When Fashion Week Ends, Where Do All The Models Go?
There is always this stretch of time between the September and February shows that feels simultaneously invigorated by the recently-walked Spring fashion and yet quieted by the impending layered blanket of winter.
During this time, editors kick it into high gear, shooting all of September’s clothes for Spring issues. Writers will dissect past collections and pen styling prose. Designers will sketch, drape, and mull while pattern makers sharpen their scissors.
There will be Pre-Fall presentations, which are sort of fashion’s answer to the midterm exams, but one has to wonder: what about all the models? What will they do?
We assume New York City as their home base save for the under-eighteen club who live with their parents. We know there are casting calls and part time jobs, regional catwalks, auditions, and campaigns for the established lucky ones. But if you consider the number of runway shows that span in one season and then consider the number of models it takes to walk them, you’ll realize that they can’t possibly all exist on this island at the same time.
I would feel exponentially shorter than I already do if that were the case.
Because you and I both know that running with the truth is far more fun than sitting on it, let’s go for a jog with the question I asked earlier:
Where do all the models go?
Don’t worry – I have a few ideas.
The first is that they are bird shepherds of the sky. They grow wings and fly South with all the other graceful birds, making sure their soaring herd stays on track. You’re probably ready to counter that this is impossible for multiple reasons, and that even if it were possible wouldn’t someone have reported it by now, to which I say — you know how they tell you not to stare at the sun? It’s one big conspiracy to get you not to notice the models flying by.
The second theory is that they attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or perhaps Beauxbatons Academy in France, or the Scandinavian school of magic, Durmstrang Institute.
No? You don’t like that one.
Ok, what about a theory that the models live in an underwater colony where they get to wear these really chic astronaut-like helmets and fabulous scuba suits? The languid nature of the deep sea allows them to practice their grace under pressure, not to mention the constant swimming which keeps them in top shape. I mean you don’t think Pilates actually gives Constance Jablonski those arms, do you?
The reality is that I still actually have no idea what they do, save for the fact that perhaps a ton of them walk past me every morning and I don’t even notice. (Manhattan tends to eliminate the peripheral eyesight thats allows others less jaded to pause at the unusual.)
So should I just get better contacts? A thick pair of bifocals? Or maybe super-strength sunglasses, so I can for once stare into the sun and see if I’m right or not.