Hello, hello! We’re smack-dab mid-week during Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week and I finally have time to share my first daily update with you.
By the numbers, here’s an idea of Day One: Nine cab rides, six shows, four glasses of champagne, two margaritas and one incredibly questionable coffee receipt.
And here’s the deets on what went down:
New York Fashion Week | Day One
8:30 a.m. Bianca and I are kicking off the week with blow-outs at the John Frieda salon… There are certainly worse ways to begin the day. I purposefully haven’t washed my hair, and I kind of look like Beyonce with wet hair at the Grammy’s — but the opposite: in a white trash, your-hair-is-so-greasy-type of way. I grab a hat on my way out the door.
9:10 a.m. From the get-go, my stylist and I get along swimmingly. He has a ticket to Alexander Wang on Saturday night. GREEN WITH ENVY! Should I confess the things I’d be willing to do in order to obtain it from him? No, we’ve only just met.
10:05 a.m. Feeling refreshed (and awake, at last) post-pampering, we hop in a cab to head uptown. Our first show of the season is BCBGMAXAZRIA.
11:04 a.m. We’re late, obviously, which ends up working to my advantage. Security is frantically attempting to organize the “Priority Standing” group (attendees with tickets but not seat numbers, which is what I have). Not one to wait in line unless I have to, I stroll past them with a wave and a wink, happily selecting a seat next to Bianca in a second row seat. corals gone rogue!
11:24 a.m. After getting settled, I assess the scene. Giada DeLaurentiis is across from us, and seated in front of us is Yael Stone (from Orange is the New Black). She looks super-chic in a strapless jumpsuit, and I feel a pang of jealousy as I cannot wear rompers due to my tiny bladder and general Seagull-like stature.
11:35 a.m. Showtime! I can’t help but smile — obnoxiously so. Every Fashion Week when the lights dim, the bass thumps and that first model storms the runway, I find myself fighting back tears of gratitude. I’m also PMS’ing, so that could also be a factor.
11:37 a.m. I’m all about an oversized knit, and there’s plenty of ’em in BCBG’s F/W 2014 collection. Lots of fur and texture, too.
11:40 a.m. Post-BCBG, I grab a cab and head to the office. My next show isn’t until 1 p.m. — I have plenty of time and am looking forward to easing into my first day of Fashion Week. This is great!
11:58 a.m. Just kidding. I’m still in this cab. And I’ve only gone six blocks. I swear, more of my time during Fashion Week is spent en transit than it is actually sleeping.
12:10 p.m. Since I have no time to order lunch, I decide to raid a nearby snack stash. Thankfully, there’s a bag of pretzels left over from a recent Saturday night work sesh that Jess and I had. Carbs, YES!
12:42 p.m. I’m in a cab headed across town to Pier 59 to see the Tocca show, which is actually the exact moment I’m typing this update. Multi-tasking in a taxi is a New York City skill I’ve grown to master (doing my make-up, show updates, etc). I make a mental note of what I need to collect for Glam reporting – the show’s playlist, notable trends, faces in the front row, etc.
1:25 p.m. I check in and the all-in-black-clad PR girl tells me the seat I’ve been assigned “doesn’t exist.” Bitch, please. I pull up an e-mail to confirm that I am, in fact, the correct person in this party. She’s so confused that she shrugs and gestures me into the room.
1:28 p.m. Yeah, so, that PR chick was right. The seat I was assigned does not, in fact, exist. A quick check of my e-mail confirms that I was actually looking at last year’s Tocca show invitation… Haha. Whatevs, I’m in — let’s get this show on the road.
1:32 p.m. Since I technically don’t have a seat, I may as well go big or go home. I select a seat in the front row and hope that no one comes to kick me out.
1:35 p.m. Super-skinny models in floral prints and lace are floating up and down the cement runway. I accidentally sync my racy show photos (of bare ass, below, and a model’s boob through sheer paneling) to my personal Facebook, which garners many likes — exclusively from my guy friends. My mom texts me to inquire what the hell I’m doing.
1:54 p.m. It’s always a challenge to get away from Pier 59 – largely because the venue is practically in the goddamn Hudson River. Nonetheless, I walk a few blocks and hop in my fourth cab of the day. I’m late for my next show!
2:12 p.m. Another vehicle just bumped the back of my cab, and the contents of my handbag are all over the floor of this taxi as a result. The driver is utterly unphased… New York fucking City, ya’ll.
2:20 p.m. Ten minutes ‘til Jay Godfrey wraps. I’m reviewing it for Glam, so missing it simply isn’t an option. Let’s GO!
2:43 p.m. Good news, I made it! Smokey-eyed models in body-conscious silhouettes linger seductively on the presentation stage as a live guitarist plays in the background. Damn, these girls are skinny. That reminds me, I haven’t eaten today — I need to find a double-cheeseburger, STAT.
2:48 p.m. I decide to be bold and hike up to Lincoln Center in my heels, a decision that is reversed exactly six steps out of the building and into the chill.
3:05 p.m. The street style photographers have gathered out on Lincoln Center Plaza. It’s always entertaining to watch people “peacocking” (wearing obnoxious outfits and pretending to be busy on their phones, waiting for photographers to approach them), but it’s just too cold for that today.
3:20 p.m. I’m seated at my fourth show of the day: Desigual, a Spanish-inspired brand. It’s always a fun, color-packed show with upbeat music, which I could use right now. Mental note to bring a flask of espresso out with me tomorrow [yawns].
3:30 p.m. Yes, I’m awake now! Victoria’s Secret model Candice Swanepoel opens (and closes) the show. One by one, happy-go-lucky models dance down the runway. I find myself shoulder-shaking to a latin-inspired beat in my seat. (And I have a big chest, so that probably wasn’t the best idea.)
3:45 p.m. Spotted: Adrienne Bailon in the front row. On my way out of The Theater, I decide to be bold and say hello. We go, like, way back (kind of). And by that I mean we met on-location for a Lady FootLocker campaign in Dallas.
3:55 p.m. I manage to elbow my way through a sea of press people. She recognizes me! We chat for awhile and she tells me about her latest (hair) addiction. Suddenly I’m inspired to cut my hair into a Lob (long bob).
3:52 p.m. On my way out of The Tents, I find myself walking next to Stassi Schroeder – that girl you love to hate from Vanderpump Rules. (She’s actually very sweet in-person.) Stassi just moved to New York, where her boyfriend lives, and she informs me that she’s on her way out for mimosas. A woman after my own heart! I begin to argue that it’s more of a vodka-appropriate hour, but I digress…
[Editor’s note: I genuinely don’t remember what I did for the next hour. I wracked my brain and looked through my photos, but the only evidence I have during this period of blackout is a non-descript Starbucks receipt for $14. Have you heard of Busy Life Syndrome? The struggle is real.]
5:20 p.m. Oh boy. One of each, please! Especially that two-piece red skirt situation. Pop-over sweaters, super-chic pencil skirts and cut-out booties. This is my favorite collection of the day so far.
5:55 p.m. Immediately after Marissa Webb, it’s onto my sixth show of the day — Erin Featherston at the W Hotel in Union Square.
6:20 p.m. Yeah. Nice. Gorg. That’s as far as my vocabulary goes at this point in the day.
6:45 p.m. Admittedly, there was champagne at the presentation, so we lingered longer than we tend to at these things.
7:05 p.m. I’m standing on a street corner with my computer out — charging my phone. Desperate times, people. Desperate times. Bianca swoops us in a cab and we’re off to the Peter Pilotto for Target launch party.
7:20 p.m. Oh, man. The line to get in is literally around the block – and it’s 20 degrees! I hope it goes quickly.
7:35 p.m. We’re inside now, being greeted with cocktails and bacon-wrapped dates. I’m overcompensating as it’s my first meal of the day and the cater waiter is absolutely judging me. JUST GIVE ME THE TRAY, BRO.
8:05 p.m. After a few cocktails, it’s off to the Marc Jacobs Daisy fragrance party. It’s a tight space and we’re packed in like sardines, but the girls and I are still riding a high on fumes from the first day of Fashion Week. Or maybe it’s the champagne?
9:15 p.m. 13 hours later, we decide to call it day from the Fashion Week scene, that is. Per usual, we wander up the street in search of a Mexican restaurant. We tuck into a booth at Dos Caminos, where I again proceed to charge my phone via my computer.
9:43 p.m. Chips, guac and margaritas have been served. ARRIBA!
11:30 p.m. At last, I’m battling tired eyes in a cab. It’s time for bed — six shows, two parties and non-stop navigation across Manhattan leaves me feeling I’m exhausted. Gotta gear up for Day Two!