WEDNESDAY, SEPT. 11 — Every fashion week, no matter the season, signs over its Wednesday morning to Michael Kors. Whatever your opinion of his collections, the designer’s enthusiasm for his work is undeniable. In an often jaded industry, even a modicum of unbridled earnestness is attractive. Kors is no exception. In the morning at the Theatre at Lincoln Center, Elisabeth Erm (below, right) and Victor Nylander (below, left) featured in the sprawling show. It was great to see Victor (he had just flown in the previous night for the job), after his new Dior Homme campaign. He is affable and every bit the guy I imagined from seeing him in Instagrams by Isaac Ekblad, during their Dior Homme sojourn to China.
I shot the runway finale from way, way back on the photo riser, so as to capture the enormity of the show, which can’t be overstated. The designer splits the runway down the middle to accommodate more front row seating, and it should be noted, a gallery for when he bounds the entire runway in a lap of honor following the show. Kors has been doing this runway trot for years and it would take a heart of stone to begrudge him this moment. Bravo!
I stuck around following Michael Kors for the J. Mendel show in the same space. There were significant changes to the runway that had to be implemented, not least of which involved removing the middle-of-runway seating. The afternoon’s show featured Elisabeth Erm and Ava Smith (below).
A curious episode happened with about 30 minutes remaining to showtime. I was seated to in the front row, left of the runway, closest to the photo riser. The row was empty, but for me as the runway lighting and music cues being rehearsed. I was waiting to shoot the rehearsal, which I would later use in my video edit of the show. With time ticking down, a proper rehearsal never did take place, but something much, much more interesting happened.
With 20 minutes to showtime remaining, the front-of-house was still closed to show attendees except for one front row veteran. Out of respect to the person, I will preserve the subject’s anonymity, but will nevertheless describe the person as the fashion director of a major fashion organization. It was late in the week and this person was over it. Over the tents. Over the endless queues of people trying to get into shows. Over just about everything that had become an impediment to doing the job asked of a fashion director whose brief it is to see next season’s clothes in a timely, expeditious manner.
He vented for several more minutes until we formally introduced ourselves and I bade farewell. Just prior to showtime I ended up returning to the front row to reclaim my seat next to the fashion director who reckoned my small act of opportunism would not be the worst thing to befall Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week.
My photos from the front row were easily my best of the week. My fashion director neighbor was not snapping photos, however. Juggling at least three different smartphones, assiduous notes were being taken about every single look. Whereas I saw a gray snakeskin jacket, the fashion director noted it was “pewter python.”
Later Wednesday night, I spent the rare night out at our agency party at the La Cenita on West 14 Street. I am usually loathe to do anything at night that does not involve writing and Final Cut Pro, but thankfully I went against my better judgment and attended. Loads of models packed the place. I saw James Smith when I arrived, he was wearing Burberry. Of course. Wilhelmina Artist DJ Kiss was spinning, which provided the soundtrack to a solid hour of dancing with Coco Rocha, her hair stylist and makeup artist, Veronica Chu and Ali Stephens (now in New York!). For those who only know me by my humorless, wordy columns on tFS, hearing that I danced with abandon in such company likely sounds fanciful, if not truly unbelievable. All I can say is that it happened and I can dance with the best of them. I will nearly always choose dancing over talking.
