NYFW S/S15 | Day 2 | Part 2

There’s been a lot of back & forth. So let’s get your mind right: We’re discussing this day. Not this day. P.S. Catch the first rundown here. Aaaand, go!

I like to refer to this as the day when what can go wrong, will go wrong. OK, I’m being melodramatic because almost the entire day was fab. But in all seriousness, shit is about to get real.

515am: I wake up to find Mich in my bed. I don’t hate it. But I am confused. Obviously, her night was a whole lot more eventful than mine.

645am: I wake up, for real this time, & finish an article I have to submit in an hour & 15 minutes. My mind. There are no words. Champagne. Help. I remember today is Friday, the only day this week I know exactly what I’m wearing. Because this muscle tee is both hilarious (CUZ IT’S FRIDAY) & appropriate for the overwhelming heat.

740ish: We enjoy our almost rooftop breakfast + all of the water. All of it. As an aside, things I don’t get: You guys ‘liked’ this picture 4x as much as pictures I snapped from the runway. It’s a picture of 6 waters, you guys. & a mediocre view out of a dirty window. I don’t get you people…

805: My roommates are getting their hair & makeup done. Maybe I should get out of bed & put makeup on. Eh, I’ll put forth some effort & at least hop in the shower to wash these stamps off my wrists from the night before.

#cablife: black + white, all day erryday

915: Eyeliner’s on, the perfect heels for Day 2 have been chosen & I’m out the door. My feet hurt. I need more fuel. & I forgot to put on mascara (something I don’t realize until about an hour goes by & I’ve met about 10 people. Thanks, assholes).

Yosi Samra flats. I want them all. Shop mine + theirs here:

10: The GiGi New York x Yosi Samra party is poppin’. Literally. Bottles of champs be everywhere. I decide to get a makeup touch up that includes mascara (facial documentation pre mascara) while I suck down a few champers & eat cake for breakfast. Not in the cute side-of-a-Kate-Spade-bag way but like actually chowing down on cake pre 11am. Breakfast of champions. Makeup’s done. I wiz by a mirror to check it as I’m on my way out the door for Zimmerman… I look like a tranny. Not like a cute tranny. Like a woman who looks like a man who is wearing an excessive amount of makeup because she’s trying to look like a woman. Fail. Thank goodness for makeup wipes. I wipe it all off, minus the liner & the mascara, in the elevator & run across the street to “the tents”.

12:15pm: I’m seated at Zimmerman. I’m WHA? This is – & I don’t care if you think this is vein – a big moment for me. This is the first seat I’ve gotten on my own. Like been invited. As myself. To sit. Not pretending to be someone else & not using a ticket of a friend who can’t be there. This is hard work, & dedication, & loving what I do paying off. May-jor moment.

shot from my spot at Zimmerman

12:30ish: Metallics are happening & I don’t hate it. What’s happening to me? A black jumpsuit emblazoned with gold embroidering struts towards me. I blackout. I come to a little too late to get an Insta worthy picture. That’s fine. The metallic Insta will do.

12:40ish: A friend texts me & asks if that’s my real picture from the show or if I took it off Style.com. Girl, what? Did I take a who from where now? No, dude. It’s my picture. Little do I know, this season, picture stealing, or whatever we’re calling it, is rampant. Like. RAMPANT. But, Megz, I like, still don’t really believe you. The lighting. The closeness. The amazingness of it all. Yea, girl, it’s called photo editing. The original iPhone picture I took is on the left. The image I posted to Instagram is on the right.

12:45ish:  Once I decide to not be butt hurt about the semi accusation & take it as a compliment (I guess??) I meet up with Emily to get Tresemme-d. Yes, it’s a verb. On the way up I spot cheeseburgers & a bar. CHANGE OF PLANS. I give my appointment to someone else & indulge in this deliciousness instead. There’s  E! streaming on the TV in the lounge. NAILED IT.

2:30pm: Time for the Trina Turk + Mr. Turk presentation. Which we didn’t realize was a presentation until we walked in. So. many. people. omgggg. This is one of those times I’m thankful I’m around 6 feet in heels. Emily’s taller. It’s hard to lose one another. The models are live instagramming the presentation. Wait, what? This is ah-mah-zing. I quickly decide to get in on the action before lines start forming for model selfies. I’m not mad about it. The presentation is held in one of the main runway tents. I take a picture of the entire venue & a picture of the empty pit where 100 photographers usually hunker waiting for the perfect picture during runway shows. None of these pictures appear here, as planned. You’ll find out why around 7 tonight.

bubbly Trina Turk presentation

3pm: Em’s headed downtown, or uptown, I don’t know New York lingo. She’s going somewhere that isn’t Lincoln Center. I pull up my Rebecca Minkoff ticket & head into the merriment that awaits (great thanks to the friend working backstage that helped make this happen). I have a seat. Score. Which means my feet get a break, I can use my lap as a desk, & I get a pair of these 3D glasses. I’m not sure how this is going to work but I’m jazzed about it.

 

3:30ish: Tassels. Oversized tassels are happening. It’s so good. I’m posting on Insta. Sam is freaking out via text. I send her the video I took of the finale. Pretty sure she blacks out. Chunky heeled shoes. They’re as good as the booties I saw at Marissa Webb. It’s going to be a season for footwear. This happens. FOR SPRING. I swear I’ll never wear color again. The live band is playing. The shoe goodness keeps coming. More tassels. I love Fashion Week. The last 5 looks are 3D, evidently. The lighting changes, I put on the glasses but nothing really happens. I’m in a perpetual state of OMG so maybe it’s just lost on me.

What a fine man repelling bee-hind.^^This is Leandra Medine, by the by. No big deal, we go WAY BACK

The show ends & we’re funneled out the door. I’m behind Coco Rocha & Leandra Medine. GIRL CRUSH CENTRAL.

Something happens here. I don’t remember what. & I have no notes. Damn, good for nothing notebook. I cab home, take all my makeup off, for the second time today & take a mini nap.

5:25pm: Time to make moves for Nicole Miller. I plug in my computer & upload my pictures. I’ll let these 300+ sync while I’m gone & just use my iPhone for this show. I’ve recently become the proud owner of the cutest monogrammed foldable flats thanks to Yosi Samra + GiGi New York. In a moment of sheer sillyness, I decide to walk. New flats, ample time, not 90 degrees plus humidity… swell. The show is grand. The floor is grander; Kicked off with a palm tree back drop & a killer first look. I love the pattern mixing within looks but black on black is still my favorite. I’m one of the first to get out of the show (score) since I was one of the last to get in. & I’ve decided I’m only going to wear Nicole Miller for the entire month of May. Oh wait, I’m poor.

6:45pm: I cab home & order a $28 quesadilla. In my defense it was $18 on the menu. Service fees are killer. I have dinner in a few hours. I turn on the tv to find a few SVU episodes on. YAS. I sit back in bed with my quesadilla (stop judging, this is my 4 hours of vacation), turn up the SVU, & yank my computer over to my side of the bed. All images have uploaded. Glorious. I choose to delete all images on my camera card since I’ll need the extra space & appropriately unplug my camera from my laptop. I eat a few triangles of cheese yummyness & look back to place these recently uploaded pictures into their appropriate folders I’ve already created. My screen is blank. Wait, my screen is blank? Sheer & utter panic immediately sets in. The obvious choice here is to completely freak the actual expletive out. I pace around the room whilst googling potential fixes. You know the feeling you get when you realize you’ve forgotten to pay your rent & you’ll get hit with a $200 late fee next month? It’s the same feeling you get when you’re about to hit the top of a rollercoaster. For your information, it’s also the same feeling you get when you lose 2 full days worth of pictures from New York Fashion Week. Roll your eyes (it’s just FASHUN), but compare it to a trip you’ve been saving up & planning for weeks. A trip you look forward to for 6 months. You’re picture happy for 2 days, not a care in the world. Except guarding that camera with your life. & then you lose the pictures. Doesn’t feel so great, does it? I cried. For like 30 seconds, a good three tears came out of my ducts. I’m not proud but it was a moment. I called my mom. We couldn’t figure it out. I google again. I text everyone who has ever used a DSLR or a Mac. Nothing. The pictures are gone. I sat on my bed for a solid 5 minutes staring at my blank screen. I called Apple. After an hour they told me to go into the store in Times Square. Just kidding. There aren’t appointments till Tuesday. Thanks, homie, I’ll be back home by then. This is actually still a situation I’m trying to figure out. I haven’t used the camera, the card, or the photo section of my laptop since that night in hopes Apple can somehow retrieve the images. I spend an hour at Apple anyways. I think about crying again & quickly realize that won’t solve anything. But shopping will. Nothing at Forever 21 looks good. Probably because my face is a sullen, fury filled mess. And I’m too filled with anger to venture anywhere that’s more than a block from my hotel. 4 floors of Forever 21 merch & I leave with nothing. Nothing looks cute. Nothing fits right. & everyone is irritating me. Time to crawl into my plush hotel bed & watch SVU reruns. I cancel dinner plans. & sulk in my hotel bed. With boxed wine. Because I’m an adult..

10:15 pm: I pull the covers over my head & assure myself that this funk will be gone when I wake up the next morning. This isn’t that big of a deal & I’ve got a solid 2 days of fashion magic left.

But my picturezzzzzzz :/

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All images are from my really fancy iPhone 5