What Anna Says Goes

annawintour_getty_650145a1After watching Anna Wintour answer 73 random questions, which to the normal person would be exciting, but to her looked truly painful, I got to thinking. Wonder if Anna Wintour asked me to do something?

Now, I’ve never met Anna Wintour, and I’m not sure Caroline Wozniacki has either. Who knows, they could be wearing matching BFF bracelets for all I know. But according to an article, Anna Wintour told Ms. Wozniacki (who is a Danish tennis player … it’s okay, I had to Google her, too) to cut her hair. Really? Cut her hair?

Alas, Caroline did it. She got a hair cut. Why? Because Anna suggested it. My mind exploded. You should only get your hair cut if you want to, or have such bad split ends you need to, not because a powerful stranger told you to do so, right? And how insulting. Why don’t you just tell me I look like crap instead of dancing around the obvious. I was outraged, thoroughly.

And then I remembered … it wasn’t just a powerful stranger that told Ms. Wozniacki to get her hair cut. It was Anna Wintour. The most powerful and most influential woman in the fashion industry. With that being said, she knows her shit. It’s not like your Aunt June from Nebraska who always liked you with a bowl cut.

So then I put myself in Caroline’s shoes. If I got the pleasure of sitting next to Anna Wintour during fashion week, and she actually acknowledged my existence … after I tried to inconspicuously take a selfie with her in the background all the while nerding out, I would almost instantaneously become her bitch. Why? Because it is Anna Wintour. If the woman “suggested” I rip off my dress because it was so ugly her eyes were beginning to burn, I would rip that baby off like it was put together with velcro. No ifs ands or buts. It would be my pleasure. And only because I would have the comfort of knowing because Anna suggested it, I would be applauded for it, instead of laughed off the fashion week runway.

Basically, after a lot of thought and contemplation … I would most likely do whatever Anna Wintour told me to do. Dye my hair blonde. Shave my head. Wear hot pink all day errday. Like the pavement in Times Square. Sign me up. Why? Because well … A. I would be slightly scared of what would happen if I ever disagreed with her and B. after years in the industry, and months and months of putting together a pretty rad magazine … ya gotta trust the woman … unless she asked me to lick the pavement in Times Square, then she truly is a sadistic witch.

A Plea to Pajamas

stylesight-intimate-details-new-york-fashion-week-fall-winter-2013-marc-jacobsDearest PJs,

What happened to our relationship? Did I keep you in my “comfy pant” drawer for too long? Was it that I spent too much time with my ratty, hole-ridden sweats? I know rebellion when I see it, and I’m on to you, my friend. Fed up with just being the “go-to-guy” for special occasions like Christmas morning, you busted out of the shadows and into the control of designers like Marc Jacobs.

Your silky touch used to soothe me whilst under the covers, and now you are too busy turning your nose up at us “normal folk” while strutting your stuff on some of the biggest Fashion Week runways. I realize I treated you badly. I realize I never made the effort to match your tops with your bottoms. I realize I may or may not have gotten bleach stains all over you. And oh those nights when we would fight … you would annoy me to the point where I found myself ripping you off and throwing you to the ground. :::sigh:::

But know that I adore you, my comforting friend, I just don’t want to wear you out on the town or to work. I don’t want to wear you with heels. I don’t want to have to put on red lipstick and style you senseless. It’s not you … it’s me. I want you curled up on my couch with me, snuggled under the covers and styled with a messy bun sans makeup with a glass of wine in my hand. But alas … you are too busy throwing away what we had to rub shoulders with glamorous models and actresses on the red carpet.

I realize if Marc Jacobs told me to jump … I would be more than tempted to say how high, but try and be you. For I cringe every time I see a group of normal women in a store, women who don’t have or can’t afford a stylist, surrounding themselves around you exclaiming things like, “what the HELL am I supposed to do with these?!

You’re about to put lots of fantastic women on the Worst Dressed List. In fact, Joan Rivers is licking her lips in anticipation to have her way with you. Stop being silly … and come back to where you belong.

The “Comfy Pant” Drawer Ain’t The Same Without You,

Life Sucks In A Strapless Bra

Life Is A Party, Let’s Get Out And Strut

Okay … so this is slightly embarrassing. And when I considered perhaps not writing about this topic for fear everyone would point and laugh, I then thought to myself … you really aren’t a true female, or male in some instances, until you’ve done this. From tomboys to Barbie dolls … you’ve thrown on your music of choice, stood in front of your mirror and danced around slash model walked like an idiot. Whether you were trying on outfits, just plain ol’ rockin’ out, or pretending you were Kate Moss (she’s my end all be all favorite model) … it has happened. Right? Nod your head because you know it has. So therefore, I’m not afraid to admit that I do slash have done this. Why? Because God dammit it feels good.

I’m, as I’m sure you are well aware if you’ve met me or read this blog in the past, that I’m absolutely obsessed with fashion shows. If I could park myself in the tents at Lincoln Center for the entire week, I literally would be in ecstasy. I would be a-okay with someone shooting me when it was all over because there would be absolutely no need to go on.  Why do I love it so much? No, it isn’t just the designer labels, fancy slash famous people running amok, or the clothing I couldn’t afford unless I sold my mother on the black market … no. I mean that shit is cool too … but for me, it’s the show, the energy, the big picture if you will. The lighting, the strutting and the music. Oh the music. And that takes me to my point (finally, I know).

I LOVE me some good strutting music. Life doesn’t get much better than when you get a chance to strut. I bet you are pulling a Carrie Bradshaw right now and saying to yourself, “Strut? Do I strut? Am I a strutter?” My answer to that question is EVERYONE is a strutter. EV-ER-Y-ONNNNEEE. Or if you don’t think you are, try it for the love of God. Throw on a pair of heels or not and get your Kate Moss, heroin chic look on. No, I’m not one of those fools that thinks she is totes model material. GOD no … the opposite if anything (I’m a realist for Christ sake). But I do like to practice for funsies.

And sometimes when I’m listening to my Pandora station that I could absolutely make out with throughout the day (yes, I’ve trained it to play exactly what I want), on my car rides home or just when I’m listening to my iTunes … I hear songs that spark a strut in me. So I’ve decided to compile a list of the best songs to strut to. So ladies and gents, if you’ve never cleared your room or living room and made a fake catwalk, this is your homework for the weekend. Close the blinds or do it after a few or a few too many cocktails … whatever pulls that strut out of you. Enjoy, be free, pull out the inner model in you because, well, “YOLO” as the kids are saying these days.

I’m telling you. EVERYONE needs to have a mental fashion show once or twice in their lifetime. And here are some strutspiration songs that will rip it out of you, ahem:

1. Superstition by Stevie Wonder

2. Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand

3. So Happy I Could Die by Lady Gaga

4. Stayin Alive by the Beegees (Duh)

5. Bittersweet Faith by Bitter:Sweet

6. Lonely Boy or Howlin’ for You by the Black Keys

7. Hands in the Dark by the Chromatics

8. Vogue by Madonna (Duh)

9. I Remember by Kaskade and Dead Mau5

10. Evil Woman by ELO

11. Shining Star by Earth Wind and Fire

12. Epoca by Gotan Project (If I ever have a fashion show, this will be the song, I don’t care if it was in a Tide commercial or something like that )

13. Clint Eastwood by Gorillaz

14. Hella Good by No Doubt

15. Son of a Gun by Janet Jackson

16. What We Talkin’ About by Jay-z

17. Shadowplay by The Killers (I realize Joy Division originally sang this, just to be clear)

18. Are You Gonna Go My Way by Lenny Kravitz

19. Midnight City by M83

20. Cosmopole by Cantoma

I Would Sell My Soul To Go To Fashion Week

Every time I say that, I always wait for the devil to appear in a cloud of smoke uttering, “oh reeeaaaaallllyyyy?” But it never happens. I’m overly prepared for when and if that moment does occur because I will kindly hand him over my soul, which I imagine to look like some type of glowing orb, if he got me the hook up to all the best shows. I’ll sign on the dotted line, “I, Kate, happily give my to soul to Satan himself in order to work Fashion Week.”

I’ve been once and it was like taking a bite of the most to-die-for piece of cake you could never even fathom, but not finishing it and never seeing it again. Sigh. I went when it was still at Bryant Park and my friend and I technically didn’t have tickets. We just used fancy invites she had from another show to flash security when we walked up the steps and into the tents (shockingly easy), which might have been one of the coolest slash most insane moments of my young life … with all the paparazzi wondering if I was “someone,” but I’m pretty sure “someone” wouldn’t rock Forev 21 booties like I was … although those booties were fierce, I still have them.

So when we got in the tents, we just kind of melted into the background of all the madness and watched. It was very surreal, Alexander McQueen had just tragically took his own life and you could tell there was a stir within the tents about it. I won’t bore you with details but I became complete, to be ultimately cheesy. But I don’t just want to be a wallflower gazing at these fabulous people. I want to be in the hurricane of fashion. I want to be on my iPhone emailing, tweeting, updating my status, blogging and Tumbling all at the same time like a maniac, moving a million miles a minute. I don’t need to be sitting next to Anna Wintour in the front row, I just want to be in eye sight of the runway. That’s all I ask. I don’t even need a seat.

As much as I want to blog about what’s going on during Fashion Week, the message kind of loses it luster when I read about it from some site who read about it from some site, who heard about it from someone else who was sitting next to this person at the actual show. It pains me to say that, but it is true.

There are just places in life that you know you belong, and for me it is here. It bothers me so much when I hear people in the industry say how crazy fashion week is and how it is the week from hell. Jesus. Christ. Boo-frickity-hoo. I realize it is an insane week and never stops, but all of it makes my heart skip a beat. I know anyone would say I’m crazy and I would change my mind once I’ve been through it, but honestly I’ve been through intern boot camp, real life boot camp and beyond … bring. it. on. And no, I’m not in it for the free goods or the opportunity to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, or the chance to attend fantastic parties, I straight up just want to report the fabulous lines to all of my fabulous readers. It makes me giddy in fact … like school girl giddy … like holy shit David Beckham just told me I’m beautiful giddy.

So yeah, I’ve had a love affair with fashion week since I was in high school and randomly stumbled upon coverage on the Style Channel and sat there in awe with drool coming out of my mouth and knew I belonged there then. Since then I literally live on NYMag.com’s The Cut, since I find them to have the best coverage.

So yeah, Fashion Week starts Feb. 9, meaning I have two more days or so to sell my soul to the devil to get me there … until then I shall wait patiently …