New York Fashion Week, Day 5
Has it really been 5 days that I’ve been in New York? It feels like a lifetime, or a second. I can’t decide. I can’t believe all of the shows I have been to since Thursday! 16 so far, and more to come! So let me tell you about what has been going on!
I am on my way to the Upper East Side (AKA Gossip Girl territory) to the Met for a press review for the new Andy Warhol exhibit that is opening up next week. I have to be honest, I don’t know the first thing about how to review art, but I’ll try to do my best! I have realized that I am going to wear many hats in this industry, and that I will just have to learn the ropes as I go! So I traipse across Lexington, Park, and Madison avenues to make my way to 5th Ave., or Museum Mile. Let me tell you, I think it actually smells better on this side of town! The sidewalks are cleaner, the buildings are majestic, and the residents maintain a cool self assuredness as they casually duck into the backs of Lincoln town cars, on their way to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what. I try to look like I belong by shielding my face in wannabe-Tom Ford for Gucci sunglasses (actually from Urban Outfitters), and purposefully walk toward the magnificence of the Met. I think I’d like to live here.
Inside the Met, I am bombarded by culture as I find my way to the exhibit. The instillation is lovely, an ode to Warhol and the dialogue he began between other artists through his unique art. I enjoy seeing his original works in person, and of course make a few friends along the way.
I am back in my usual Lincoln Center Starbucks to review the exhibit before I head into the tents for the Farah Angsana show. I try to pay attention to my work, but there is just so much amazing people watching to be done. And good thing I watch, because as I do none other than Kristin Chenowith steps out of her chauffeured vehicle right outside the window where I sit. In my starstruck glory, I abandon everything I am sitting with (laptop, bag, etc…) and find myself running out the door for a photo-op. I think I realize what I am doing a it is already happening, as the words are already tumbling out my mouth. “Hi-I’m-Stephanie-I’m-a-huge-fan-can-I-please-take-your-picture” escapes me in a single breath and I feel myself turn beet red. Um, embarrassing. She smiles and appraises me, complimenting my dress and agreeing to smile for me. I snap a picture and thank her profusely, heading back inside, smiling like the dork I am. Yay, me.
The Farah Angsana show is PACKED, and I have a third row seat. Sitting two rows in front of me are none other than The Real Housewives of NYC’s Alex and Simon Van Kempen. As I have not yet come down from my Kristin Chenowith triumph, I decide to ask Simon (by first name, of course), to take a picture of me and Alex. I literally chuckle with glee as I walk back to my seat. Not bad for 1 pm on a Monday.
I am smitten from the moment the show begins. Glamorous gowns fill the runway with who are by far the most beautiful models I have seen thus far. Amazonian inspired prints are matte-sequined across the cocktail dresses, and flowing chiffon fans across the runway as the models stomp their way toward the press photographers. Bohemian corals, yellows, and blues adorn the designs, and I fall in love over and over as the show goes on.
I am consciously willing every muscle in my body not to give out on me as I swoon my way through the Gilded Age presentation. I don’t think any experience in my life has prepared me for the moment that I am making direct eye contact with the most attractive group of male models I have ever seen in my 22 years of life. Chiseled abs, jaws, and perfectly stubbled chins render me useless as I attempt to do my job, which is to evaluate the clothes that they are wearing. I am nearly giggling with giddiness as I snap photo after photo of the “clothes”, hiding behind my inferred professionalism to gawk and drool at the miraculous sight before my very eyes. Grey-blue eyes stare serenely back at me, willing me to physically react to their Adonis-like presence, challenging me in a stand-off of outward reaction, assuring me that it won’t be them who break down. Okay I give in, I can’t help but crack a wide smile as I pat myself on the back for just being there. Then I remind myself to focus for a second, seeing as I am going to have to report on the clothes, not just the sizzling hot models who wear them. But really, how is this possible in nature?
The Gilded Age show features clothing that while extremely wearable, is also stylish, chic, and beautifully put together. Pastel pants accompany leather jackets and casual button downs, with tied oxfords in grays, blacks, and ivorys with colored soles as accents. This men’s line is awesome, and unlike the previous linen tunics and skirts (yes, for me) that indicate an emphasis on minimalism and purity, these are clothes that (normal) people will actually wear. I like it, and with a cool band playing in the background and free eye candy, I am riding on a cloud of pure bliss.
Here are some interesting looks I saw at Lincoln Center today! Enjoy!
The Fashionista Next Door