Fashion Week

The Blizzard of the Apocalypse threatened to freeze Fashion Week in its boots! Fortunately, the forecast was overblown, but the nastiness of the weather did force participants to arrive at The Week’s sundry venues heavily bundled. One of the networks offered a charming behind-the-scenes shot of an improvised dressing room filled on one side with doffed leggings, boots and slush-spattered parkas, and the other with a line of sylph’s – not flaw in sight — taxiing toward the runway. How does that biannual metamorphosis occur? I have no insider insights of my own to offer, but I was intrigued by those in a blogger who writes under the pen name ‘Staying Pinoy in New York.” He observed one of these young Venuses as she was still a work-in-progress. (Back then, Bryant Park was the epicenter of this event.)

February 11, 2005

Nothing announced Fashion Week in New York more meretriciously than a surfeit of model sightings around town, especially in the subway.

I had one yesterday, most likely a second or third tier girl in a non primetime showcase of an up and coming Parson Design grad or she would have been chauffeured already to the big tent at Bryant Park. This as I jostled for a seat…on my way to my tax preparer.

Of course, her build was improbably tenuous and her legs just sprouted from under her boobs and jetted all the way down to this mortal earth.

Although she wasn’t made up yet, her tresses still wrapped up shabbily in a silk logo scarf, the rest of the jaded morning commuters in my car couldn’t keep their eyes off of her, to say the least. Models are New Yorkers’ Hollywood stars.

Maybe this is what they teach ravishing girls in the pulchritude academy. Whenever you expect to be stuck in people places, be sure to lug along a weighty book. A Shakespeare is best.

As the rest of us mortals were ogling her, our divinity was deep into a Folger paperback edition of Hamlet. Something indeed smells rotten in the state of New York when the most beautiful creatures in the world assembled for this week-long Saturnalia are also the most literary.

My model, as expected, got off at 42nd [Street] Bryant Park, as she gathered all her other stuff, an unopened one liter Pellegrino bottle, a crisp Burberry plaid trench, her head scarf unlaced and her luminous face revealed to us, the Puerto Rican guy in front of her wearing a tatty Sean John hoodie could not help himself but exclaimed “dang!”

It was only when the train pushed on that [we] realized our model [had] left her Hamlet behind. No one dared to scoop the book out of the still glowing chair.

Staying Pinoy in New York

(New York Diaries: 1609 to 2009. p. 58-59)