So on Tuesday I did something I’ve never done before, something I’m ashamed to admit that I did because it made me feel entirely uncool and stalkery: I loitered outside of fashion shows. In the past, I’ve been lucky enough to go to shows because because I was at W and had awesome NY friends then I got to work shows like Alexander Wang, Victoria Beckham, Yigal Azrouel, Calvin Klein, Ports 1961, Betsey Johnson with Nonie aka Queen of Butter London. But Paris is not my home turf and while I’m not currently working in fashion I don’t really have any business being at the shows. Plus, I’m not into going where I’m not invited, whether it’s a show, a club, a party, whatever- I don’t like lines, random doormen, or trying to sneak in. But I figured hell, if I’m here while some big shows are going on and I may not be in Paris during FW for a while, I might as well just go down and see what it’s like on the other end.
So at 10:30 at the Grand Palais was Chanel. I got there at 9:30 when it was basically dead and scoped it out. Of course the idealist in me wanted to see Karl Lagerfeld, then I probably would have just gone home and been happy for the rest of my life. I don’t get excited over many celebrities because they’re just people, and with the over-exposure from the internet and twitter they’re even less cool than ever before. BUT there are a few that I’d love to see in person, Karl being one. Say what you want about his rude comments, hype, blah, blah, the man is a genius. But of course he probably arrived at 5am since he’s a perfectionist.
So the first round of women who showed up on the drizzly, gray day were very orange, very Russian-hooker-looking older women. My first thought: what in the name of Coco are these oompa sausages doing here? They posed, like pigeons in heat, in too-tight minis toting bouffants that would putTammy Faye to shame.
Then came the 60 year olds dressed like 16 year olds. The photos speak for themselves. From the back they look like cheerleaders, then they turn around to reveal the paradox. Then the wannabe’s arrived, you know, the people who dress up really ridiculously and parade around outside of shows hoping to be photographed even though they aren’t invited. This is a new cultural phenomenon thanks to the global obsession of street style blogs in the last 5+ years. At this show, I wasn’t sure who was a creeper and who was invited but by the end of the day, it was amazingly obvious (and sad) because they showed up at every show like lost peacocks.
Next up were the editors, the beautiful women who simply wanted to get inside as fast as possible. Dressed impeccably, they quickly rattled off who they were wearing to journalists and photographers while using their invitations to shield themselves from the rain. Oh yeah, did I mention it started drizzling? Kind of ironic considering fur was practically a requirement for entry.
Social satire to continue next with Valentino and McQueen. For now, enjoy
*P.S. If you click the pictures, they get BIG. Details people, details.