I went to a showing of Emilie Jerard's S/S 2011 last Wednesday, and I'll have a separate post about that later. I had planned to meet up with Stacie right before, but I got into the city a bit early. So I did what I thought was most appropriate to pass the time--grabbed a journal, went to Bryant Park, sat down and started writing.
"Bryant Park is empty, the atmosphere has certainly changed. However, the world of fashion is roaming the streets. I definitely notice a difference in the sights of people, especially around this area. Everyone is dressed to the nines (it's midtown, people, let's be real). The fashionistas must only show their faces this week. Models, businessmen, wannabe models, Paul Mitchell representatives (there are so many of them they are literally bumping into each other at the park), and cute blonde boy keeps throwing me glances from across the park. Too bad I'm not into blondes. And I'm pretty sure he's gay. Maybe for Alex? I should get his number just in case. He looks like a young Heath Ledger, bushier eyebrows. So many good looking people are out today! What's the occasion? Just kidding.
I didn't realize that the office party dress was in. Please no. Every girl has her gay best friend in tow, within arms reach, or chained to her arm. I bet you cute blonde boy is like 15. There is just too much fabulousness for one week. So many...indie men ( I had a hard time reading my handwriting. I'm pretty sure I didn't want to offend anyone from western Asia...), left overs from Electric Zoo. Where's Jeff Goldblum?
Okay...I was just approached by ANOTHER hair salon representative, this time not Paul Mitchell. I let him talk to me because he wasn't obnoxious. Thought my dar went off, but he told me he was straight, and really a music producer who sold hair products on the side. Okay. That's cool..
He talked really fast and I ended up giving him my business card 'just in case I was interested in the hair salon in the future' uh huuuu, really he couldn't find his card and I wanted to save the poor kid from embarrassing himself any further. He said he'd shoot me a text and then complimented me. Stop complimenting me! It will not make me want to buy your shampoo any more, or less, than I did before! Anywho, this kid must get paid a SHITTON."
I did make a side note to find out how much, because that is a very interesting marketing strategy.
At this point I realized it would be stupid for me to put my journal down, so I took it with me to the show, and I took it with me after the show, to Marquee and the bar right next to it, where we met two fine gentlemen who were so boring my ears felt like they were ringing from the silence. Let's be real here, I DO care if you're not into politics...or fashion...or anything that tells me you are a normal human being with normal human interests. Labor Unions don't count.
Stacie and I went to meatpacking afterward, where I forgot my ID and lost my dignity. Amen
