Fashion Week: Is It A Bad Joke At A Funeral?

PREFACE: It’s been a while since I hit submit on a post. I don’t have an excuse. I’m not going to be all, “uhh writer’s block, and I suck… and Trump’s a dick hole so it’s HIS fault :::shakes fist:::… THAT’S why I haven’t written.” I mean all of those things are true AND valid, but alas I’m not going to do that. Now that we’ve covered that…

As I sit here on my couch, binge watching coverage of Hurricane Irma and stuffing my face with caramel and milk chocolate covered pretzels (yeah… they are tiny slices of heaven), I can’t help but have this super eery feeling like it’s the end of times. DACA, hurricanes destroying the country, everyone suddenly feeling like it’s 100% okay to be a full blown racist again, and the fact that Hillary Clinton is STILL not our President. I mean fuck us… right?

And now it’s fashion week. Usually I’m all about it. I stalk Twitter, I watch the live shows on my phone, and I’m pretty sure I’m the last standing Tidal member, because I originally downloaded the app to watch the Yeezy fashion shows and never really deleted it, so you’re welcome Jay z and Kanye West, you’re welcome. Enjoy my $9.99 a month.

Obsessed would be an understatement when it came to fashion week. It gave me joy and a sense of peace in the vainest way possible. I would sit there watching these beautiful fashions, dreaming of the day I would get to watch the shows live, and everything felt better.

But fashion week this year feels… trivial. And let me be very clear that it makes me want to vomit that I actually typed out that sentence. It just feels really fucked up for me to go on Twitter right now and tweet, “I would sell my mother’s soul for that Marc Jacob’s jacket #NYFW,” like I normally would, when Florida is about to get Day After Tomorrow-ed. I can really only compare it to loudly saying something inappropriate at a funeral.

I’m seeing these fantastic fashion folk I follow on Instagram showing how busy they are and how they plan to survive fashion week, and while I normally would be thinking, “you lucky bitch, I want your life… where did I go wrong?,” I’m kind of just like… “uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ssstttttttttoooppp.” Like I want to watch their fabulous stories of running from show to show with envy, but I’m watching between two fingers as I cringe.

I get it. It’s fashion week. It’s an institution and these very talented people worked tirelessly to put on these shows. They didn’t know Donald Trump would actually get elected, then would decide climate change wasn’t a thing, and then weirdly have 45 hurricanes destroy numerous cities in the US. I mean HOW could they know that?

We shouldn’t have to sit shiva just because the world is crumbling around us. But I needed the world to know I feel very uncomfortable oogling over the fashions this year. If you see me tweet anything about fashion week, in my brain I will be doing so, peering around an imaginary corner with binoculars, quietly whispering to myself, “Alexander Wang is a genius. Satan, here is my mother’s soul, now give me the entire collection.” Oh yeah… “#NYFW.” As I try to quietly crunch on my popcorn, trying not to make a sound. That’s how I will be tweeting, if I even decide to. Which again I probably won’t, because, like I said, I’m SUPER uncomfortable. Am I the only one?

Now that’s off my chest, I’m sincerely sending my love to everyone suffering in any way. Stay strong, kids.

Al Gore rules. PEACE. 

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Style Stud: Fall 2014

Even though I find myself in a pile of pathetic tissues crying over the fact that I’m not at New York Fashion Week (whoa as me), I decided to take some time to share with you some of my favorite looks so far. Day Two and I’m already craving fall 2014, which is ridiculously because it’s like zero below out and I’m thoroughly sick of drudging through disgusting slush and SHOULD be craving spring … but in my opinion spring/summer collections just aren’t as intense, am I right?

So enjoy this little taste of Fall 2014 from a far.

Richard Chai

RichardChai

BCBG MAX AZRIA

BCBGMAX AZRIA

Dion Lee

Dion Lee

Rachel Comey

Rachel Comey

Tadashi Shoji

Tadashi Shoji

Lisa Perry

Lisa Perry

Packing For NYFW

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Photo credit: http://slightlyhipster.blogspot.com/2012/04/and-we-lived-happily-ever-after.html

As much as the idea of going to New York Fashion Week makes me the happiest person on the planet (no seriously, I would sell my mother to go again), the thought of having to pack for it makes me sweat profusely.

I’ve seen all these fashion folk on Twitter stressing about what to pack for fashion week. And as much as deep down I’m saying, “seriously, shut the hell up, you are going to Mecca and you don’t even care …I hate your face a little,” I kind of sympathize with them.

I’m a notoriously bad packer. If I’m going to a tropical place where all I need is a couple of bathing suits and cover ups, I’ll end up bringing like a ball gown, a suit in case, you know, I get a job interview, and a sweatshirt and sweatpants … because wonder if a freak cold front hits Jamaica?! The what-ifs destroy me … and my packing methods … or lack their of.

Going to Fashion Week for the first time was intimidating. Do you dress avant-garde to set the style standard and get noticed by Street Style photogs? Or do you go the “all-black editor route” and just be a wall flower? Well, I went the “all-black editor route” and paired it with fierce 4-inch heels with spikes going up the back for a little jazz, if you will. I had this awful vision of dressing to impress and having Street Style photogs beg for my photograph, because I’m THAT cool, and as I placed my hand on my hip to pose, I topple over my 4 inch heels only to be left a fashion disaster on the steps of Lincoln Center. Yep, all-black wallflower it is.

Options are a must. I like all of my options in front of me so I can pick and choose and play around. The idea of planning ahead and thinking about what to wear to what show specifically … well … like I said … makes me sweat profusely. My biggest fear would be getting dressed, looking for that bold gold cuff I have, and realizing I didn’t bring it … leaving me desperately craving it and feeling unfinished. How do you go on?!

So with all of that being said, unless I can bring my entire wardrobe, like Kate Winslet-style in Titanic, I have no interest in going to silly New York Fashion Week. Psh :::flips hair::: The style stress alone would kill me, because God knows I would pack jean shorts and a crop top instead of my go-to LBD. Ahh how glorious it is to be stress-free. Jealous, fashion folk?

Clearly just kidding. Don’t mind me … that is just my Fashion Week FOMO talking. :::Sigh:::

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 …