I've just attended my first fashion show of the season, and I’m sitting here in heels and pinstriped trouser pants using the wireless internet at McDonalds on the Champs Elysée.
Here's the deal, guys: two weeks ago, an editor asked me a if I could do some work for her. Part of these duties would include attending “some shows” at Paris Ready to Wear. It wasn’t until just last Friday that I realized that “some shows” would include Celine, Stella McCartney, Cacharel, and CHANEL. Let me clarify about Chanel--with Really Big Shows, you can never be certain of an invitation until the day before, because tickets are not sent by post, but rather by messenger. However, THERE IS A GOOD CHANCE AND I WILL STOP TALKING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW BEFORE I JINX IT.
Now, why am I in McDonalds? I started a dog sitting job Sunday at a flat in the 17th arrondissment. The dog is blind and needs to relieve itself on a highly regular basis, so I am living in their apartment until Friday. And their DSL is not working. I’ll just say that one more time, nice and zen-like: THEIR DSL IS NOT WORKING. Hence, the posting from McDonalds. Between the dog and the DSL and the fact that the shows are scattered all around town, logistics in general are a bit hairy. (Plus, hi, I had to plan a week’s worth of prêt-a-porter outfits ENTIRELY IN ADVANCE).
I haven’t slept more than five hours a night for a few days running now. Yet, I shot out of bed this morning and looked at the dog that has been put in my charge and said, "TODAY’S THE DAY THE SHOWS START, DO YOU KNOW? DO YOU KNOW?" At which point the dog looked at me as if to say, "good god woman I’m blind, not hearing impaired, and furthermore it’s 8:30 in the morning so I would kindly appreciate it if you’d lay off the crack."
And that's when I said, “Crack, you say? LOOK AT ME FITTING IN WITH THE FASHION PEOPLE ALREADY!” Ha ha. Ha ha ha ha. In case you aren’t someone who knows me, I laugh when I’m nervous. Nervously. So that was nervous laughter. Ha ha.
SOMETHING TELLS ME I’M STAYING AWAKE UNTIL THE CHANEL SHOW AND WE ARE ALL IN BIG TROUBLE BECAUSE THAT'S FOUR DAYS AWAY.
Why am I so pumped about this week? Here's why: I went to only one “important” show last season (I have developed a tri-level show-ranking system that hinges on whether or not Anna Wintour is present--I will explain in detail tomorrow), and it was so moving it made a whole SIX MONTHS OF HATING MY FASHION JOB seem insignificant. It didn't just inspire joy, but expanded my idea of what is possible in this world. But whatever you do, don’t tell anyone I said that because just a few hours ago, I was trying for all the world to look HOPELESSLY COOL AND AS IF I HAD NUMEROUS PLACES I'D RATHER BE.
The show I attended tonight was A.F. Vandevorst at Paris Bercy, by the way. Not an "important" show by any standards, but I am really hoping I can be, if not this season’s first “review” of Vandevorst, then at least the first writer in history to describe the Antwerp husband and wife's designs without using the words “intellectual” or “cerebral." (Those words being the critics' favorite euphemisms for “ugly," of course). You see, the point with the Belgiums is never to make the woman attractive! I understand this. And I even feel this team has designed relatively wearable clothes in the past. But tonight, OH MAMA, WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?
Okay, I’ll tell you what they were thinking--Brooklyn girls, their faces painted with leopard spots, walking around in huge florescent sunglasses. To circus music.
At the end of the show, strategically placed “models” sitting on red balls converged, bouncing in one cluster in the center of the performance area (Bercy doesn’t have a catwalk--it looks like a gray, empty warehouse, and feels just about as cold). Oh, and did I mention the bouncing models were all wearing cat ears?
I AM SO HAPPY I HAVE YOU ALL TO SHARE THAT WITH. This will save me from having to scream at the dog, “bouncy red balls!” and “florescent sunglasses!” Speaking of the dog, I should be going. Just as soon as I look online to see who won the Academy Awards.