Sorry for my mini-hiatus at the tail-end of last week. After sleeping ~3 hours a night through Fashion Week, when my friend Tara arrived to celebrate my birthday with me this past weekend we spent the first two days eating and napping on rotation. And honestly, it was so needed. Between running from Uptown to Downtown and back again in stilettos and attempting to be less than ten minutes late for a seemingly endless stream of events, I end up on auto-pilot and I think I only snapped out of it….five minutes before I wrote this post.
If you follow lots of bloggers, you know we all go on about how Fashion Week is an exciting and spectacular mess of events that leaves us all with exhaustion and a hangover, but to really get the play-by-play I love reading the in-depth accounts the Hallie posts over on Corals + Cognacs. There is not a more hilarious way of reading how a typical Fashion Week day goes down, and you’ll really feel like you are there! As for myself, the days all meld together, and I should really take notes next time!
On a typical day, I wake up early assuming that I will have enough time to get ready AND take the bus (I am such an optimist). Then I decide last minute to change everything about what I thought I wanted to wear. By the time I try to hail a cab (since there’s no time for the bus), I am running up and down the streets in heels yelling at all the 9 to 5ers trying to grab cabs downtown. As a last minute stroke of genius, I order an Uber and pace nervously on the sidewalk awaiting its arrival.
When I finally hit the west side, I make a pit-stop at where ever the beauty bar is that day and have them fix my hair. I am terrible at doing my own hair, and could not survive fashion week without these cosmological angels. After touching up my lips gloss, I run either to backstage or my seat at whatever show it is that I am already late for.
Of course the next shows are at some lofty industrial space that is nowhere near Lincoln Center and I have three minutes less to get there than Hopstop is telling me it will take me. Photographers are snapping photos everywhere, but at this point I am so frazzled I know there is no way I am looking high-fashion. CHeck out mow my boots are untied in the below photo.
After the next show, obviously I have to head back to Lincoln Center. (I don’t know who plans it this way, but it is so crazy.) By the time the shows are over, I realize all I have had to eat are the mini-cupcakes at the beauty bar and I binge on something I would NEVER eat any other time of year and head to the after-party of the evening.
It is always at some hotel of note, The Empire, The Andaz, The Highline Hotel, The Row, take your pick. There’s an open bar and tons of beautiful people, and I can never decide if I should stay and de-stress with some drinks or fall face-first in my pillow before getting up to do it all over again. And it’s awesome. I mean the wardrobe inspo is just endless, and everyone is inspiring to talk to, plus there’s practically all kinds of cool samples and free crap practically being thrown at you. I feel so blessed to be among the handful of people thrown into this madness each year, but I am also okay with the fact that I am not doing it again in London right now. Maybe next time, right?