A Day in the Life During NYFW
With your host, Leandra Green-Machine Medine!
7:52 a.m.: Rise and shine and give god your glory, glory. Rise and shine, and give god your glory, glo–shit salad, I have to write yesterday’s review before it’s today. Okay, Leandra. Buckle down. Buckle. Down.
8:20 a.m.: In case you’re wondering, yes I meditated, no I did not have a chance to brush my teeth and yes again, I am contemplating wearing a fitness outfit to fashion week today. Sorry I just called it that, like it’s one unified location. I think I’ve been spending too much time with Amelia. I’m getting a coffee at Think even though I don’t actually like their coffee and an almond butter and honey sandwich because I like that combo platter very much.
Never mind. I think I’ll have some GREEN MILK AND GRANOLA.
9:24 a.m.: Jason Wu, Rosie Assoulin, Givenchy reviewed. Finished. Done. Boom. Now, if I were me, which I am, what would I wear? This Thakoon jacket as a dress? Is it going to rain today? Sun looks like it’s out right now. I’d really like to wear those weird blue-lens sunglasses. I think I ate too much last night. Have you ever tried a teff flour cookie? Last night I tried eight. White jeans, white t-shirt, suspenders. Done. Shoes?
No. They don’t look right. Sandals? Sandals. Okay.
11:01 a.m.: I have just arrived at Milk Studios, where Australian designer Dion Lee is going to show. Shiona Turini (you remember that time she tried to turn me into a “sexy” dresser, right?) says she loves this show because they’re not afraid to show naked ladies. Amelia says she’s going to write a story about bringing sexy back, I tell her Justin Timberlake already did that.
I look like Gloria Steinem btw.
1:00 p.m.: In the two hours that have passed since we last spoke, I saw Rebecca Minkoff, where a key variable missing in full through the course of this season — the 70s — are on display. Now I’m with Amelia and Yasmin Sewell, going to get a sandwich to eat (as opposed to wear or play hockey with) and fine, full disclosure, we are also stopping at the recently opened Totokaelo in Soho because I want to see if they have this one pair of Dries Van Noten boots that I srsly, srsly want.
1:09 p.m.: No such luck. Come at me, sandwich.
2:20 p.m.: I’m seated at Tibi and just saw a pair of sequined walking shorts that make me feel like the entire life I have lived until this point is a lie. There are also these tea-length dresses (nothing is mini anymore! Thigh haters unite!) with straps hanging down their backside. It’s a microtrend, yes, but that shit was happening at Rosie yesterday and Derek Lam tomorrow (I can see the future), too. All I want to do is throw a pair of jeans under one of these sequined pink dresses and call myself ready for the theater.
3:00 p.m.: My leg fell asleep. I’m limping.
3:00:56 p.m.: It’s awake!
3:58 p.m.: We saw Isa Arfen, or the rising Miuccia, and now I’m backstage at Christian Siriano, which I styled this season. I love this guy because he’s the only recorded designer who actually makes plus size fashion. The collect is an homage to the middle east and we worked out a narrative where it starts with a naked dress a la Carrie Bradshaw at JFK and ends on the way home from Saudi Arabia in a yellow gown + head covering. Ching ching.
4:53 p.m.: Sorry for the affected calling of the following — but here is where we “mad-dash” to Spring Studios to see Altuzarra, who consistently breathes life into the lungs of New York Fashion Week. The show always feels so grown up. Kind of makes you want to go home and change. Or at least stop wearing ripped pants.
5:22 p.m.: TIE DYE T-SHIRT. CROC-DYE A-LINE SKIRT. Altuzarra is like a sandwich, man. Is it just me or is there an awesome Perry Ellis ca. Marc Jacobs 90s supermodel thing happening right now? Pleated! Low slung! Knee-length! Skirts!
6:01 p.m.: I’m now back at Milk Studios, where if you remember CORRECTLY I started the day to watch Baja East. I love the fuckers who design this collection and it’s so cool to watch the attendees at the show get fancier with each season. Hi Cathy Horyn! Hi Hamish Bowles. Hi…Miguel!? I’m texting Amelia sign-off approval on today’s newsletter which is essentially a series of five bullet points wherein she makes fun of me. Yesterday, for example, I walked around all day, button fly open, out, and vag to walls.
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6:48 p.m.: Don’t forget to stop, smell the flowers and appreciate your life.
7:24 p.m.: I meet Abie (parter-in-sex among other things) for dinner at a bomb ass restaurant in the West Village called Bar Bolonat. Alexander Wang is in an hour and a half. I cannot wait to eat this cumin-seasoned edamame. Have you ever tried a lamb ball? Me neither.
7:29 p.m.: Abie tried to make a joke. It does not land.
7:41 p.m.: Second attempt at joke (referring to an empty plate, he tells our gracious waiter, “We hated the meal!”) — again, it does not land.
8:02 p.m.: We’re done. I’m going to kill myself if I don’t get ice cream.
8:09 p.m.: We’re getting ice cream. Hehe.
8:22 p.m.: Leonardo DiCaprio is here! At Snow Days! Eating shaved ice! I have to go to Wang, huh.
9:08 p.m.: There are two instances wherein I am reminded of how uncool I am. The first is while I’m doing dance cardio. The second is while I’m in the presence of Alexander Wang and his legion of models. He’s celebrating his 10th anniversary and this place is bleeding cool beans. (Not literally, that would be so weird, no?)
10:40 p.m.: I do not stay for the afterparty. I am, in fact, now home and in bed and watching Defiance. I have still not brushed my teeth, and Abie says hi.