Fashion Week: Roll Your Eyes At Me All You Want

I have a love-hate relationship with Fashion Week. Its easy to get caught up with everyone else who claims to hate it, usually just because they like to make snarky comments about anorexic models, socialites, gay men, and Anna Wintour. It's almost as though its the "cool" thing to do these days, so people can act as though the whole thing is soooo beneath them. I've been reading so much of this recently that I feel the need to come to its defense. Most of these people, its worth noting, have never actually attended any of the events and probably don’t have the first clue about fashion. There’s a great quote from The Devil Wears Prada that perfectly responds to all those people who act so condescendingly towards the fashion industry:

“Oh, okay, I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that lumpy blue sweater for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don’t know is that that sweater is not just blue, it’s not turquoise, it’s not lapis, it’s actually cerulean. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And I think it was Yves St. Laurent, wasn’t it, who shows cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you’re wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room.”

It’s funny, how in a movie that’s supposed to be a sardonic characterization of the fashion world, they actually got it spot on—-how, no matter what you wear, how much you oppose the trends, no matter where you shop, if you get your clothes from the fucking Salvation Army, at one point, anything you put on was created based on something that was sent down the runway. Granted, its not a perfect industry, and there’s a lot of fucked up things that happen within it, but keep that in mind.

That being said, there are also the people who hate fashion week because they HAVE been to the events, and they’re over it. Because every year it’s the same, and all the bullshit is the same. I know plenty of people like that, and it’s completely understandable. And for those who moan and wail about the city being taken over by models and fashionistas, I always wonder, am I missing something? Personally, I don’t notice anything different about New York, except for the fact that I know to steer clear of the Waverly Inn. And then again, there are the people who still go to all the events every year and still enjoy it just as much.

I’m somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. With the onslaught of Fashion Week every year, twice a year, I get a funny feeling in my stomach that’s a mixture of excitement and dread. Excitement because the parties can be fun, there’s always free booze, and most of all, I love to see the collections. Seeing the newest creations of designers I love gets me all giddy. What can I say? Fashion is my weakness. It’s my thing. Some people get excited for new technology, or when their favorite bands come out with new albums, or for a new film by their favorite director. It’s safe to say that I enjoy all of those, but clothes are my #1.

And then there’s the dread. Or I guess a better word would be anxiety. The ordeal of going through the party circuit can be more tedious than enjoyable in a lot of cases. It could just be me—I used to do the club scene a lot, but I got it out of my system a few years ago. When you start at 16, its bound to happen. To be honest, I don’t really understand why people do it in the first place. I’ve only ever enjoyed it—-hell, only ever partaken in it when I don’t wait in line and get VIP access. I know it sounds snobby, but why would I want to wait in line forever only to be tossed around by tons of sweaty bodies and spend twenty minutes elbowing my way to the bar only to spend another twenty minutes trying to get the bartender’s attention when I can sit comfortably or move around freely and either have drinks in front of me or served? It just seems logical, right?

I can remember writing a blog entry in London after going to Paper, and being so disillusioned with the whole thing. I was bored with the pretension, and the fakeness, and everyone just showing off how much money they have and how fabulous their lives are. The parties are all about who looks the best, who’s wearing the best clothes, who has the best table, who’s with the right people. It must be exhausting, trying so hard.

So, in order to actually enjoy Fashion Week, I take it in small doses. Making an appearance at the parties that would actually be more like fun than work. Bungalow 8 is usually a good choice because it’s small, selective, and I know the people there will treat me nicely. It was great for Zac Posen’s party in 06, and in 05 for…God, I can’t even remember whose party it was, J Mendel I think? But it was fun. I decided to stick with the ZP party again this year, also because my good friend Natasha works for Zac. This year it was at the grand opening of Mansion, a significant change from B8, most notably because Mansion is fucking HUGE. Not to mention there were several added elements of spectacle, like a contortionist, an opera singer, a gospel choir, and trapeze dancers. It was like a three ring circus in there, which was actually kind of nice because it added entertainment. The DJ wasn’t half bad either—he totally redeemed himself from playing Rihanna remixes by throwing on Justice. Moral of the story: I had a really good time.

And of course the social aspect is fun (in small doses). It’s always great to meet new people, and see familiar faces. I briefly sat with Tinsley Mortimer and Olivia Palermo, and apparently the one and only Julia Allison was there for a few minutes as well. In situations like that, I get a brief and all-too-familiar glimpse of what my life could have been like if I hadn’t run screaming in the opposite direction at every turn. Don’t get me wrong, I love where and who I came from and I know how lucky I am to have the upbringing I had, but following the same path as the kids I grew up with was not something I could bring myself to do. And if it means I would have to attend every single event during Fashion Week, then I definitely made the right choice. But really, it’s not all bad. When you scale it back to what its REALLY all about—the clothes, and celebrating all the hard work that’s gone into creating them—a little bit of excess is worth it.

And for everyone who still rolls their eyes in disgust, relax, it's over. That is, until September.

(Photos are on Flickr.)