Photography by Jarrett Edward
NYFW is one of those weeks when we New Yorkers question our sanity. We wake up early, don fancy fashionable garb, run to shows across town, grab a green juice and then swish off to an after party until the early hours of the morning. They say doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results is proof of insanity, but the fashion-inclined dwellers of the city do this for seven days—insane.
Thursday, Sept. 10
My fashion week begins on Thursday well after the sun has gone down. I find myself sitting on a vintage motorcycle covered in clown makeup and checkerboard print. I’m lucky enough to be involved with the Givenchy after party. This year Givenchy and Riccardo Tisci decided to leave Paris and show in NYC; my motorcycle is parked on the second floor of an old parking garage located beneath the Williamsburg Bridge. On the floor below, a crowd of VIP guests—obviously including Kim—is sipping cocktails, while the fashionable elite and club kids dance around them.
Around 11 pm, the parking garage gate goes up and guests start filtering up the steep ramp and onto the garage’s second floor. Cameras and cell phones immediately come out as guests begin taking in the installations curated by nightlife ringleader Ladyfag. In my section, there are club kids, drag queens and creatures of the night emulating biker clowns on motorcycles. The other sections feature Ryan Burke and Sussi atop crashed taxis; there’s even a blacklight section surrounded by mountains of stacked car tires. From my post I see Steven Tyler in a black suit with rhinestone pinstripes; I have my star struck moment because I do love a rock star. A few guests, such as June Ambrose come over and join us for a picture. She was very cute and extremely night and not to mention extremely well dressed. After about an hour of motorcycle posing and hundreds of photos I’m relieved of my post and able to explore the rave.
Making my way around the (surprisingly clean) parking garage, I wander up to the third floor. The space is covered in lasers and mirrored VIP sections, where Naomi Campbell’s tucked behind hoards of guests thirsty for a snap. Dancing my way through the crowd I see all the faces from society pages in magazines—those sections with cut out pictures of people at parties, pasted together with a tiny little caption of their name. The experience was kind of like that, but happening in real life.
Before I know it, the bar begins running out of alcohol—a sign that the party is over. As the dance floor clears around 3 am, which is pretty late by Fashion Week terms, considering many people have shows bright and early the next morning, I see people staggering down the ramps and out into the brisk fall air. (You know it’s a good party when people are stumbling out and running to the taco trucks parked outside).
Sunday, Sept. 13
It’s just after midnight and I find myself all the way uptown at the W Hotel in Times Square. I hop out of my Uber SUV with my crew in tow and instantly see a swarm of people outside trying to get in—how very NYFW. It’s the Hood By Air after party, which is extremely obvious from the crowd outside that’s dripping head-to-toe in HBA.
Wiggling our way through the crowd, we slowly make our way to the front. HBA model Andre Bato grabs us and pulls us inside, quickly handing us black-and-white wristbands. Up the elevator and inside we go as tourists staying in the hotel look at us like we’re the devil. A blaring mix of distorted ‘90s rap instantly greets me when I enter the space. I make my way to the crowded bar, spotting tons of well-dressed people lounging on couches and casually sipping cocktails.
On stage, beneath a giant architectural orb, is the DJ adorned with models covered in neon paint. Tonight’s event is being organized in collaboration with Venus X and GhettoGothik. This becomes very evident by the Styrofoam cups all donning the GhettoGothik logo that everyone’s drinking from.
There are gorgeous club girls in tight dresses and sky high Louboutins and guys decked out in (of course) HBA. While getting dressed for the night, I decided to wear my Hood By Air bondage jeans, thinking I should keep track of how many people at the party are wearing the brand; I lost count after at least 25. After an hour or two of partying I decided to call it a night. I gather my friends, rush down the elevator and head out looking forward to what the rest of the week has in store.