Crashing Fashion Week

Eavvon O'Neal reports from the trenches of NYC's most exclusive event

By Eavvon O'Neal
Published: February 19th, 2009 | 9:30am

The fashion industry has always appeared as both a glass house and an ivory tower to me. Music and high art have always seemed more accessible to the non-“Fab-u-lous” for one reason or another. I don’t want to suggest that to be a gilded member of the cloth and stitch you must be Sasha Fierce, I’m just sayin' it doesn’t hurt.

This year, after watching from the sidelines for a number of seasons, I managed to smuggle my way into the famed tent, on the coattails of Venus Zine. After being greeted with many polite smiles and a firm “no” or two, I’ve at least learned what not to do. Now, I’m more than happy to pass this newfound wisdom on to you.

After being turned away from the Laura Dawson show do to timeliness and “RSVP Issues” (read: troubles leaving work on time), I made sure I left for Saturday’s Lacoste showing in the Tent early. I wasn’t actually on the list (although that attempt was made), so I was left with a black RSVP print-out, no seat assignment, and a stomach full of "freshly brewed," pro-Fashion Week capitalism, McDonald’s iced latte. I made it past the initial gate, but was quickly rejected as my partner in crime, an assistant buyer friend, naturally went on without me — only to inform me that if I had filled out my blank card fraudulently (the only maneuver I didn’t try), I would have speedily been granted access.

While I waited outside for her, amongst the newly laxed security and onlookers, I couldn’t help but notice the effect Fashion Week has on those blocked by the door: for a bunch of no-access losers, we all looked awesome! Still, ironically, looks aren’t everything this week, much like the clothing lines that show strongest, consistency triumphs over all.

The next day, after drowning my wounded pride in a champagne brunch I was the comeback kid. Alisha Trimble’s New Money collection was presented at the Bowery Electric, and more than 24 hours after my epic fail, I managed a seat. Trimble’s collection is not at all what I expected, nods to previous seasons via her blog prepared me for a more formal adult aesthetic, but the looks she sent down the runway carried a youthful vibrancy. Tonal party dresses were paraded amidst strong greens and pinks. It was a bit overwhelming in such tight quarters but then again, that was the point.

The following night at the Moeller Snow Gallery, Rebecca Turbow presented her SAFE collection surrounded by the cereal box art of Jani Leinonen (his exhibition was called Rejected Ideas For Cap'n Crunch Advertisements). This was my most jarring experience thus far, the whole situation reinforced by a wave of free gin and tonics. Turbow’s collection was as minimalistic as always, with greys, blacks, and very little room for hue experimentation. The line did amazing things with her interpretation of both the female and male form, allowing fluidity on both gal and guy that accentuated an androgynous element. The almost vapid feeling from the cloths placed to the fore of the phallic-enhanced, brightly colored Cap’n made for quite a scene.