Monday, September 10, 2007

You Better Work!

Of course, after all that smack I talked about fashion and misogynist, superficial culture, I ended up going to a fashion show at the Bryant Park tents on Thursday.

I was going to go home early, as I was feeling unwell (the first symptoms of a cold that kept me home in bed all weekend), but Bryan came by my desk at 1:30. "Unish," he said, "because you look so pretty today, I am taking you with me to the Badgley Mischka show." And really, who could say no to that?

I would be temporarily stealing the identity of our fashion director Elizabeth, and Bryan assured me that there was no way I would be caught and dragged out by -- ha! I have to say this, because for once it's true -- the fashion police. In the cab on the way there, I tightened my bun, applied fresh lipstick, and practiced my best "powerbitch" pout. Bryan grabbed my arm as we exited the taxi and ascended the steps of the Tents. "Look good for the press, darling!" he crowed, even though the photographers, from the looks of it, weren't falling all over themselves to get a glimpse of us.

Inside was ... outside, except under a tent. It was weird. There were booths all around that Bryan described as "living ads", giving out free drinks and strange swag, like cookies emblazoned with the DHL logo. I didn't get to explore much, but it looked like there was one main "tent", and for the afternoon it belonged to Badgley Mischka.

"What's your name?" the woman at the check-in asked. I gave Elizabeth's name, pouting until she handed me my seat card. I was in! Bryan and I were ushered into the bright lights of the main tent, which featured a rectangular runway. In the center were the VIP seats. I craned my neck to spot any celebs.

There was free perfume on our seats, which was awesome. I'll wear it even if it smells bad, that's how committed I am to supporting the free gift industry. I saw Teri Hatcher, Allison Janney, and JC Chasez in the front row, and they were even more visible when the lights came up for the runway show. As Bryan (who has earned himself the title of Gay Pop Culture Yoda) put it, "When the lights come up you see all of the fabulous people!" We searched for Anna Wintour, to no avail (but perhaps she was put off by Bryan's wails of "Where's my Anna?")

The fashion show itself was brief and sort of perfunctory. The clothes were pretty, don't get me wrong, but it's really nothing more than a parade of human coat hangers. Mostly I watched Teri Hatcher -- at least she has facial expressions. I assume that the models each got to choose from a selection of looks, as they were invariably smug, bored, or completely blank. One girl walked with her hips out so far in front of her that I wanted to start singing the limbo song. Unfortunately the loud house music would have drowned me out anyway. The one fun thing about sitting high up at a fashion show is that the models look like midgets with no legs. It's more gratifying than it sounds.

So, I went to a fashion show, and learned that it is mostly an excuse for social whoring and celebrity ogling. The clothes are almost beside the point. One more thing checked off of my nonexistent Life List! Next up: the running of the bulls!
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