Cinderella meets Carrie Bradshaw, minus the dudes

Normally I spent my Sundays doing my laundry, scrubbing my bathtub, and buying generic groceries, but a few weeks ago, my fashion fairy godmother (ie AP) invited me to the ball (ie a fashion show) and gave me something wonderful to wear! There was no Prince in this fashion fairy tale, but there was music and champagne and people who looked like royalty. And really, who needs a dopy Prince to slow them down, anyway?

See how it glows?

Once upon a time...

I was waiting in line in a white tent in Lincoln Center on a Sunday afternoon with all sort of impressive fashion-y people: designers, models, photographers, editors, etc. I was standing in the midst of the Mercedes Benz Fall Fashion Week wearing my little black NYE dress and a red rhinestone drapey cardigan from Tracy Reese's Holiday 2011 collection that AP let me borrow.  Thanks to AP, a good city girlfriend and designer for Tracy Reese, my name, which is so often not, was actually ON the list, and I was going to my first real fashion show! As I waited in line, I stared at the fashion enthusiasts, looking them up and down, admiring the artfulness of fashion that I had never fully appreciated until then. They were walking canvases, carefully sculpted and painted and poised. I hated them for it. There were vendors from Pepsi and TREsemme and Mabelline NY and of course Mercedes Benz and an entire station designated for press: photographers, writers, bloggers. This was legit. I never really realized how expansive this industry was before; so many people and so many kinds of jobs are involved in fashion. It turns out that it's not just about people making and wearing clothes. It's an aesthetic and a craft. It's art.

Check out the crazy lady in silver

I'm on the list!

Once I got my ticket and made it past three levels of security, I made my way into the show tent. I listened in on fancy, serious sounding conversations about people's expectations of the line and their evaluations of other shows that week. They dropped names and I eve's dropped. I had no idea what they were talking about, but it. was. fabulous. Once inside the tent,  there were rows of chairs facing the runway and at the end of the runway, a sea of people in black holding expensive photography and lighting equipment, hustling to stake out their spot and get set up. The whole scene was so much like what is depicted in the media, so much like what you would expect to see that it make me smile out loud, like I do when I see a dog pee on a fire hydrant. "They really do that!" Because my ticket was for standing room only (I was just lucky to be inside the tent at this point!), I walked past the first couple rows of chairs and saw place-markers for the seats belonging to reps from oh- you know, Vogue and W Magazine and Elle. No big deal. I really wanted to take a picture of the chairs, but then I looked back at all the real photographers and became self-aware of who and where I was. So sorry, no picture. You'll just have to use your imagination.

Right before the show

 Immediately people began taking their seats, and the fortunate few with seats in the front couple of rows started taking out small notebooks and whispering to each other with serious looks on their faces. I beamed. I couldn't keep it in! It was so cool!! I heard someone next to me say, "If you see an open seat, grab it." I saw and I grabbed. Before I could fully digest all that was happening around me, the DJ started and the camera clicks started and the show started. Total sensory overload. I snapped pics and took video with my iphone, and then I had to put it down so I could actually watch the show. There were 46 looks in total, and in a matter of 15 minutes, the show was over. We could hear a roar of cheers from backstage after Tracy Reese had come out and waved and bowed.

(My pics aren't great, but here's professional footage of the show:)



Knowing that AP and KS were backstage, I made my way toward the front of the runway to see if I could squeeze in, too. AP was standing there with the show's version of St. Peter with headphones barking at people who were or were not allowed to go backstage. "Who are you with?" "You can't go in." "You can go in." AP saw me from behind a group of people pushier than I was, and she squeezed me in saying, "She's with me." I threw my shoulders back and walked right past all those regular people. Suckers. Backstage was a madhouse. More models and people and cameras and interviews. Probably a handful of famous people but I'm SO BAD at recognizing them, that's really a shame that I live where I do. After I found KS and AP again, along with some of their college friends, we congratulated AP on her amazing work, and made plans for celebratory brunch in Hell's Kitchen. On our way out, we walked out the way we had come in, walking down the runway toward the door. Someone who was working on changing the background yelled at us, "Get off the runway!" I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt a little. :)

How do YOU know we're not models..?

Then the four of us girl had brunch in midtown. It felt so Sex and the City that even my sore, anti-heels feet couldn't bring be down. We drank mimosas and split chocolate pancakes for dessert. Then we went back to BK where we quickly shed our fashion-wear for nap-wear and all went into a 2 hour coma until we awoke to the Grammy's. We reapplied eye liner and hairspray and headed back into Manhattan for the night.

Cheers to AP!

The after party was at the Stone Rose Lounge in Columbus Circle where we enjoyed an open bar and amazing view. I drank cosmos all night partly because they were free, partly because I had the next day off, and partly because it felt like it was the appropriate SATC thing to do. The DJ played a Whitney Houston tribute mix, and we all got down on the dance floor. A group of Asian gay men corralled me into their dance circle where one whispered in my ear, "Girl, you smell goooood". It made up for being kicked off the runway earlier.

Getting down to Whit

AP: Isn't she beautiful?

A nice view

The open bar eventually stopped being open so we picked up our coats from the coat check and bid ado outside the Trump Tower where I went down to the train and the rest of the girls hailed a cab. Unlike the most of the day and night, I felt slightly overdressed waiting for the A train at 2am, but my carriage had turned back into a pumpkin, and I was ok with it. It was fun to be Carrie-ella for a day, but I was ready for sweats and slippers. Until next time!

Note: A BIG SHOUT OUT to AP for being such a bad-ass, designing garments and the backdrop and doing the two thousand other things that she does for the company that help make it so fabulous. AND also for letting me be a part of it. Get it, girl!