Confessions of a Fashion Week Virgin

Although I’m a recent college graduate, I was still the new kid on the block this September for my first New York Fashion Week, which felt a lot like going back to school. There was the issue of choosing a first day outfit, new cliques, index cards, assigned seats — I even found myself raising my hand (to hail a cab). The only difference between school and fashion week is that you don’t get in trouble for showing up late.

Having never been to a fashion show by myself before, I arrived at Rebecca Taylor 20 minutes early, which in fashion time meant that I was about 20 days ahead of schedule. There was already a long line though, so I checked-in. My seat assignment card said “P.S.” and after mulling over every possible acronym, I decided that according to the fashion world, I was a Piece of Shit.

*It actually means “Priority Standing.”

I somehow managed to work my way to Leandra’s spot in the front row with the rest of the cool kids. I clearly didn’t belong. Natalie Joos’s sparkling stilettos were a stark comparison to my dirty, worn-out Adidas. But Joos had no airs about her. While we waited, she ate a granola bar. (I asked her how it didn’t melt in her clutch and she replied, “You have to eat it fast.”) When the lights went down, she took her shoes off and sang along to the show’s soundtrack.

At Christian Siriano later that day, I made a point to arrive “fashionably late,” but I was still too early. I took the opportunity to ogle at “Crazy Eyes” from Orange is the New Black (apparently, #OITNB is the new #OOTD) and eavesdrop on editors. Overheard: “Even though I hate her, I still like all her Instagrams.”

At Giulietta the next day, my view was blocked by two toddlers who were BFFS. They sat on their mothers’ laps (who were also friends) and took pictures on their iPhones. It would have been adorable, had they not both been better dressed than me. Chances are, I’ll probably have to work for them one day.

After the Theory presentation the following week, I went to charge my phone in Chelsea Market, but the only place I could find with an outlet was a butcher’s shop. It was a far cry from the trendy restaurant Butcher’s Daughter, and a violent juxtaposition to the presentation of bodies that I had just exited.

I spent the rest of fashion week snooping around behind the scenes at Thom Browne and Delpozo. Pro tip: backstage is where all the food hangs out. Models munched on apples and peanut butter while getting their hair and makeup done. I even caught a couple of them scarf down not one, but TWO chocolate chip cookies. I myself took the liberty of grabbing a sandwich on the way out. I considered it my souvenir.

The most important lesson I learned this week is that fashion can, in fact, be a learning experience. The idea that I wasn’t going back to school this fall, or ever again for that matter, was a difficult transition for me to get used to. But now I know that my education is far from over. Fashion will forever provide me with stimulating, intellectual material and each new season is like the start of a new semester.

Who needs spring break when you have Spring/Summer 2015?