“You’re going to Fashion Week?” Such was the consistent response we received leading up to the glorious occasion. I took offense to that — honestly, have you seen my column mug? — but I saw our skeptical friends’ point. While I’m no Anne Hathaway circa The Devil Wears Prada, I wouldn’t say fashion is my everything — I just started watching Project Runway this year (I know, gasp), and am not an expert on the world of couture.
Still, who could turn down Fashion Week?
The event itself is surreal. Almost all the shows take place in Bryant Park underneath a tent that’s a distant cousin of Mary Poppin’s purse. If a tourist didn’t see the huge FASHION WEEK sign, he or she wouldn’t realize there was anything so spectacular taking place under his or her nose.
Inside the tent was an entirely different world. After waiting outside in a seemingly mundane line of other press-like types (all clearly more important than ourselves), we were invited inside, where we were greeted with muted chaos. I’m not sure what I was expecting — loud music, screaming divas, crying – but what we got in the designated Press Lounge (yes, that was what it was called) was a small, cramped space with tables, where photographers and writers from various publications — and countries — were busy uploading their photos on their MacBooks. With one notebook and a few cellphones between us, we stood out as well … not standing out.
Fashion Week is designed to make you feel as unimportant and insignificant as possible, (that is, unless you are remotely someone important or significant, and then, I am sure, they treat you like the queen you are, even if you aren’t all that special). Otherwise, you get pushed, shoved and yelled at by pretty much everyone you ask a question of.
But I digress.
In the center of the main part of the tent was an empty pool filled with rows of Lord and Taylor gift bags. I was immediately excited — who doesn’t want free shwag? — and plotted to get into the center circle so that I too, could have my goodies. But by some practical joke pulled by one of the Fashion Week Powers That Be, every single one of the bags was empty. After rifling through one and awkwardly setting it back (trust me, you don’t want to faux pas at Fashion Week of all places), I felt better after a few random people also went rifling through. I mean, honestly — how obnoxious is that?
Moving on past my materialism … surrounding that center island of trickery were hoards of people — people who, surprisingly, weren’t that much trendier than ourselves. There were a few oddities, specifically an old couple inexplicably dressed in matching yellow feathered zebra print. Don’t ask. We discussed dressing up ridiculously for some sort of sociological experiment, but were concerned that our flimsy press passes wouldn’t get us back in the door.
The shows we saw were decidedly more aesthetically pleasing. There are three stages at the main tent (as well as scattered events throughout the city we decided to skip), which, I’d guess, range in size and perhaps importance.
First up were Araks and Mara Hoffman. (One of Araks’ PR reps, Shirley Chien ’02, is an alumna of Cornell.) Just as I imagined, there are rows for the important people to sit in right near the catwalk —buyers, socialites and minor celebrities — while we common folk got standing room only. The entire room is white and entirely bare, save a blue lit opening hinting at the real excitement of backstage. There’s nothing like minimalism architecture to make you feel like you’re about to witness something crucial — or at least like you’re hanging out on the set of a science fiction film in the ’60s.
And then the show begins. The Araks show could best be described as Steve Urkle meets the commercial for MacBook Air, or at least the manila envelope featured in it: brown, high-waisted pants and shirts, loose fitting tunics and shifts, plaid … but it’s the details, I learned quickly, that set each designer and show apart. For Araks, the theme was retro, futuristic, nerdy chick — each model had slicked back, almost sterile looking hair (like the strict librarian before she tosses her hair down and becomes a sex kitten), large framed glasses and penny loafers with knee high socks and tassels that I covet, most walking somewhat hunched over.
If Araks is the strict librarian in the first part of the movie, than Mara Hoffman — who shared the stage and the hour with Araks — is that same librarian in the movie, when she breaks free of her tight binds and becomes a feral woman. I’ll say it: Hoffman’s show was by far my favorite of those we saw: both because of the clothing itself, and also because the tone she gave her show. The music changes from something punky to something with a dry, sandy beat . suddenly, the catwalk heats up, and you’re on a beach somewhere insanely exotic feeling, a pumping, party scene beach and not an insignificant one, either. The models had windblown, surf goddess-like waves, aviators, and an exotic beach goddess swagger … but what was most intriguing was the fashion itself: at least half of them were outfitted in woven headscarves. Whether the melding of Mideastern and Western cultures was a political statement or aesthetic choice, the juxtaposition (and clothing themselves) were both stunning and shocking, without seeming like anyone involved was trying too hard to seem avant-garde. My favorite item was a white and black pea coat with a hood attached, made more striking by the model’s red hair that peeked out.
The day continued in glamourously chaotic fashion.
Fashion Week, you’ve made a believer out of me. Just one request: next time, want to throw some goodies in that bag?
The catwalk wouldn’t be complete without its musical accompaniment. Some spins:
Araks:
“You Turned My Head Around” Dean and Britta Back Numbers
“Spoon” Can Ege Bamyasi
“Bring on the Lucie (Freda People)” John Lennon Mind Games
“I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight” Richard and Linda Thompson I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight"
“Courtesans” The Magnetic Fields Distortion
Mara Hoffman
"Batuka" Santana
"Paid in Full" Erik B and Rakim
"Paper Planes" M.I.A.
"When the Levee Breaks" Led Zepplin
"Hot Sand" Shocking Blue
"Rainin in Paradize" Manu Chao