Blank stare, blink
Blank stare, blink
Blank stare, blink
I wanted to run up to them, the front row seats and beyond, shake their expensive shoulders and scream, “Look where you are! Look what you get paid to do!”
Blank stare, blink
For most women even slightly interested in fashion, going to a runway show is pretty high on the list. Somewhere between finding 3 million dollars on the side of the road and never having to do the laundry again.
I’ve been to a few independent fashion shows. Let’s just say, from interesting to not-so. This last season, to my amazement, a great friend of mine wrangled me into the Donna Karan Spring 2012 show.
Total revelation.
Not for the collection. But for the spectacle. Fashion is a world, and at that caliber, an exclusive “sorry, you’re not invited” one. Sure, you’re welcome if you’re a taste maker—rich, beautiful or famous. I’d say it welcomes a generous .00001% of the population.
Paula and I are not part of that percentage.
But we love fashion. Always have. First independently, then together when we met decades ago. Our friendship blossomed at a start up advertising agency and we went shopping at Betsy Johnson, circa 1993, for something to wear to an industry awards show.
Paula and I will never be invited in. There’d be no reason. She works in Media. And I’m a Wardrobe Stylist for a Director that directs funny stuff. We both love what we do, but we both dream about being in fashion.
We are no longer young, so the whole intern thing is kind of out of the question. We also make a pretty good living and can finally afford part of what our tastes like. Which is a pretty great place to be.
The conundrum is, we can’t go backwards, only forward. So, together, we’ve decided it would be fun to give a voice to . . . us. The middle-aged gal with some disposable income who likes to make observations. Yep, we’re inviting ourselves in.
Hello Anna and André, Inez and Vinoodh. Hello Kate and Laura, Ricardo and Karl.
It’s us. Paula and Jennifer. And we have something to say.