So like any other typical, fame-seeking, American girl, it's been my dream since the wee age of 12 to be on a reality TV show, specifically "The Real World". (Statistically it's harder to be cast on the show than to be admitted into Harvard...America...) Well friends, I'm getting old and am about to enter my last year of eligibility age-wise to become a reality whore on "The Real World". Sensing this and wanting to destroy my destiny, Bunim Murray Productions has scheduled the yearly New York City open casting call for the one weekend when I will be making a trip home to the great city of Pittsburgh. Erego not being in NYC on the date of the casting, erego not being able to be on the show, erego ruining my life! It's not fair! *stomps foot, throws tantrum* I've already auditioned twice and been rejected twice, third time's the charm, yes? No. Third time is mercilessly ripped away from me.
And I will not be one of those whores who puts their video on the internets for the public to vote...I'm looking at you, Greg from RW Hollywood...
9.24.2008
9.19.2008
Popping my fashion week cherry...
…and it was everything I’d always hoped it would be ;)
Last week was Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in NYC, and for those who have never experienced it, it’s everything you’d expect…and nothing you’d expect at the same time. The famed tents in Bryant Park are pretty amazing, not gonna lie. You’d never even realize you were technically in the great outdoors. The shows themselves are also every bit as glam as they look, and the models are every bit as skinny as they look. It made crave a Baconator.
What I was not prepared for was the process of fashion week. You arrive at the show, stand around for at least 15 minutes before they even let you in, and then even once you get in you may or may not actually have a seat. It all depends on how important you are…which I’m not. And thus I slump to the standing room in the back. Then the show never starts on time. Never. So all in all you’re standing around (in 5 inch heels…obvi) waiting for at least 30 minutes before the show even starts. The actual show is no more than 15 minutes long. At best. Allllll that waiting around inflicting pain unto the balls of your poor little tootsies for 15 minutes of couture that may or may not actually even be worth seeing. The process is exhausting. I was drained by the end of the week.
I know, I know, my life sounds sooooo terrible and difficult last week standing around watching 17-year-old anno models walk around in designer clothes. Well it’s harder than it looks dammit!
But I assure you that I’m not taking this for granted, I know it seems very glam and fun, and it is. Let me remind you, going into this season I was a fashion week virgin. And even at the beginning of the week I had ZERO invites, and then ended up at 4 shows. Thus is the magic and subterfuge of fashion week.
A co-worker gave me 2 “non-transferable” invites she wasn’t using (Charlotte Ronson and Benjamin Cho). So I went to these shows pretending to be her. Thank goodness no one at fashion week cards. Except for business card-ing…oops! “I’m so sorry, I don’t have any cards under my name…I’m actually just representing VK…I’m her co-worker/assistant/beneficiary…My name’s actually…” Somehow I still got in. I’ve come to realize they must get tons of these scenarios. No harm, no foul. And this actually got me a 3rd row seat at Benjamin Cho, right across from Mary Kate Olsen! Alas, at Char-Ro I was stuffed way too far back into standing room to get a glimpse of Li-Lo and Sam-Ro. Sigh…
Then I was sent through my job to the Malan Breton (former “Project Runway” contestant) show to interview him, getting to use my very own name! I guess I’m moving up in the world. Sat 2nd row and the show was amazing, beautiful evening gowns and elegantly flirty casual wear. Loves it! Alex and Simon van Kempen of “The Real Housewives of NYC” were in attendance…and will obviously do anything for a photo-op and a hot sec of attention. After the show, I was escorted to the super-private Mercedes Benz VIP lounge for the interview. All of a sudden I went from getting into shows under someone else’s name to totally ballin out on my own accord. Too bad it was 10:30am and I was working…that champagne looked pretty damn tempting. Malan was such a sweetheart and it was a pleasure to interview him…VIP room or no VIP room.
I still have no idea how I pulled it off, but through some sweet talking and identity stealing I somehow got into the hot-ticket Project Runway finale fashion show. Don’t ask don’t tell. Had to stand in my Michael Kors stilettos (just in case he saw) on the press riser for like an hour and a half, but it was worth it. Pro-Ro actually lasts about 45 minutes since 6 designers show collections…they try desperately to keep the identity of the 3 finalists secret. I’m sure there are tons of other reviews and spoilers out there so I won’t bore you to death with my humble opinions, dear reader, but let’s just say Jerrell or Leanne better win this shit.
And that, loves, is fashion week. And I’m still soaking my feet from shoe abuse.
Last week was Mercedes Benz Fashion Week in NYC, and for those who have never experienced it, it’s everything you’d expect…and nothing you’d expect at the same time. The famed tents in Bryant Park are pretty amazing, not gonna lie. You’d never even realize you were technically in the great outdoors. The shows themselves are also every bit as glam as they look, and the models are every bit as skinny as they look. It made crave a Baconator.
What I was not prepared for was the process of fashion week. You arrive at the show, stand around for at least 15 minutes before they even let you in, and then even once you get in you may or may not actually have a seat. It all depends on how important you are…which I’m not. And thus I slump to the standing room in the back. Then the show never starts on time. Never. So all in all you’re standing around (in 5 inch heels…obvi) waiting for at least 30 minutes before the show even starts. The actual show is no more than 15 minutes long. At best. Allllll that waiting around inflicting pain unto the balls of your poor little tootsies for 15 minutes of couture that may or may not actually even be worth seeing. The process is exhausting. I was drained by the end of the week.
I know, I know, my life sounds sooooo terrible and difficult last week standing around watching 17-year-old anno models walk around in designer clothes. Well it’s harder than it looks dammit!
But I assure you that I’m not taking this for granted, I know it seems very glam and fun, and it is. Let me remind you, going into this season I was a fashion week virgin. And even at the beginning of the week I had ZERO invites, and then ended up at 4 shows. Thus is the magic and subterfuge of fashion week.
A co-worker gave me 2 “non-transferable” invites she wasn’t using (Charlotte Ronson and Benjamin Cho). So I went to these shows pretending to be her. Thank goodness no one at fashion week cards. Except for business card-ing…oops! “I’m so sorry, I don’t have any cards under my name…I’m actually just representing VK…I’m her co-worker/assistant/beneficiary…My name’s actually…” Somehow I still got in. I’ve come to realize they must get tons of these scenarios. No harm, no foul. And this actually got me a 3rd row seat at Benjamin Cho, right across from Mary Kate Olsen! Alas, at Char-Ro I was stuffed way too far back into standing room to get a glimpse of Li-Lo and Sam-Ro. Sigh…
Then I was sent through my job to the Malan Breton (former “Project Runway” contestant) show to interview him, getting to use my very own name! I guess I’m moving up in the world. Sat 2nd row and the show was amazing, beautiful evening gowns and elegantly flirty casual wear. Loves it! Alex and Simon van Kempen of “The Real Housewives of NYC” were in attendance…and will obviously do anything for a photo-op and a hot sec of attention. After the show, I was escorted to the super-private Mercedes Benz VIP lounge for the interview. All of a sudden I went from getting into shows under someone else’s name to totally ballin out on my own accord. Too bad it was 10:30am and I was working…that champagne looked pretty damn tempting. Malan was such a sweetheart and it was a pleasure to interview him…VIP room or no VIP room.
I still have no idea how I pulled it off, but through some sweet talking and identity stealing I somehow got into the hot-ticket Project Runway finale fashion show. Don’t ask don’t tell. Had to stand in my Michael Kors stilettos (just in case he saw) on the press riser for like an hour and a half, but it was worth it. Pro-Ro actually lasts about 45 minutes since 6 designers show collections…they try desperately to keep the identity of the 3 finalists secret. I’m sure there are tons of other reviews and spoilers out there so I won’t bore you to death with my humble opinions, dear reader, but let’s just say Jerrell or Leanne better win this shit.
And that, loves, is fashion week. And I’m still soaking my feet from shoe abuse.
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