Same circus, different tents." This slogan, emblazoned on shirts during Fashion Week in Bryant Park in 2009, was intended to capture a moment of fashion history, marking the end of the Bryant Park shows before the migration uptown to Lincoln Center. Yet, the slogan pokes devilish fun at the serious frenzy that is New York Fashion Week. The Mercedes−Benz Fashion Week (MBFW) calendar marks Feb. 9 as the official start date for the 2012 fall shows, but everyone knows that's only half the story. There are enough parties, after−parties, store openings and launch parties to leave anyone gasping for breath.
To begin, one needs to understand the lay of the land. One would like to think that all shows are conveniently centralized, but that is wishful thinking. There are two locations for MBFW: Lincoln Center and everywhere else. Everywhere else refers to places like Milk Studios, a photography studio overlooking the Highline, where the edgier, less traditional brands often show. If you're Alexander Wang, you always show in the drafty, cavernous space at Pier 59. But, if you're the cuff queen, jewelry designer Pamela Love, you present at Milk Studios. However, Lincoln Center is no ordinary tent. With three main runway venues, The Box for presentations, a huge vendor area with different sponsor booths and a VIP lounge from Mercedes−Benz, it is a small village constructed two weeks in advance.
Fashion Week is pretty frantic. Most of the time, I walk through the maze of back alleyways toward backstage, dodging makeup artists wielding brushes and applying thick strokes of eyeliner, blush and concealer to teenage models. In lieu of costume seamstresses, designers juggle pins in their mouths as they make last−minute changes to models' outfits. Though there may not be a fire−breathing man, there is a beat−thumping DJ who uses his thunderous speakers to deafen audience members.
At the beginning of the week, my naive self totters on a tightrope through the mess in high heels; by the end of the week, I deftly dart around in ballet flats toward the nearest headset (aka PR rep) and ask for the designer. Then comes the pass from the backstage to the audience. I train my eyes to snipe anyone worthy of an interview: editors, little ones in the front row (kids says the chic−est things!), stylists, celebs, bloggers, DJs and socialites. In recent years there has been a noticeable dearth of A−list celebrities. Yes, they show up for the big shows like Calvin Klein and Alexander Wang (thank you, Kanye's bodyguard, for running me over after the show), but in general there have been fewer "sightings."
Ironically, when B− or C−list celebs emerge wearing something that a PR girl sent over the day before, an insane swarm of photographers and reporters clamor for a photo op or three−minute interview. Many a time I have witnessed an explosion of flashbulbs, expecting Beyoncé to emerge from the masses, before bursting into laughter upon recognizing Ashley Tisdale.
Finally, Fashion Week is about swag. Yes, I mean the strut that makes heads turn. But mainly I mean swag bags. In my experience, swag, like everything else since 2008, has decreased miserably. I recall years of pre−recession — I'm aging myself — bags full of Bumble and Bumble hair products, Madewell jeans and Nautica polos (how did they know my size?). But last season made a resurgence: My bags overflowed with Charlotte Ronson makeup, the MAC fall color collection, Victoria's Secret goodies, Lacoste leather clutches, NARS spring makeup, Equinox memberships and much more.
So, I'll be covering from the front row, snagging every editor, celeb and socialite worth talking to or satirizing, scribbling down gossip overheard backstage, interviewing designers and, bien sur, soaking up the thrill of the lights, camera and catwalk. Let the show begin.
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Elizabeth Landers is a junior majoring in political science. She can be reached at Elizabeth.Landers@tufts.edu.
