Oh Hello, I Didn't See You There

Who up in this bitch likes clothes and getting paid? If you raised your hand, you might like to know that Mercedes Benz Fashion Week is here again. Of course, we are all now starving and dying because while there is no depression in Heaven, there is one here on Earth. Bummer. It is well documented that many designers are trying to reconcile the luxe loucheness of pretty birds in sparkly dresses with imminent doom, and one of the ways they cope is with PRESENTATIONS, where said birds line up or lounge about and wear said dresses.

Witnesseth, Exhibit A:

We are so bored,



Exhibit B:

The designers get their moment with the chorus girls,



Exhibit C:

The shoes are kind of cruel when the girls have to stand in one spot for a half hour,



Exhibit D:

You achieve a new level of intimacy with the process when the models and stylists start talking to each other in plain view,



A presentation, though classical in structure and effect, is nowhere NEAR as much fun as a runway show as the pace is slower and static, and the crowd hewn and refined to close friends, staff, and Important Tastemakers (Editors). You could say that a presentation "intimate." You could also say there are "fewer freaks." Tomayto, tomahto.

I've also noticed that the people working the shows, the support staff, the hair and makeup boys and girls, security and the media are all just happy to be here and employed. Count me among them.

While some designers opt for smaller presentations, others still use the fanciest trade-show venue in the World, The Tents. ON WITH THE SHOW.

Behold, a tiny space for all your hair and makeup needs,



A double-wide prepping area sub-divided to fit two designers' crews in at the same time (economies of time, space),





There are fewer cameras on the runway during pre-game this season, but they all end up in the same place (this has not and will not change ever),



The usual suspects are still in the front row,



I'm pretty sure the staff photographer for Nicole Miller pre-rigged the venue with strobes. I can't recall having seen that before, even though I'm sure it has happened at least once. In any instance he lit that space up like a motherfucking roman candle.



People still applaud the effort and time.



That wasn't so hard, was it?

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.

9 to 5

This is a sampling of the people related to me. The poll has a margin of error of +/- 5. The short story is that my brother got married (he and Jenny are in the center and scattered throughout the collage). Yes, I shot my own brothers wedding and no I don't recommend it -- working a family event means you don't get to enjoy it as much as you might if you were just, say, drinking or entertaining babies or eating (in that order). However if you are the type of person who hates his or her family, this new form of practical isolation might be good for you and might endear you to them.

The long story is that I've been trying to hold working office hours to get the film done. This means that there is no film from Antimagic and Talk Normal at Silent Barn, nor is there any film from [All Nines] and Japanther from last night (8/24/08). I am behind, and I've been neglecting my precious, precious blog. This is going to get worse before it gets better -- I'm off to Redding, PA (Huh?), Pittsburgh (PA) and Buffalo (NY) this week for a food show or somesuch. Details are sketchy at best. All I know is that the Redding Phillies and Pittsburgh Pirates are in their respective towns and I will get to see my long lost friend Ashley and her flock of children in Buffalo.

Then, Fashion Week, Season 8 -- The Return.

Fashion Week, Darth Vader and The Russians.

I managed to survive another Fashion Week with my sanity intact -- please remember that I'm working the shows for television and not as a shooter for a magazine or similar. This means, of course, that I generally have to engage people on a coherent level rather than a grumbly, mumbly or stalker-y level. I then turn on grumbly, mumbly stalker mode to take pictures during the down time.

Yes, I was there at the two-hour-delayed Marc Jacobs show (below) and overheard a pleasantly on-point smackdown delivered by Anna Wintour. When asked if going to shows with her daughter, Bee, was good bonding time she replied,

'Of course. And we've had plenty of time to do it tonight.'

So there. In truth and perhaps obviously, the same thing happens for a TV crew. It's easy to make friends when there's nothing to do but sit around and tell jokes and tell fish stories.

On the other end of the spectrum (of everything, really) is Heatherette (above), whose show our crew is always welcome at, and whose cast always includes Amanda Lepore, whose existance always confuses out of towners. Most importantly, Heatherette always seems to go off on time and in full force with a splendid time had by all.

I'd like to take the time now to fill in and finally put in writing my "Russian Theorem" before someone else steals it.

"Gin's Russian Theorem

Any given photographer can advance one and a half letter grades just by having a six-foot tall Russian model in his or her frame. The limit of the advancement is an 'A+' grade" and the effect is not amplified by having more than one (1) model."

That is to say, a "C" grade photographer becomes a "B+" grade photographer by merit of the absurd physical presence of the woman in front of the lens. I use this self-effacingly, and as a criticism of others. I become a great photographer at Fashion Week.

Marc Jacobs and Stasis

Got backstage at the Marc Jacobs show yet again and I'm in a bit of a rut. The picture above... well, I've taken it before, and it seems like the whole event was compressed anyway (and not in a good way; i.e. 'starting on time'), so I fell back on safety shots that I knew would work.

I guess these things happen, and it looks like this season will be a wash for me; officially I'm only on for two more days and I haven't even made it into the Tents yet, and if I DO go, I'll have to go on my own.

On the plus side, the crew and I snuck up into the balcony of the Armory, which might have been the best place to see this particular show, what with the living tableau,



Irrespective of nothing: CINDY SHERMAN WAS AT THE SHOW AND SHE LOOKED AT ME.

Oi.

PR Lady: You should meet this girl on stage now! She's going to be the next Gwen Stefani?

RG: WHAT.

Pr Lady: She's AWESOME!

RG: WHO?

Pr Lady:

RG: OOOOOHHH...

Fashion Week Arrives; RG Barely Cares

Fashion Week (Fall, '07) is here and this might be the first time in a long while that I don't particularly care whether I participate or not. My once week-long shifts have been dropped down to 4 or 5 days (depending) and the access I used to get has been reduced to 'whenever the talent decided to go to the tents... then you too will go. No, you don't need a press pass.' So as someone who has a history of exploiting access for his own gain, this is a sad development indeed (cf. the 'People' section of the main webpage with the Betsy Johnson stuff).

I was at the Lisa Perry launch party last night (see above). There were tiny hamburgers and tiny french-fried potatoes and tiny lobster rolls. We didn't get into the Gotham Mag party because the 5-0 shut it down for some reason. Apparently Oksana Baiul got in eventually. So... not much to speak of yet, especially in terms of pre-game parties, as it were.

This is not starting well.