when *out* became in
Once upon a time, in a land far far away, (let's call it planet earth, shall we?) fashion shows were all about what happened *INSIDE* the shrouded, mysterious darkened tents, the destination of just a select few. And once inside this mayhem, it was all about *THE FRONT ROW*.
Oh, and hanging out in the *VIP LOUNGE*. Afterall, any nobody can wait on line *INSIDE* the tent. And P.S. you're nobody if you're not in the VIP Lounge! But unless you were the daughter of a famous pop singer or ex-TV star from the 70s, a pro-athlete (because they're so fashionable!)--or press--fughet about it! The VIP Room, that is.
Once you were in the front row, it was imperative to *ACT VERY BORED* and text all your not-so-fortunate friends still waiting to get in to let them know what a boring time they were missing.
It was key to be *SUPAH DUPAH LATE* so you could make a *BIG ENTRANCE* with lots of *CHEEK KISSING PHOTO OPS* on your way to *THE FRONT ROW*, preferably while carrying a *VERY SMALL FLUFFY WHITE DOG*.
Trust your faithful narrator, a *VERY SMALL FLUFFY WHITE DOG WEARING A TIARRA* trumps an "it" bag every time.
Sometimes it paid to have *INDESCRIBABLY BAD BEHAVIOR* so that you were escorted out of the tent after having a *SH*T FIT* backstage and sticking your foot in a bucket of ice to make a point (now that's saying something!) just like a certain *LADY* did when she was thrown out of Smashbox.
To reach the pinnacle of *INDESCRIBABLY BAD BEHAVIOR* you had to be the *DESIGNER LATE TO YOUR OWN SHOW*. Wow!
But then one day everyone got sick of shows being *SUPAH DUPAH (YAWN) LATE*. And all at once, the whole interior thing was passe just like that.
Welcome to the new "in", which is *OUT*. Outside the shows that is. Or just *OUT ON THE STREET*, like real people wearing real clothes with their own real style in a real financially down time. Yet the *REAL PEOPLE* are so impossibly thin, with a knack for knowing how to pose just so with hair whipping across their faces, that you have to wonder...right?
It started with the street photographers and it just got so hip--that certain way of striding through the gravel at the Tullerie Gardens while talking on your cell phone...
That certain way of wearing a hat cocked with a rakish air of je ne sais quois...that Vogue had to snap them all up and create special titles for these bloggers, um I mean fashion editors.
You must be living in internet-free Mongolia if you haven't gleaned by now that Garance & The Satorialist and Jak & Jil have westernized the Japanese press fetish with *BEING OUTSIDE* the entrance to the fashion shows and lifted it to the former heights of *SUPAH DUPER INDESCRIBABLY BAD BEHAVIOR & VERY SMALL FLUFFY WHITE DOGS*. Yay!
And they all lived happily ever after because God forbid fashion coverage ever really be about the clothes. And besides, what would Sasha Baron Cohen (aka Bruno) do without us?
posted by Mary Jo from TrustYourStyle at
Monday, April 13, 2009
9 Comments:
Brava.
very funny post...love it!
Hahahahaha. Thanks for cluing in us mere mortals trying to get out the door without looking like homeless people how this all really works. And what REALLY matters....
You crack me up MJ!
I wonder what would happen if I were to make an appearance outside the fashion tents in my current get up---ragged yoga pants and a fleece jacket from costco.
because shabby is the new chic, didn't you know!? ;)
Funny!
(Oh, and the Internet exists even in Ulan Bataar, where I found urbanites dressed pretty well, and the native costumes in the countryside even more lovely.)
Oh well said you. My own thoughts entirely. Bravo!
I think this is my favorite post ever. Love it. And thanks for giving us on the outside some clue about what goes on in there. :)
great post! i loved reading this.
This has got to be one of the best posts ever! Supah Dupah great!
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