Yep. I went to Fashion Week.
Yes,
that Fashion Week. The one you hear about and see pictures of. I was there. And it was incredible.
I'll be honest, when my neighbor (no, not that one) said he could get me and a friend into a fashion show I thought, "Oh, that would be fun." Fun doesn't even begin to describe it.
A few days before my date with Fashion Week, I was really worried about what I was going to wear. I'm not really in to fashion. I like to look good, but these days I just feel like I don't have the brainpower or the money to put into looking fashionable. And I really don't like shopping. At all. So I rummaged through my closet and tried to find something that would look good among really fashionable people.
On Saturday, I took my friend
Melanie with me and we arrived at the backstage entrance to the Porter Grey fashion show we were going to attend. Matt (the awesome neighbor) told me to text him when we got there. We waited for a few minutes and I started to worry. Maybe Matt forgot that we were coming. Maybe there was some security issue and he won't be able to let us in. Maybe it was just a joke and he was never really going to get me into a fashion show.
Enter Matt.
He gave us our security passes and took us backstage to show us where the models get their hair and make-up done. Then he showed us where the models get dressed and ready for the show. People were staring at us as we walked by. Someone even asked Matt over the radio who we were. I tried to look like I was an uber famous person that only other uber famous people knew. I don't think anyone fell for it.
After the backstage tour Matt took us to where the fashion show was going to be. This particular fashion show was not a runway show. It was a presentation. The models didn't walk down a runway. They stood on a stage where photographers and invited/ticketed guests could go right up to them and look at the clothes. Melanie and I watched as people came in and out to look at the collection. In all honesty, I felt a little out of place. Like I said before, I don't know much about fashion and I felt like everyone there knew it.
|
designers being interviewed |
Enter Matt. Again.
As we left the show Matt asked if we had to leave. We said we could stick around for a while longer and he told us to head into the lobby and he would find us in a few minutes. And that's where the fun began.
|
I swear I looked better than this when I was getting ready. |
Sponsors. Swag. Professional photographer to take our picture. I chuckled as Melanie told the photographer that we were stay at home moms when he asked what we do for a living. Just a few moms who happen to know the head of security of Fashion Week. That's all.
We walked around for 20 minutes and then Matt said he could get us into another show. He took us in and we watched the models rehearse their walk down the runway. Then everyone started to file in. Famous fashion people and celebrities were being interviewed while famous people chatted with other famous people. Melanie and I were standing behind the last row of chairs which had a great view even if we were standing. Then Matt motioned for us to come and sit. On the second row. The row right behind the first row. The row with famous people. We sat down and I looked at Melanie with wide eyes. We were in the second row of Son Jung Wan's runway show at New York Fashion Week. I didn't even know who Son Jung Wan was. But we were sitting in the second row so who cared!
The lights dimmed and the pumping music started.
I don't know if it was the loud music, but I was totally caught up in it all. The clothes were amazing (well, most of them. Some of them were weird, but what do I know.) The models were stunning. It was incredible.
|
sa-curity |
|
celebs |
|
The picture doesn't do the color of this dress justice |
I've often thought that there is a whole other side to the world that I don't get to see, mostly because I'm not famous or rich. But that day I got to see a little bit of it. It will go down as one of the neatest things I've gotten to experience while living here.