Without further adieu, the rundown.
Wednesday night was the calm, before the storm. I finished packing just after midnight which was also the same time I realized I’d forgotten to paint my nails & backup my computer (Thank GOD I took the 12 minutes to do this. We’ll get to that utter & complete bullshit on Day 2). I fall asleep mid upload (typical) leading me to forget to pack my leather vest. Fail. I wake up on my second alarm in a cold sweaty panic, positive it was 9am & I’d missed my bus. Just kidding. It’s 5:09. IN THE A EFFING M.
I’m packed. One hard shell suitcase & my Gigi tote. Gawd, I love this suitcase. With it’s 360 degree wheels & it’s hard she– I see a wheel roll out in front of my feet. You’ve got to be shitting me. This is the second time in less than 6 months & only the third time using this bag. I curse Heys, swear I’ll never purchase another bag from them again, wipe my sweat off my face (since I’m toting the felt fedora, I just HAD to bring, around on my head), & transfer everything into the only other suitcase in my apartment: a carry-on half the size of the original suitcase. At this point, clothing is no longer folded & I’m just trying to make sure that what was once in one suitcase is now in a carry-on, the H&M duffle that saved my life, & my Gigi tote. So much for being organized. I’m going to need to flirt with someone, anyone, to get this extra bag on the bus.
Evidently, cursing at a suitcase takes more time than I’d realized because I’m still at my apartment 9 minutes before my bus leaves. Gurl WUT. I’ve never run so fast in my life. Picture that for a minute. Running with the suitcase & the two bags & the hat & then one of the bags falls down my arm but ain’t nobody got time for to stop & readjust & more running.Yep. That’s a day maker right there. I’m the first one in line for the bus. Did I miss it? Was it canceled? Did the pickup location move? I frantically search for the confirmation email. I’m about to call Vamoose HQ when the bus casually rolls up. Asshole.
955am: The approximate time that, for the second season in a row, I realize I am going to miss the BCBG show that starts at 10. I really need to get my act together & get up to the city on Wednesday night. I curse out loud which solicits one hell of an aggressive eye dagger from the mother with children behind me. Whatever dude, it’s your fault for bringing your child out in public. Okay, but actually, my bad. I watch the first show of the season from my phone, softly sobbing as each look turns the corner & floats down the runway. I’ve never been more aware of the fact that I’m on public transit in the middle of oh, I duno, Philly, since it took this bus driver 6 hours to get from DC to New York. That’s not fair, I’m exaggerating. It was 5 hours & 39 minutes. For the rest of the ride I try to distract myself from FOMO by blogging. It doesn’t help. Since I’m stalking my social media channels, I see that Blair has shown up in this which immediately ignites a firey hatred for everything I’ve packed.
I shoot off this tweet which not many of you find as funny as I found it. What’s wrong with you guys? Are you still sleeping? You must be sleeping. I hail a cab at Madison Square Garden & catch a pungent whiff or urine. Welcome to the Big Apple. I’m still sulking about missing BCBG & I still don’t get why guys aren’t getting this humor. I arrive at my home for the next 4 days & quickly start primping: I need an addition of makeup & nail polish to this situation. I’m getting ready alone so I have no one to tell me that what I’m wearing is or is not borderline Pretty Woman. I convince myself that the bralette situation is, indeed, a good one & start making moves towards the door. 6 seconds later, 82 thoughts have raced through my head & I’m back in the mirror moving my torso in ways it would never actually move in public or ever in life but I need to ensure things stay put no matter what kind of day DAY 1 turns out to be. It should also be noted that I have never worn this top before & WHO KNOWS how sturdy the straps are. In the meantime, it’s 1:47pm & Michelle texts me saying they haven’t let anyone up the elevator to the presentation yet. It was supposed to start at 1:30, & I have Tadashi at 2:30 at another location. I suck it up & cab it to Lincoln Center for Tadashi, all the while I’m catching glimpses of the presentation on Instagram & my FOMO is literally on another level.
Tadashi Shoji is my favorite show for so many reasons. He’s a baller. He just really is. & one of the most kind human beings I have ever met. It was the first ever runway show I ever attended at Fashion Week, a few years ago, & that’s not a feeling you ever forget. His collections are always stunning & the music during the show is the best match of music for performance I have yet to see which makes the experience that much better. Check out all of the looks from the runway here.
After Tadashi ends, I stay close for Desigual which is pronounced Dee-say-gwal. I know this because someone corrected me after I said, ‘Design-jew-al’. Yea. There was never an ‘N’ in that. Anywhere. Ever. I’m standing, per usual, so I hang in the
line cluster-eff of a mosh pit the standing line has turned into. I lose time entranced by this lipstick hat fascinator-as-a-hat situation on this 5 foot nothing woman’s head. There’s also a scrunchie involved. I can’t. I snap out of it when some 50 something woman with a headset decides she’s going to let only Priority Standing ticketholders in. OK, I can get with that. But then she unhooks one of the black ropes. Ohhh, lady. The crowd stampedes. & I mean, stam.pedes. She shouts to someone to close the doors but homegirl, it’s too late. At this point, I’m in & seated next to an old favorite chatting about being 100 feet away from Olivia Palermo & if, in fact, she’s making eye contact with me. She did. OMG. We’re best friends. I wonder if she’ll invite me to her wedding?
Wait, you were seated? I thought you said you had a Standing ticket. Dude, I did. But sometimes, planets align & baby Jesus rewards you for venturing out into the world, fearless, in those 5 inch stilettos, & places you next to the younger headset lady that offers you a seat since Joe Schmo doesn’t show up. Seat havers go first. Then standing. If seat havers don’t show up, PR moves standers into empty seats. Sometimes, standers go rogue & take a seat on their own hoping that particular seat owner doesn’t enter just before the doors close & call them out. Desigual is always a light & fun show. The line is designed by multiple designers, the models are flirty & smile the entire time (which is an anomoly during this week), & the music is catchy. This cropped goodness turns down the runway. I must have it. & then Adrima Lima walks, I choke on my gum, & snap as many pics as I can. She’s stu-nning. The models pair up for the final walk & toss rose petals & kisses at the photographers. Then this happens. & we all laugh. Silly models. So tired. Go eat another cube of cheese.
This image was taken from the video linked above. You’ll learn why it’s not my picture tomorrow.
Old friend, with her 5 foot nothing friend who became my new bffl for the night, caught up with sparkling sake in the tents. Got a little tipsy & decided it would be a beyond fabulous idea to create a “Sh*t We Said At Fashion Week” post. I’m still marinating on that idea. It’s time to document our look so outside the tents we go, to a little corner where we can take our outfit photos in peace.
I head across the street to the Empire Hotel to recharge my phone, iPad, & feet. This is the point in the day where I’m furiously scribbling down the details from each day to blog about later. A cute boy walks by. He comes back. Are we going to fall in love? IS THIS GOING TO BE A NEW YORK ROMANCE!? He asks for my drink order. So close. Em & I reconvene after she’s done with her final presentation of the day & decide that the Schutz Fall launch party is more important than cheeseburgers at this point. We will come to learn that nothing is ever as important as cheeseburgers. The party was kickin’ & the shoes in their new collection is HOT. Cannot wait to get my hands on some of those bad boys. I’m on my third glass of champs & gently casing that actor/waiter with the fried risotto balls when all the sudden people start squealing & swarming. I have no idea what’s happening but I need to remove myself from this situation. There’s zero room & I’m claustrophobic. I rejoice in the fact that I’m about a foot taller than everyone else & can come up for air. Oh, it’s just Alessandra Ambrosio. No big deal. & yes, those are real.
Our stomachs are screaming so we trek to the Stylelist party in hopes of pizza & new friends that will help us know where to find pizza. After all, I’m with two New Yorkers but, still, our need for Fashion Week fun is outweighing our need for food. Amateurs. The party is gorg, my new Stylist fam is even more fab in person than they are over 800 emails, & there’s pizza. That they put down. At our table. OMG NOM. We inhale about two entire pizzas in less than 10 minutes. Class goes out the window when you’ve been on your feet since 5am. I was about to eat a napkin. After taking in one more breathtaking view, I decide it’s time to head home to prep this post & to get a little beauty rest for day 2.
& then Jackie texts me. My East vs. West girls want to meet up for drinks. I decide to be selfish & invite everyone over to my hotel bar in the middle of Times Square which isn’t inconvenient for anyone else AT ALL. Thanks for being champs, ladies. This reunion is always one of the best & everyone brought a few roommates & friends this time. Even better. I’m going to dedicate 60 minutes to new friendships & then I’m out. 6 glasses of ice water later it’s 12:30 & this little panda bear needs her bed. I head upstairs, finish writing a piece that needs to be submitted before 9am EST the following morning, & fight heavy eyelids + head bobs. 30 minutes of writing in the dark, I call it quits. I can wake up tomorrow morning to finish. Yea, I’ll do that. I throw an SK-II mask on & call it a night. If I’m only getting 5 hours of sleep I might as well get a little face hydration.
Recap: a 19 hour day on 4 hours of sleep & 5 inch heels. Nailed it.
Do you care about this? Should I just post the outfits? Should I keep recapping my days but divulge more NYFW secrets? Spill it.