Fashion Week has hit New York City again and big, fancy designers are showing their latest collections for spring/summer 2014. So, we went to a few shows to figure out what all the Tumblr goofballs, twinks, and trust-funders will be wearing when it’s nice outside again. Enjoy!
At this point, everybody on the internet has already slobbed on Humberto Leon and Carol Lim’s knobs for the amazing presentation they put together for Opening Ceremony’s first ever runway show. So, I’m not going to bore you talking about the dope-ass clothes or the killer cars or Rihanna. The reason the OC show was the highlight of my NYFW experience was because it’s the only one that got my rocks off.
You get all kinds of free stuff at fashion shows, and most of it is useless. This year I got some nail polish, a pair of sunglasses that I regrettably lost, and a nifty key chain. But none of that swag even came close to the self-pleasuring device gifted to me by OC. The vacuum cup designed by Tenga with the sweet psychedelic packaging inspired by OC’s latest collection was exactly what the doctor ordered after a long week of fashion-model-induced blue balls. I’m a creature of habit, so I’ve spanking my monkey the same way for the past 20-odd years. But now that I’ve had the pleasure of ejaculating into an oblong plastic tube with squishy cold stuff inside and a fancy designer label on the outside, I must say I am never going back. I’ll be coping handfuls of OC-branded Tengas every time my girl goes on family vacation or I just need some “me time.” Thank you, OC, for being amazing and giving me something that I’ll remember long after all of the other brand’s collections fade in my memory—a toe-curling nut buster.
—By Wilbert L. Cooper
JUNK FOOD VINTAGE NFL CURATED BY KRISTIN CAVALLARI
“Confusing” doesn’t even begin to describe a collection of “NFL vintage” by a brand called Junk Food, curated by the (recently arrested) Kristin Cavallari. But here’s everything I witnessed within five minutes of walking into this carnival show: three break-dancing teenagers, a bitchy cat in a photo booth licking “gourmet cat food” from a silver spoon, an obscenely large disco ball, and a veritable tsunami of leopard-print skirts. And that’s just what was happening on the sidelines. The crowd was a teeming mass of bottle-blond The Hills rejects and potbellied creeps waiting anxiously for the kickoff. And when the clothes actually came streaming down the runway… Well, let’s just say that the only person who could work cropped jersey sweaters with glittery sleeves and golden-chain belts is Peyton Manning in drag.
—By Michelle Lhooq
What a strange crowd. Over half the attendees who showed up didn’t look like they belonged there. Did they even know what Public School was? I sure do, and think it’s how a fashionable man should dress every day. Neutral colors and simple silhouettes are the way to go if you are a guy. The two-toned, black-and-white sneakers were the jam, too. Oh, and the model selection was impeccable. The group of models at this show was the best I’ve seen all fashion week. The women who came were just gawking at all the hot guys the whole time, but so was I, so I can’t hate.
—By Miyako Bellizzi
Return to New Zealand Fashion Week
For the second year in a row, I gladly skipped out on the first half of New York Fashion Week in order to screw up my internal clock by hauling ass across the globe to the tiny little county of New Zealand. When I received my invitation, I initially thought: Fuckkkkk that. But then I found out I’d have free Wi-Fi, which would allow me to afford to eat this time around. So I said OK, and before I could even think twice about what I was doing, I was on a 13-hour flight to the southern hemisphere, chugging as much red wine as I could before the plane left the gate. Then I gave out all the Ambien I’d brought for the trip to the passengers around me so they wouldn’t hear me frantically chanting “4 8 15 16 23 42,”Lost's Oceanic Flight 815 doomed number sequence under my breath out of fear our plane was destined to fall out of the sky. Who cares I wasn't going to Australia, same shit. Planes suck, and I'm not trying to die or end up stuck on an island where all of the native creatures could easily kill me.
And yet, despite my crippling fear of flying, earthquakes, and my nonexistent personal spending budget that prohibited me from purchasing items from the designers I’d seen and contributing to New Zealand’s dwindling economy (Do you know how much a sweater can cost in a country full of sheep?) I actually had a good time… AGAIN. Everyone was friendly, treated me as if I were hot shit, and had me do all of these interviews for TV. They even let me sit front row at shows I’d totally trashed just a year before. Pretty epic. It’d be impossible to tell you about everything I saw as I’ve arrived home from the trip completely brain-dead with a mouth full of cavities from all of the free chocolates, but here is what I do remember vaguely and still feel comfortable saying nice/bad things about…
Crystal @ N Model Management
Best Models - Crystal and Kelvin, a.k.a. Ksenia
One of the unique things about seeing shows in a country as small as New Zealand is that they don’t have that many great models to work with. Everyone uses the same girls, which is wonderful if those girls are attractive. But the paucity of models can be a terrible thing that’ll make you want to blow your brains out multiple times a day when you’re stuck seeing the same stupid faces at every presentation. Surprisingly this season I was blessed with seeing two faces I loved—the fact that I am choosing to bestow the title of Best Models on two completely different girls is extremely rare.
Sometimes all it takes to prove to people that you’re a good model is to show everyone your tits. Most girls fidget and try to fix a nip slip, and as a result end up drawing more attention to their wardrobe malfunction. However, a truly seasoned model just keeps on walking and smirks devilishly as she strides down the runway giving onlookers the kind of look that says, “Chill. I got this!” When I saw Crystal walk out in a dress reminiscent of the type of gown a classy Joan Chen might have worn on Twin Peaks not once but twice with a fully exposed nipple I literally had to hold back the applause. I loved it so damn much, and clearly I wasn’t the only fan of her boobies this past fashion week because designers kept putting her in outfits that showed them off. It was such a delight!
New York Fashion Week is a peculiar happening filled with angry PR people, overworked baristas, poor people masquerading as the rich, and rich people masquerading as the poor. Basically, it’s a mindfuck that can’t be described by words, so instead here are some pictures. Keep up with this column throughout the week for more NYFW photo updates!
Fashion Week DON’Ts
New York Fashion Week comes around twice a year like a big black asymmetrical comet covered in zippers, cocaine, and the body parts of gay men. We love to hate it and we hate ourselves for loving it so much. We’ve been covering the fashion shows and parties of NYFW for some time now and we’ve picked up a few tips to help you navigate through all of the posturing, grand standing, and douche bagging to get to the actual good stuff—the art of clothes. Here is our list of things we feel you shouldn’t do when you’re spending a week looking at human coat hangers and doing bumps with D-level celebutantes.
Smiling is stupid because it could allude to the fact that you might actually be having fun. Fashion isn’t fun—it’s hell. Do you see us smiling? No. We’re all just sucking in our guts and holding in our farts.
This isn’t China, pal. People don’t take kindly to getting shoved in lines at Fashion Week parties and shows. If you put your hands on that guy in front of you in the red leather dress, you’ll have a studded pair of size 11 pumps lodged right up your anus.
Don’t Wear Anything That Can Seriously Hinder You from Having a Good Time
Everybody wants to wear some crazy shit at NYFW. But before you go peacocking in some neoprene straightjacket, remember that eventually you have to take it off and nothing kills the moment more than halting the love train to carefully disrobe an avant garde designer piece.
Fashion Week Sucks Balls
Thanks to my job, I’ve been going to various fashion weeks for a few years now. Usually, when friends find out I’m going, they start begging for invites and guestlist spots for parties and free goodie bags (or something—I’ve pretty much stopped listening). This is because everyone is an idiot, and you have been lied to about fashion week. Fashion week sucks balls.
Here’s what happens at a fashion week:
As you approach the Lincoln Center (where the main NYFW events takes place), a terrifying, dark desperation hangs in the air. Dozens of photographers wait outside the door, hungrily looking from person to person, hoping to see either a celebrity, or someone with a bloggable outfit that they can photograph.
Though there are close to 100 different photographers there, they’re not shooting for anyone you’ve ever heard of. They all “work” for “online magazines” that have “.blogspot.com” in their URL. You will see the above scene (a woman, who is probably a fashion student, being mobbed because she’s wearing a “funky hat”) play out multiple times.
Once inside, you join some kind of line, which you will be in for a very long time. And it’s not like some relaxed Space Mountain line, either. Fashion people are fucking INTENSE. There are different line-heirachies, which leads to a lot of shoving and shouting (especially if you’re in the plebe’s line, like I always am).
Obv most stereotypes about groups of people are untrue (JK), but everything you’ve ever heard about fashion people is correct. Zoolander is pretty much a documentary.
At one show, I was stuck in a line behind two girls who had a 13-minute debate (I timed it) about whether or not to eat a free sample of yogurt covered pretzel (they decided to not eat the pretzel, but take a three mile run the next morning anyways, phew!).
Also, this is an actual conversation I overheard in another line:
Girl: You should have a theme party!
Boy: Eugh, I would love to, but I can’t really do parties.
Girl: Why not?
Boy: It’s just that I have too many friends. I couldn’t invite everyone, it would be impossible. And I hate excluding people.
Girl: That sucks.
Boy: Yeah, it really bums me out.
There’s something a little upsetting about being around fashion people, too. Does the thought of this kid staying up all night hot gluing feathers to his shoes make anyone else wanna cry?
Also, Mercedes sponsored the main event space, so this car was positioned at the entrance. Which made me think of some car crash pictures I saw on Reddit a few days ago (don’t click that link if you ever want to relax in a car ever again, btw), so I spent a lot of my time at fashion week thinking about being trapped inside that car as it burned and having panic attacks.
Anyway, Fascinating Fashion Week Fact: Over 100 percent of shows at NYFW used that one Grimes songas the soundtrack.
I had no idea it took so much equipment to play a Grimes song, though. Who knew DJing was so complicated!
If you’re lucky, the event you’re at will have free drinks. Usually made by a mixologist who has been hired to mask the taste of whatever, recently-launched-and-destined-to-fail booze brand is sponsoring the event.
Also, that is the tallest man in America. I’m not sure why he was at fashion week. Maybe he’d been hired to add some excitement to the crowd? At the show where I saw him, he was hanging with a high-fashion dwarf, a guy with 100s of facial piercings, and a furry. It was like being at a casting for a P!nk music video.
New York Fashion Week… on Acid!
This guy here is our buddy Tyler. And that white stuff on his tongue is partially chewed, acid-dosed Altoids mints.
This is him a little while later, waiting for a cab to take us to a fashion show that was happening as part of New York Fashion Week. At this point, Tyler told me that he was beginning to feel a “floaty floatiness” and had “upward swooshing” in his fingertips.
His trip began to kick in properly when he saw this building from the cab. Apparently it was “all swirly, with swirls swirling into the other swirls.”
The trip intensified when it was time for me to pay for our taxi, and it became apparent that our driver was unfamiliar with the concept of cabs.
As I was trying to pay him, he smiled at me and said “it’s free” before attempting to hand me a white business card with what appeared to be braille on it. When I insisted on paying, he just kept smiling and pointing toward my phone while saying, “No, no, no.”
This is the kind of bizarre exchange that only seems to happen when you’re too high to deal with it. Tyler was looking around nervously. When he saw the Matrix business card he started to cackle, before asking the cab driver, “What’s happening? Am I tripping?”
Eventually, the cab driver let me give him $15, and we headed to the show. It was held on this pier.
Outside the venue, there were a billion people rushing around. Mostly street-style photographers. You may already know this, but being in a crowd is pretty much the last thing you want to do when you’re on acid. Followed pretty closely by having your photo taken. Tyler looked as though he was beginning to panic. “Fucking street-fashion photographers… They’re everywhere… It’s like a street-style nightmare.” He said, before rushing us inside.
Like clothes or looking at people who take themselves super seriously? Great. You’ll love our New York Fashion Week photo blog.
WATCH: Fashion Week Internationale - Rio Fashion Week, Part 1
Charlet heads to the sexiest city in the world for Rio Fashion Week and, taking 1980s Arnold Schwarzenegger’s advice, goes on a hunt for ass. She plays “spot the transsexual model” backstage at the shows and invites a 19-year-old transgender prostitute into the VICE bang bus to learn more about the “ins and outs” of her job.
Why I Hate Fashion Week
Like the swans returning to Capistrano or all your friends jumping off a bridge, it’s that annual ritual where a million fashion students parade around in public wearing all of their thrift store accessories at once. It’s New York Fashion Week, and it’s driving me a little bit crazy. That’s because Fashion Week is stupid.
I don’t believe the fashion industry is stupid. I thank it every morning when I put the clothes on my back, no matter if they’re real designer threads or some knockoff I got at Top Shop. But the growing idea that Fashion Week is a spectator sport that should be open to everyone with an Instagram account and a subscription to Vogue is baffling to me. Fashion Week is for fashion people, and that’s the way it should be. Unless you work for a department store, retail boutique, fashion magazine, or stylist, you have no business being in the front row.