I am a celeb-obsessed clothes horse and even though I fear it will undoubtedly take forever (or at least a richer boyfriend) to afford anything spotted on the runway, I love fashion. But alas, for now I can only watch from a distance and hope that one day soon I can break into the world of fake air kisses.
As Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week grew closer and the weeks whiled away, I secretly hoped that between two internships at least someone would send me to something. I didn’t care what I did, I just wanted to be there and have an envious Facebook status for five minutes.
Thankfully my Friday afternoon was given a gleaming boost when I was offered the chance to go backstage at William Tempest, which for me, as a fellow Brit, was super exciting! In retrospect my daydreams were just that: fantasizing about me and William becoming BFFs, mingling backstage with the fash pack and taking a seat right next to Alexa. It was a different story.
I arrived at The Box at Lincoln Center bang on time, and with surprising ease, I gave my name and received my press badge. The tents were just beyond the table I gave my name and stood guarded by no-one but flanked by fridges full of milkshakes and tables full of food.
A young PR girl greeted me and walked me right into the midst of a hair and makeup furore, when it dawned on me that the hours spent daydreaming had not prepared me for the fact I actually had to talk to the wonderfully fabulous Napoleon Perdis, who was doing makeup for this show among many others (check out our Elise Overland post). I took a seat as he finished applying sweeps of white powder across a beautifully made up model’s brow.
“The look is otherworldly. A kind of lobster underworld look,” he shouted over to me as the model complained that wearing eyeliner would mess up her contact lenses. Talking me through the look, he continued working on the conveyor belt of amazingly beautiful models, all the while maintaining eye contact and making me feel as important as Anna Wintour.
And it was over just as quickly as it had happened. I handed back my press pack, lined up my best strut and headed back down the ramp that would take me from one of them back to reality. I slung my camera over my shoulder and walked the three blocks to the subway knowing that although my sequined jacket and I were back on the train to obscurity, there is always next year, and those butterflies in my belly will be even bigger and better!
-Ashley Jardine
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