My friend, fellow fashion week gallivanter, and StyleDefinedNYC comrade, Adrian Ramos, said, "Fashion Week, for me, isn't a week. It's like one long day." He sums up all of this madness impeccably. It's groundhog day.
This season, my without-a-doubt, must have staples for all of the shows, events, and everything in-between for Fashion Week were--
a staple hat
From orange to berry to turbans and large-brimmed hats.
That combination has become much more of my signature as of late, but for fashion week, it kept all of my various looks cohesive...and yes, recognizable.
...And, my utmost favorite photograph, me (being me) with my head-topping soulmates, style bloggers Valerie and Jean of the Idiosyncratic Fashionistas. These exquisite and inherently stylish ladies embody everything I aspire to be later on in life. One can dream, right? Ha.
Believe me, it is NOT all bright lights, air kisses, champagne and designerwear. That's a minute fraction of the Fashion Week enterprise. It's got chinks in its armor--er, I mean, studded moto jacket. We complain. A lot. There's incessant moaning to one another pre-show/post-show about... how badly our feet ache from these cute shoes, how there are no charging stations (gasp!) anywhere at these venues for our dying Iphones (Helloooooo! Fashion shows now occur in real-time--we NEED Internet every moment to update our social media and send immediate reactions to our bosses and fans alike!), how we've forgotten to eat for the past few days, how we're just sooooo over-booked and simply have no time to make it to all of the shows and parties we've been invited to attend, how that one street photographer caught me in the most awkward moment fixing my lipstick, how they cram way too many people into one show, and they simply shouldn't be inviting just everyone to these sorts of things, and mostly, how fashion week has lost much of the real focus on riveting fashion has transitioned into a huffy, puffy overblown pain in the ass, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. You can imagine the conversations. It goes on.
For me, the absolute worst part of New York in general and the amount of walking that's required, remains the damage on my feet AND on my shoes. It's both. And the damage...let's just say that it isn't in the least bit pretty. So, imagine fashion week, and the wear and tear on both my tootsies and the shoes. I mean, it's fashion week. It's hard to dress for both function, which we should be doing considering we're running from show to show to presentation to event to party all day and night. But, hey, I need to get around and remain alive, but I also realize that my photo is being snapped, and I everyone I see is sizing me up and analyzing my ensemble choice. I was literally bleeding as I typed the first few days. Envision--both heels in three separate places and along the sides. I had troll feet. BUT! Yes, there is a BUT! After boo-hoo-ing and attempting to mask the pain of every single step I took, I realized that someone out there--FASHION FIRST AID--a saint of sorts, in fact, had created just what I needed + more that would make my life four thousand times easier, in general. Well, fashionably speaking, per se. Unfortunately, this site's products can't fix every aspect of my life, but they come close. They offer solutions for every single wardrobe malfunction. I'm obsessed with their "Shoe Done It?" package for everything shoe-related as well as the "Fashion First Aid" kit for apparel touch-ups and fixes. My main-stays were the life-saving gel foot pads for every part of your foot, pens that helped me camouflage knicks in my heels and other spots, slip-guards for the soles of your shoes (Lord knows that these saved my life! Twice already!). Much more is included in these kit, but you should see for yourself. You're going to thank me for introducing you to this. Learn from this girl's mistakes and mishaps. Seriously, don't be that girl, sniffling with bloody feet in chipped sky-high heels with a gaping button-up shirt and drooping bra straps. Chin up and fix it. We've been rescued! Shop my picks below, or peruse for yourself. Go ahead and see how easy they make it.
Despite all of the aforementioned grievances, though, we live for just one or two of those special moments that occur and make all of the blisters and headaches absolutely, one hundred percent, worth it. Those glimpses, those eyes-ablaze, hair-tingling sights or interactions that solidify and affirm our involvement in this chaotic world of style, darling.
I was sitting on the terrace of the Meatpacking district's Standard Hotel on Friday, with the warm sunshine on my face, a light breeze blowing off of the water (albeit, the Hudson River), and surrounded by an outstanding-looking crowd while awaiting the start of the ever-talented, uber-ladylike Houghton runway show. Most notably, a sleeveless silk shimmer and chiffon gown with an organza scarf fluttered down the runway, billowing in the wind, just as if on cue with the weather gods of fashion week. It was a moment. I knew that I was meant to be right there, right at that very second, haunches on that bench seat that read A-37 at approximately 2:15 p.m.
Occasionally, yes, I admit it....I wonder what in the hell I am thinking when I am running myself ragged, all in the name of "making it" in New York. How cliché. How boring. Yawn. But, I believe that my higher power, God, as I know him (or her, for that matter), understands that I crave a little reassurance, and creates these tiny moments, these feelings in me that whisper. They're like subtle nods that will surely escape you, and typically do, if you're not fully present or even blink in that instant.
I don't need a slap on the back or anyone to blow up my ego, though.
A metaphorical wink and a half-smile go a long way.
Here's to more of those. More inner handshakes. More nods.