I was fortunate enough to have been allowed backstage before the Want My Look show - part of Not Your Mother's Style360 -- a series of over a dozen runway shows showcasing different designers, makeup artists, hair stylists, nail artists, and models over a period of 3 days during New York Fashion Week.
Well, real- I guess, if you're using the word literally or whatever,
Anyhoot. I've been backstage at shows before, but never in a situation quite like this.
Dozens & dozens of models were being poked and prodded by makeup artist of 16 years, Orlando Santiago, midwest-born nail artist Alexis Irene, stylist Michael Costello, and last but certainly not least - the woman behind the hair, Michele Carrillo, and they were looking all the better for it.
Artists had to take models instantly from one look to another,
as the same models were walking in 3 back-to-back shows for different designers so ...
I was stressed.
Notably, the artists were not.
What really blew me away, though, is how each one of them took the time to speak with me, calmly and slowly, even (& especially) in the midst of absolute chaos.
While people in the fashion business can so often be mistaken for self-absorbed egoists w/ short tempers and a need for recognition, it's people like the artists (& models) (are models artists?) (was that offensive?) I saw that remind me that there are still people that do it for the love of the beauty behind it.
So thank you, NYM, for reinvigorating my faith in the fashion industry.
I am really self conscious about the brands that I wear.
and it SUCKS, guys.
For being the fashion capitol of America and all,
New York sure makes some pretty unstylish assumptions about people based upon their lack of designer items.
Which is annoying for several reasons reasons-
including, but not limited to, the fact that it's
just really annoying.
Also: How can we ever move forward stylistically as a country if our brains are stuck in the proverbial brand-conscious gutter??
I have no problem with the esteem that comes along with a quality item or a compelling story from an alluring designer,
but haven't we had this "It's-stupid-to-buy-a-brand-for-the-sake-of-buying-a-brand" conversation like
3,000,000 times by this point?
So why am I still judged upon the origin of my blouse
or the cost of my shoes?
Why is fashion currency still reliant upon physical signposts like "it" bags and seasonal sweatshirts
when we all know that the real relevance as far as fashion (and everything else ever) goes is thinking ahead of the game, rather than in line with it? Why are designer wears being used as a final products rather than tools?
Why is the fashion world still operating with a high school popular girl mentality?
Especially in a city that's supposed to be ahead of the curve?
And do I have to play the game in order to beat it? Is this just an NYC thing, or is it the same where you live?
Am I really becoming one of those obnoxious people that whines about how busy fashion week is?
Because if so-
punch me in my Céline trio bag and put me out of my misery.
Do you know how expensive those bags are??)
Here's the deal, though:
fashion week in NYC is busy.
It's busy for anyone who wants it to be busy.
I don't care how "successful" you are- if you live in NYC, you can find a way to make #NYFW (which, in case you weren't aware, only actually exists as a hashtag) a giant non-stop amalgamation of shows, presentations, meetings, collaborations, and a billion other buzzwords that sound important on social media.
So it understandably frustrates me when people complain about the "tedium" of "having" to "run between" to all of these "crazy" events.
In truth, you're either making your living from these events,
or you're doing them on the side out of your own free will so . . .
The only people who really get to whine about fashion week
are those whose industries are wholly unrelated to, yet still detrimentally affected by, fashion week:
i.e. über drivers who can't take one more "literally" without LITERALLY murdering the next girl who jumps in begging him to charge her phone and demanding he take her to
"L-I-N-C-O-L-N C-E-N-T-E-R like he couldn't tell by your white birkenstocks that thats where you were headed.
baristas at the Starbucks next to The Empire who have to deal with incessant special weird soy milk and splenda crap from girls who are too busy refreshing their Instagrams to properly articulate their orders.
hotel concierges lugging 400lbs of shoes up and down elevators to and from the rooms of unappreciative and impractically dressed women who remind them time and time again about how their load of Wang heels is "really really fragile".