Fashion week in Paris for Prête-à-porter SS2011 collections crawled in with a meow on September 28th and exited like a prancing stallion on October 6th, 2010; and in-between was the eat-or-be-eaten insanity that surrounds everything fashion. I was lucky enough to be able to attend several fashion shows, but generally steered clear of the big high profile défilés, for fear I might be trampled in the stampeding herd of fans and photographers.
But I did break out and attempt one show in particular for I love his creations and crazy passionate flair, John Galliano. It was fun, and funny, but mostly was a glimpse into what a frantic world it is the world of fashion design.
In front of the Théâtre Comique, where the show was held, there was a pressing crowd frothing at the mouth to get in. Non-ticket holders scanned the entrance looking for a furtive way in, and stared down those lucky attendees who were let in, with envious eyes. Everyone wondering who everyone else is, and if you are important enough to observe, photograph or be jealous of. And the mob pushes closer and closer towards the door while the guards and security fight every inch. “Back-down! Back-away or we’ll just start pushing!” they shouted at these famished fashionistas. Who knew frail women in spike heals could have such stamina! They were waiting for two hours outside of the theater with only a slip of a hope of gaining entry.
And then there are the fans who go dressed up in order to be photographed and don’t even try to push their way in the door. They prance around out front, break barely a smile and pose for everyone with a camera in the vicinity.
Some people claim that outside of the runway shows is often more fascinating than inside!
And the real sharks wait by the back stage door. And as every black rented car arrives, they whistle and holler “this is gonna be a big one!” They get in position, brace themselves and raise their weapon of choice (a big fat Canon with a gigantic zoom lens), and click like mad as soon and the door opens. There is a strange music of camera noises and shouts of the celebrity’s name that raised like a tidal wave and then dies down rapidly as soon as they are out of sight. And the photographers and fans are left panting with baited breath for the next “big one” to appear. Models exit the building and land in this sea of piranhas like lost deer with big wide eyes and left over sequins in their hair as they search the crowd for their driver. And these people all feed off of each other like gremlins. Without the frenzy and buzz of the press, the models have no exposure, and without practically attacking doe-like creatures the fashion press has less material and little glamor. They are as opposite as oil and water, but make a most delicious stew, especially when you add a little Galliano flavoring, par exemple!
Vivement le prochain fashion week!