A New York Fashion Week(end)

I had been invited to join the Rene Furterer team for a weekend at New York Fashion Week, a very foreign world to the Northwest.

Backstage there’s no drama, no yelling, no attitude. It’s a team of professionals doing their various jobs at the best of their ability, which is pretty damn good. After a year of preparing the collections, planning the fashion week shows, hundreds of people filling in tiny little details, models who are dressed down to their cuticles walk in a line and the show lasts no longer than 15 minutes. The crowd of socialites watch through their phones. It is performance art executed at a flawless level. 

What a view! I am so thankful for the opportunity to see into such a world and look forward to becoming a major player in the game. With that said, I fucking love flannel, and yes I did wear it to #NYFW, it was pink.

With a non-stop flight to JFK, a straightforward ride on the subway and a quick cab ride, I was brought to the Art Form space in Chelsea, where my name was on some list. Crowds of paparazzi and looky lous, I was one of them, blocked the streets as desperate socialites pose on the sidewalks wearing more money than some people make in a year. They definitely know their angles.

May I offer a huge THANK YOU to those who helped to get me to New York!-- Myriah Marque, Darrick Gray, Sarah Seligman, Carol Mar, Kanani Reichlin, Savannah Oberreit, Eron Huenefeld, Mike Novack, Roger Slade, Polly Welch, Chelsea Jamison, Maria Rue, Garrett Holbrook, Angela Sommantico, Shannan Mccaslin, Liv Salvi, Chelsie Brann, Michael Brann, Vivian Colman, and Annyomous.