I hate Fashion Week.
There. I said it.
I’m not really a fashion and beauty writer—my beat is more pop culture and celebrities—so usually, Mercedes-Benz New York Fashion Week isn’t one of those things that I spend lot of time covering. Of the shows in previous years that I HAVE been to, none of them have even been at New York Fashion Week’s mother ship, Lincoln Center. But this year, I (perhaps unfortunately) came up with a really good story idea: An account of what it’s like to go to Fashion Week when you really, REALLY hate Fashion Week.
And so, Diary of a Fashion Week Hater was born.
Back in June, I actually moved a few hours outside New York, so I knew when I started planning this whole to-do that I would need to dedicate an entire day running around the city. So, this past Saturday, I got up bright an early and put on my Fashion Week armor (So I put on my armor in the form of a navy blue dress with a bicycle print from Eshakti, black lace tights, and what my dad calls my Tank Girl boots (Pink and Pepper’s ‘Opera’ booties in Black), finished off with amethyst eye shadow and mulberry nail polish from Sonia Kashuk’s Fall 2013 collection and a burgundy lip from CARGO and headed into the city for the day.
Here’s how it went:
My ‘hip New York blogger’ costume.
11:30am: I arrive at Lincoln Center. Only during Fashion Week can you see grown women sporting enormous pink tulle skirts and matching sequined “Dream Teen” crop tops at 11 o’clock in the morning. My first event is at noon—a trip backstage at Mara Hoffman.
In my bicycle dress and “of-the-moment” Fall 2013 makeup, I feel a little like I’m disguised. It’s reverse camouflage: At Fashion Week, you don’t dress to blend in with your surroundings such that you become invisible; you do it such that you become as eye-catching as possible.
11:45: Since I’ve only covered off-site Fashion Week shows before, I end up in the wrong location to go backstage at Mara Hoffman. At least the security guard at the main entrance is nice enough to point me in the right direction; I head back through the plaza, hang a right, and go all the way around back. Signage when I get to 62nd St. helps.
11:55: Find correct location and check in. I’m early, so the gals at the table—all dressed in black—tell me to hang out until they’re ready to let us in.
12:05pm: A crowd is gathering; although our media check-in time was noon, they appear to be running late backstage.
Nothing makes me feel quite as short as Fashion Week. I’m surrounded by women who are all six feet tall and made of legs.
12:12: Still waiting. My back is starting to hurt. I knew I shouldn’t have worn heels,
12:21: We’re finally allowed in! After hanging a green press badge around my neck, the mass of media and myself file in, head down the hallway, make our way into a room marked “MARA HOFFMAN – BACKSTAGE 1 – HAIR/MAKEUP,” and…