice lady named Haley with an iPad and a headset puts me in G-2-29. I’m in the second row! Is that good or bad? I feel like it could be worse. There is a serious-looking fashion person next to me when I sit down. She says “Bonjour,” and I laugh, which is rude.
8:18 p.m. Waiting, trying to look normal. I take notes in a notepad so people assume that I am an important and unsuspecting street-style blogger. I have not warmed up from the Moncler show yet. My legs are that type of cold where maybe I peed myself but there’s no way to be sure.
8:20 p.m. A fancy young man I later learn to be style blogger BryanBoy is seated directly in front of me. A few fashion girls come over and make small talk. They ask if he wants to share a cab to a party later. He says, “Oh, well I got a car for it, and ...” They get the message and walk away.
8:24 p.m. There is a beautiful and stylish mom across the runway. Her 6-year-old is a vision. He’s got messy blond hair and is wearing an ascot, blazer and striped socks. He’s eating a mozzarella stick, and he offers some to his mom. Where did he get those? Is he taunting me? He’s barely out of diapers, better dressed than me and in possession of mozzarella sticks. I’m a grown man and I should have those whenever I want. I hate him.
8:27 p.m. The show starts. It is a genuinely thrilling live event! I try to nod and really pay attention to the clothes. “Hmm, yes, shoes.”
8:30 p.m. Realize I’m right in the path of a large bank of photographers at one end of the runway. I get insanely self-conscious. All I want to do is use some Chapstick but I’m afraid I’ll be caught in a photo basting my pursed lips with lip balm. I try to look serious.
8:33 p.m. The show is over. I’m on the wrong side of the room, but I think I see Tommy Hilfiger come out. “All You Need Is Love” is now playing on the sound system, which seems like a good song to put on while the designer takes a bow. What is he so proud of? His show had almost no ice-skating.
8:40 p.m. People file out. I stare everyone down and try to see if they are famous. They also stare me down and double-check that I’m not.
8:55 p.m. In a cab headed back to Brooklyn. It was weird being alone at the shows, and frustrating to not be able to form intelligent opinions about what I’m seeing. “Those sleeves are long.” I wonder if Mr. Hilfiger knew I was wearing a pair of his company’s underwear that I bought at a Marshall’s near my parents’ house. Probably not.
MORE FASHION WEEK COVERAGE
FROM THE RUNWAY: Oscar de la Renta
FROM THE RUNWAY: Naeem Khan
OUTTAKES: J. CREW
FROM THE RUNWAY: Rodarte, Marc by Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang
FEATURE: All that glitters
ON THE SCENE: Fete accompli
STREET STYLE: Ciao, bella
