Fake Glamour and Cheap Wine: The Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week

Thursday was the start of another famous event here in New York. It was Fashion’s Night Out, marking the beginning of a one-week-episode during which fashion gurus take over this city. More and more cities have started FNO, which is basically the first night of Fashion Week, initiating models, designers, celebrities and everybody else to flock the streets, go shopping, or simply celebrate the advent of one of the most popular events in the industry. Of course the Big Apple is one of the leading milestones when it comes to nice dresses, bulimic tall and slim models, and arrogant sophisticated designers.

I am usually not into this industry, even though I occasionally have fun trying myself out as a model (not runway, of course). Just by crossing the streets in this town or riding the subway, I have encountered many people who can be described as “interesting” at best and “shocking” at worst. For example a guy with a very eccentric, white-fur winter jacket one morning in January. Or the girl with the shortest skirt and skinniest legs I have ever seen. Many models come here to make a living but I am not sure what the average quota of success is. I can only imagine that strutting down a runway in a popular show must be as amazing but arbitrary as landing a hit as a teenage singer.

When I came to New York I’ve vowed to be part of as many events as possible. Fashion Week makes it hard for the average traveler to get a glimpse of the most wanted shows because most of the time you need an invitation. How do you get these invitations? You need to know someone in the industry and you should make sure he/ she becomes your best friend during this time period. Some shows allow for tickets but these are seldom the ones you want to see. Lots of private fashion shows are going on in random places, such as a rented cathedral next to Grand Central. These shows are in adherence to Fashion Week but they are not in the main location, which is the Lincoln Center. Whatever goes down there is where you want to be as a fashion fanatic!

I was still rooming with the Belarusians back then. One of them was working for a French fashion brand in Chelsea. She had already indicated that she might be able to snag two invitations off her boss who had connections to Haute Couture designers. So one Thursday in February of 2011 I get a text shortly before my shift at work is over. “Come on over to the Lincoln Center! You have to be here by 6 PM otherwise doors will close” was the short and demanding text from her. I was so surprised, I didn’t know how to react at first.

Then I raced down to the subway, sprinted home, threw over a nice dress, tried it with some make-up, ran back to the subway station and somehow made it on the A-train to Columbus Circle. A short walk to the Lincoln Center and I was standing in front of a building that didn’t give anything away. No fancy models or celebrities outside, only some lone photographers. The action was clearly inside. Here it was that the other roomie greeted me and together we walked towards the entrance of the show. A line had already formed, reaching around a few corners. Somehow people were still expecting to buy their way in if a few ticketholders were willing to sell their cards or if some spots turned out to be empty. Along the waiting masses a few tables with free wine had been built up and the audience was able to drink before watching the show.

The Belarusian came out just in time and handed us two printed out forms. Not very glamorous, I thought, before being ushered through the white doors. We stood in a relatively small room with a few hundred other people, all standing and chatting away. The room was completely white. On the side tribune-like benches had been built up to accommodate the viewers. On a cue, the light dimmed and everyone stopped what they were doing to take a seat. The photographers built up their equipment to the left of us, right in camera shot of the runway. We were sitting with other coworkers of the Belarusian and tried to keep a straight face. Whatever you see on TV, seat-wise and room-wise, is pretty much what reality looks like. The furniture is spartanic and fulfills only one purpose: Presenting the show and then getting the people out of there.

Photographers in action

Loud music started playing; the light was completely turned off by now. I had the feeling I was in an underground club.

Suddenly a spotlight turned on, casting light on the first model walking down the runway. She wore Naeem Khan’s collection elegantly, posing here and there in front of the cameras and then strutting back. Not all models did their job as well. Among the beautiful dresses and exotic make-up I had a hard time recognizing the persons underneath the masks. Hollow eyes looked straight ahead when their turn was up, most of which did not have a personality at all.

Naeem Khan Fashion Show

“Designers really do use their models only as a better piece of equipment” I thought. I felt my skin cringe when I saw the bony back of one of the girls. Bulimia and anorexia must still be an issue, even after the new “guidelines” of model types had been introduced. I didn’t feel too comfortable seeing the sickish girls and had a hard time focusing on the dresses. It put a damper on things but most people in the room must have been used to it. They were able to admire the dresses and to clap once the designer Naeem came out. An Indian native who had made it to the top through hard work and the right connections in this industry. A total of 40 dresses for the autumn/winter collection of 2011 were introduced in his show and I have no doubt they were successfully sold out that night.

The after party included free wine. It certainly was not the expensive stuff but two glasses of red fulfilled their purpose. We were introduced to a funky looking couple of dancers and more fun people. Not everyone at Fashion Week is stuck up but you do have the occasional eccentric. Such as the girl who wore wings and was walking through the crowd, oblivious to the fact that they bothered people who were struck by them.

I enjoyed being part of it but I don’t really have too much motivation to go back. It’s one of those events where once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. Unless you are a true fashion fanatic and want to check up on the newest (and most beautiful) fashion, then this is just the right place for you to be. For New York will represent the best of the best of the best – that’s a promise!

[Author's note: Excuse the horrible image quality! I had to take screenshots from an old video I uploaded and that's what it turned out to look like. Unfortunately I don't have the pictures anymore due to a bad hardware problem with my old computer... BOOOH!]

NYC Craigslist Ads and Other Scam Stories

This seems like a life time ago, but last year around this time I was new to the City, eager to try out things I had never tried out anywhere else, and I saw opportunities to do so right here – where everything is possible!
I had already acquainted myself with Craigslist because of my roommate search. So I decided to give it another shot. Craigslist has a category called Talent and another named Event, in which they advertise for every possible ridiculous job out there: runway models, hair models, waiters for a catering event, artists, people with certain body types or of certain ethnic decent … Pretty much anything you could imagine and beyond. After scrolling down past the ad looking for foot fetish victims models and the ads wanting waitresses who serve drinks topless and are willing to be “nice to the guests” (uhm, so you’re looking for strippers, guy, strippers!), I stumbled across a few links that were looking for models, preferably “fresh faces.” If you’ve gotten to know me a bit, you know I do have the body type, possibly the looks to be the next Heidi Klum famous face on the screen. This half-jokingely said, I do not have any serious interest in pursuing any sort of career in the industry of starvation, shallowness, and forced young looks. And that is basically all it is, unless you are a designer, then you would have to deal with the issue of eccentricism on top of this. However, I have always been curious of how these notorious model castings work and what it takes to grab the agency’s intention.

I responded to a few ads with some outdated pictures of myself and, sure enough, the next day I received a call from a Model Counseling Agency. The word counseling purposefully disguising their intents, I dare say. They asked me to stop by at their office in Midtown, right on Park Avenue and 50th Street. For all of you who do not know, this is a splendid area: It is 3 blocks away from the Rockefeller Center and a bustling crowd of suit-people blends in with the under-dressed tourists and over-dressed divas.

I didn’t have any plans for that day, so I decided to come and see what I might be able to write about later. Around 3 PM I entered a huge lobby and waited a bit, until a 55-year-old woman, who was desperately trying to look like 50 by means of Botox & Co, came down and led me up to their “office” laid out in suite-sized rooms. I wasn’t the only one waiting. Two other girls were hiding what a nervous wreck they were. One was about two heads smaller than me, but nonetheless extremely beautiful. The other was a burlier type of female with a few strokes of make-up too many on her otherwise non-exciting face. I was confirmed in my initial impression that this is only a scam. After the short girl disappeared, I tried to start a conversation with Ms. Make-up Queen. She was nervously glancing around and didn’t seem like the type to socialize with what she thought was her competition.
Then a beautiful Islander-type of woman with a tall figure, no doubt a retired model herself, fetched me and led me into a room filled with a serious-looking desk and a few chairs. I seated myself and couldn’t wait to start the circus. She first explained what her firm was about, and basically it seemed like it was doing the same type of work a normal model agency would. I was even more confused by the term “counseling.” They seemed to have tons, no, an innumerable amount of photo shoots waiting for them and their hot models in the Tri-State-Area and Connecticut. Boy, was I lucky to have met them the same day, for we could start working together by the end of this week. Then she started to ask me basics, such as if I was able to work in the US, where I was from, how long I had been here… This was a tough part for me, as she constantly sweet-talked me in such a manipulative manner, I didn’t know how exactly to react. First it was my gorgeous cheek bones, which made her ask if I had any Russian heritage. Then it was my tall statue, which would make it easy to snag a job. And my short, sexy hair, that would just stand out (I had a bob cut back then). Well, her spider webs didn’t manage to lure me in, albeit I gave the best impression they had. And I had also learned to become immune to sweet-talk from an early time on, so my alarm bells were constantly ringing. I was just waiting for the one unfortunate thing about this entire conversation. And sure enough, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, she stopped to take a look at my pictures and noticed I didn’t have any. What a pity! But we would have to shoot those first before we progress further. She already confirmed that there was a photographer waiting downstairs and all I had to do is pay her $200 for a professional session. My, what a deal! I was about to laugh out loud, but kept my serious face. I explained to her that my bank had not yet been set up and that I did not have a German credit card. How unlucky. I definitely did not carry $200 in cash with me, either. So I would have to return another day. I think I was quite convincing. She led me out of the door, further flattering words followed, and then the other woman appeared again, asking if I was doing the photo shoot now. She looked disappointed when I said I wouldn’t today. Gotcha right there! I fled this building as fast as I could and just shook my head about how gullible people are in New York – I probably included.
When I told my roommate about this, she told me a similar story had happened to her in the artist industry, in which they had wanted $100 dollars for such a photo shoot. She congratulated me for getting out of that one and I did so myself, too.

There are a few other comical events I witnessed. In August, one month before fashion show, I responded to an ad by the FIT. It’s the Fashion Institue-Technology, located in Chelsea. They were looking for runway models for an upcoming show – unpaid, of course. I first had to sign in with a guard who couldn’t care less but still had to do his job. Then I entered a huge studio – there is indeed no doubt that this school likes to splurge is worth its money. Because of the name the E-mail had provided me with, I was expecting a male designer, so I was rather surprised to see a fragile woman sitting next to a chubby man. The man introduced himself as a manager, politely asked for my name, and then wanted me to “perform” straight from there. Some funky music was played (nothing really professional), and I walked up and down the studio, with both of them watching every move. I think I couldn’t disguise my smile because they noticed quite soon I wasn’t serious. Hey, if you want a model, you better make sure she has enough time to put her 10 inch high heels, on, is all I have to say. We shook hands and they had enough manners to wish me good-bye. The next model was waiting to perform: A transvestite-looking, heavy female who could offer a glorious portfolio of no doubt severely edited and cropped pictures. Poor guy girl!

Lastly, I had a fun experience with craigslist scams, believe it or not. In May of 2010 I responded to a model ad for a make-up school in Dumbo. At first I had trouble finding it, as it was housed in an abandoned industrial building – one of the many in that area. I walked into a tiny room filled with 4 girls and the instructor. I think I was the only model they had during that session. A nice young woman with a belly indicating her pregnancy tended my face for over an hour. She said she was travelling every day from the Bronx all the way down to Brooklyn, just to take classes in the best make-up school on the entire East Coast. Then, she brushed powder across my face, shadowed my eye lids, pinkened my lips … until the instructor noticed my white eye brow and insisted on “fixing it up” with some color. So ten tedious minutes were spent on this and when I looked into the mirror at the end I was taken aback … in horror! My eye brow looked patched together, my face was covered by a white shade, my eyes had never looked like this before – it was less than optimal. I didn’t know if I should pity the student’s lack of talent or the ruthlessness of the instructor for taking money from her.

Vampire me! This photo does not show the full extent of how bad the make-up looked.

As a thank-you I received a make-up tool in form of an expensive-looking brush and pink, loose powder (eye shadow, I assumed) together with a coupon to attend a class at their school at a reduced rate or to purchase an expensive make-up kit at a not signicantly enough reduced price. What a lucky day! On my way out I was just thinking about all those poor souls that probably would never learn how to do ones faces right and who paid hundreds of dollars just to get ripped off.

New York – it’s filled with incredible scams and it’s fun to witness!