Late last week, another season of New York Fashion Week arrived in all of its glory.
For me, that means racing around town to bring you the latest and greatest of what’s new this season. And — as we’ve learned in the past — get myself into some seriously hilarious shenanigans.
With no further introduction needed — let’s do this. Here is this season’s Fashion Week Recap, Day One.
7:30 a.m. Christmas morning, bitches. Here we go! Lol, kidding. It wouldn’t be Fashion Week without a little snooze action, now would it?
7:50 a.m. Okay, I’m up. And my first show isn’t until 10 a.m. Early? On time? Who am I? I’m turning over a new leaf this season, you guys. (Spoiler Alert: This sort of promptness is exceptionally short-lived.)
8:30 a.m. I’ve been awake for nearly an hour, but I haven’t accomplished much of anything. Unless you count crushing a vocal rendition of that new Taylor Swift jam in the shower. Good morning, neighbors!
8:35 a.m. Wrapped in one towel and dabbing at my wet hair with another, I stare blankly into my closet. How is it possible that I have so many clothes but nothing to wear? I didn’t take the time to pre-plan my Fashion Week outfits since I’ve been traveling so much (and, well, because I’m lazy and indecisive).
8:42 a.m. It takes me two minutes to dry my baby-fine hair, after which I throw on a sweatshirt and run down to the dry cleaner’s. He’s aware of this, but I use him and his shop as extra wardrobe storage – so much so that I often forget what items I drop off. So it’s kind of the same concept as shopping, really.
9:15 a.m. I grab my bag and I’m out the door — at last. I have so much time to spare! A strong start to the day.
9:20 a.m. Nope. False — I definitely forgot my phone. Back into the building and up the elevator we go.
9:35 a.m. Day One is always when I’m at my most ambitious — commute-wise, at least. I decide to take the subway up to Lincoln Center, which entails a walk to the Six train. I pack it in and ride to Grand Central, where I transfer to the Shuttle to hell on earth Times Square, where I then weave in and out of finance-types and tourist groups. I eventually find my way to the One train, which leads me all the way uptown.
9:58 a.m. I spot Jess across Lincoln Center plaza and give her a quick squeeze – we’re heading into the BCBGMAXAZRIA show, where she’s taking over the Zappos Instagram account.
10:01 a.m. Upon entering the Tents, you’re greeted by a row of computers — each flanked with a girl in black. They’re the PR girls, and given that it’s only Day One, they’re still smiling. We approach the check-in counter for BCBG, where Jess forks over the tickets and inquires about our seat assignments. The gesture is met with set of raised eyebrows and a tight-lipped smirk. “I can’t help you with that,” she says.
10:07 a.m. A few minutes of arguing, e-mail searching and feverish texting are had — to no avail. Now, it’s time to play a bit of Fashion Week roulette.
10:13 a.m. We approach the counter and I start rattling off names. Eventually, this girl and her eyebrows grow tired of us, so she prints us Standing Only tickets and points us to a long line of rockstud-wearing ladies, each hoping they can get in to line up along the back of the theatre… Or that’s what she thinks.
10:15 a.m. Once inside, I grab the tickets and whip out a pen, scribbling made-up seat numbers onto them. The security guards usher us by without a glance. Boo yah! We’re in. Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
10:18 a.m. Now, selecting which seats to “steal” is always a fun little strategic game. It’s kinda like that Battleship board game – but you’re the battleship. And you never want to be found in someone else’s assigned seat. We spot the Glam.com editors in the second row mid-way down the runway and scoot in next to them. Well, I scoot. Jess didn’t have quite such a graceful landing, but I will leave her to tell you that story.
10:30 a.m. BCBG is always one of my favorite shows. It’s the first of the season, so there’s this hybrid energy of nostalgia, anticipation and stress all at once. I take a moment to absorb my surroundings – Blair Eadie, model Hilary Rhoda and Jamie Chung are seated in front of us, among a few others. (Last year I had a chance to chat with Giuliani Rancic).
10:35 a.m. At last, the lights dim and the crowd quiets, prompting those in attendance to shift to the edge of their seats, raising their iPhones in unison.
10:36 a.m. The bass drops. The room lights. The first model stomps gracefully onto the runway and steps her way toward a sea of photographers. If you listen closely, you can hear the “click click click click” of cameras in The Pit.
10:44 a.m. After the show, I head outside and meet my photographer, Lydia, to snap a few outfit photos. The scene outside of Lincoln Center isn’t yet chaotic, but the energy is definitely mounting.
10:55 a.m. I quickly change out of my all-white ensemble and weave my way across the Pavilion. I hail a cab and make my way across town to Saks, where I’m meeting the SK-II reps. SK-II is the preferred skincare partner of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week (and also the co-sponsor of my Fashion Week giveaway), and they’ve offered me a pre-Fashion Week facial to test out some of their products. Okay!
11:15 a.m. I’m late, naturally. And sweating. (There is so much sweat happening over the next few days). Ivan, my facialist, greets me upon arrival and ushers me around the corner and into a too-tall-for-me chair where I am essentially on display to all of Saks Fifth Avenue.
11:30 a.m. After an initial skin consultation, he applies the SK-II Facial Treatment. I look terrifying AND I MEAN TERRIFYING, but hey – I’m just going to go with it. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a tourist chuckle and snap a photo of me, so I make it worth her while and throw up a peace sign. Deuces, bitch. Nice boot-cut jeans. (Just kidding!)
11: 35 a.m. It gets better, believe it or not. As it turns out, Ivan is half-chiropractor, half-facialist. We’re about five minutes into my mask (which will be on for 20 very public minutes), and to make the experience more enjoyable, he says, he’s going to massage my arms and neck. Next thing I know, I’m leaning forward and my cheek is on his stomach (literally – on his stomach). At one point, my arms are twisted behind my back in a strange yoga-type poses, but I have to say — I don’t hate it.
12:30 p.m. Fresh-faced and slightly red-cheeked, I cab my way back across town (so much for that public commute ambition) to meet Jess (again) for coffee near Lincoln Center. I notice a very intoxicated and presumably homeless man passed out in the entrance, spread-eagle style. Go big or go home, I suppose. And now he’s yelling. You’re a real charmer, New York.
12:32 p.m. I realize that I haven’t eaten yet today (and this actually happens often during Fashion Week), so I order a large coffee and an even larger sandwich. Hummus, avocado and veggies on nine-grain bread. Gone in 60 Seconds, my friends! (Nailed it, Starbucks. Every time. H-A-L-L-I-E.)
12:34 p.m. I spend the next 26 minutes jotting down thoughts for my Day One recap, since I’m not sure if I’ll have any more downtime today. How is it possible that so much shit happens in the span of a few hours?
1:02 p.m. We hop a cab to Jay Godfrey’s presentation, where we head backstage pre-show. The brand’s rep leads down an elevator to the basement and through a series of concrete hallways. I wave hello to the make-up artists and they look at me like I’m in an unpaid intern. Hi!
1:10 p.m. The scene is chaos, of course, since doors open in less than a half hour. Most of the models are busy with last-minute touch-ups, but there’s one who is very busy taking a series of selfies. See her? You do you, girl.
1:30 p.m. Editors, buyers and bloggers alike begin to filter through the doors. We stick around the presentation for a bit, primarily to people-watch. Best Dressed definitely goes to Jay’s toddler daughter, who I note has a nicer handbag than I do (a mini LV Speedy).
1:45 p.m. On the way out, I run into Lauren, one of my Glam colleagues. We’re both heading to the Tadashi Show — and we’re running late, so we grab a cab (my fourth of the day, if you’re counting). Five-dollar taxi trips from the Hudson Hotel to Lincoln Center are my lazy-as-fuck Fashion Week MO.
2:05 p.m. I have a standing ticket for Tadashi, but I manage to slip behind the security guard and by-pass the line. (Standing means you enter the theater/file in after everyone with a pre-assigned seat is sat.) But let’s be honest, I’m never NOT going rogue during Fashion Week.
2:07 p.m. I settle into the seat that I’ve carefully selected and begin to write the show review for Jay Godfrey on my phone. (You can read all of my Fashion Week show coverage on Glam.com this week).
2:20 p.m. Tadashi begins, and it’s a show inspired by Venetian glamour. Lots of lace and lady-like silhouettes, true to the designer’s aesthetic — Michelle Obama will surely be wearing a few of these dresses in the upcoming year.
2:45 p.m. I hug Lauren goodbye, grab a water (I’ve only had coffee today, oops!) and duck back into the Theater for my next show – Desigual. I have awhile before it starts — maybe I can take a public nap?
3:10 p.m. I’m jerked out of a daydream (or a dehydration-induced daze?) when Olivia Palermo, Rosario Dawson and Poppy Delevingne are escorted to the front row. I grab my bag and move seats, wanting to get a closer look at them. I’m nearly blind from the flashbulbs all around me, but I manage to find an open seat diagonally behind the celebrity trio. (We’re playing Battleship again!)
3:20 p.m. To the tune of Latin-inspired music, Adriana Lima opens the show. She receives cheers from the crowd and her smile gets a bit bigger with each step she takes down the runway. When she reaches The Pit, she strikes a hand-on-hip pose, pivots and shimmies back down the runway. But not before blowing a kiss to the cameras.
3:25 p.m. Desigual is another one of my favorite shows each season – the models are encouraged to smile and the clothes are fun. This season, it’s color-blocked platform sandals, print-mixing and flower crowns. A refreshing change-of-pace from the typically stone-faced shows of Fashion Week.
3:27 p.m. Everything seems to be going off without a hitch, but I do notice Rosario Dawson is visibly upset in the front row. She must have just heard of Joan Rivers’ passing. (Which is still so upsetting… RIP, Joan.)
3:46 p.m. Exhaustion is beginning to creep it’s way in. On my way out, I run into a few friends with a similar mindset, so we head to the Empire Hotel for a glass of wine (or two bottles, to be specific). “Save me an outlet!” one of the girls shouts after us. #FashionWeekProblems
5:05 p.m. I finish my wine, bit adieu to the crew and head to the subway. (Patting my public trasit-taking self on the back along the way.) We’re done with shows for the day – now it’s onto the parties. First up is an Old Navy-sponsored soiree, where Joe Zee is kicking off his ON style ambassadorship.
5:55 p.m. The place is packed – it’s an all-white space with a Sugarfina candy bar and cocktails aplenty. My kind of par-tay! I spot Katie Holmes in the corner carefully selecting which Flash Tattoo to apply to her wrist.
6:45 p.m. I don’t have time to finish even one drink before it’s up and on to the next — on, on to the next! Julia, Jess and I Uber (upgrade!) downtown for a dinner with Joico, a haircare brand that I discovered/started using earlier this year. I’m feeling a bit tipsy, which sounds about right as I haven’t consumed much beyond coffee and wine today. The official unofficial Fashion Week diet.
7:15 p.m. Traffic was terrible, so we’re late upon arrival to Hundred Acres. (Note: ALWAYS leave 10 minutes before you think you need to in New York City.) The hostess guides us back to a small candle-lit table, where a few others in our party have already tucked into appetizers. There’s a cool glass of champagne bubbling next to my name tag — YAAAS!
7:45 p.m. We chat with the brand and learn about Joico‘s new haircare line, but not before attacking our entrees. Steak for me — Clean Plate Club all-the-way. And despite the fact that I’m going to have to roll myself home, I find it impossible to turn down the gooey bread pudding and salted caramel ice cream literally screaming at me from the menu. YOLO?
9:15 p.m. Joico is kind enough to let Jess and I take home the floral arrangements, which are HUGE. We say our goodbyes and head outside to wait for an Uber.
9:20 p.m. There’s a cute guy crossing the street — he gestures to the flowers, approaches us and asks what the occasion is. Without hesitation, I respond enthusiastically with “WE’RE ENGAGED!” I blame the wine?
9:21 p.m. Puzzled, he cocks his head and responds with an “oh, congrats.” (*Editor’s note: If there was ever any confusion as to whether or not Jessica and I are in fact blog wives and life partners, this should clear it up.)
10:30 p.m. I’m home, now, ready to write the day’s recap. But first, coffee. (Yes, you read that right.)
12:17 a.m. Caffeine doesn’t do much for me, I guess, as I finally succumb to my head bobs and call it a night. Day Two is looking a lot like Day One, so here’s hoping I can wake up an hour early tomorrow to write. That’s a wrap!
All-in-all, Day One was a jam-packed start to this year’s spring season (the designers are showing their collections for spring 2015). Marginal shitshow happenings, but don’t worry — there’s plenty of that in store this week.
More Fashion Week recaps are on the way! In the meantime, don’t forget to add @coralsncognacs on Snapchat for real-time updates and photos (and so you don’t miss out on gems like these). In addition, you can follow here:
Photography by Hallie Wilson; Empire Hotel images via