Yes, I'm Ready For Some Football

This is the Patricia Field HSN Line launch show. I think all those words, when used in that combination, are vivid enough to clue the reader in to the content of the show. This particular show has all the hassles of Marc Jacobs on a micro level; the delays, the overstuffed venue, makeshift backstage, belligerent weather and none of the payoff -- certainly not in blown-mind count or in sheer what-the-fuck-ness. Of course, the modern New York fashion show is a grand act of artistic shibai anyway, so any value found in the show itself is the result of missing the point entirely.



The Edison Hotel Ballroom is a dismal place near Times Square. I imagine the good people in charge spent a great deal of time trying to get the old people smell out.



HSN's presence meant that there were pockets of pre-lit action where I could just post up and wait for the river of human oddities float on by. I found their setup to be a little clumsy -- from a civilian standpoint, anyway. I support and respect their scorched earth/brute force style of lighting.



The process of prodding and primping fantastically beautiful people and the organization of individual stations is similar to working in a high-level restaurant. This particular backstage was oppressively hot and the misting air conditioner wasn't helping matters in the slightest.



Any show with a name designer is SRO. This is a given. The expanded coverage for HSN and the manpower needed to cover the show the way they did (multiple hand-helds, multiple talent crews, at least two end-of-runway positions, a jib and two Steadicams) meant that most optimal viewing positions have been a) thought of and b) taken. Sometimes it's best to just give up.

You Soon Realize You're Not Sufficiently Advanced For Your Situation

Uptown parties have girls in costumes and red carpets.



Downtown parties have girls without costumes and performance pieces.



Uptown parties have well dressed people and well-lit situations (so you can see how well dressed they are).



Downtown parties are in the dark so that you can act too cool to care that a TV crew is right next to you while in fact you're REALLY trying to evesdrop on Stephanie Seymour from the shadows.



Uptown parties feature people who will snicker behind your back or make cutting remarks to you face in the spirit of glib oneupmanship.



Downtown parties feature people who will threaten you with their sexuality.

Basically the whole week is an excuse to bust out antiquated (70's-era) notions of uptown/downtown new york scenes; as an old acquaintance of mine once said (foolishly on many, MANY levels), there's 'nothing good above 14th street.' The truth of the matter is that any given person will go to any given event so long as there is enough liquor/tiny burgers to last through the evening and/or enough photographers to take their picture. Everyone loves to dress up! Everyone loves to see naked people dancing (or doing anything, for that matter)! Fashion Week is a biannual bacchanal celebrating the cavalcade of human oddities that you marginalize every day -- like the notion of your own mortality -- in order to make yourself function. No one can live like this all the time. It would be too fantastic.

Eat When Offered; Drink When Free

The best explanation for the allure of Fashion Week comes courtesy of L Magazine (yes, the freebie) when they said, paraphrased,

'There's nothing New Yorkers love more than a party they're not invited to.'

This seems a little Sub-Woody, maybe, but it's basically true.



This particular press line goes for another ten yards to the left and right of this picture.



If you see a pretty lady, take her picture. In my head it doesn't seem right that this bunch is chimping instead of shooting.



By eating the hors d'oeuvres, you lighten the load of the waitstaff. In turn, they will visit you often. I've never managed to develop a taste for fois gras.



It's the second (and third) best time of year for letchery after the first day of spring.

'Tis Better To Be Regionally Famous Than Internet Famous

One of the things I forgot to mention is that the Reading Eagle followed us around and took copious video and photographs of the production crew. In this instance, "production crew" is meant to include the producer (crucial) and cameraman (crucialer). I did manage to squeeze myself in to a printed picture though and I have diagrammed it for you, the reader, below,



This picture is not mine -- obviously -- credit where it is due, but I couldn't find the credit.

As for the video, you can spot me gracefully gracelessly going "over the boards" to escape the rampaging Yuengling wagon and the panicked team of stallions careening down the street.