French Word(s) of the Day: Fashion Week (fah-shon week)- Fashion Week (sometimes they don’t change it)
Fashion Week is going on as I type this. Beautiful, famous people are everywhere. (I assume, I haven’t seen them.)
This also means that there are beautiful parties with free food and alcohol.
I work for a newspaper organization, but it’s not the type of place that would get me invitations to fashion parties. Although, we do know how to have fun.
For the Christmas party, everyone gets flown to Germany (man, did I come at the wrong time, or what?!). They decided to steal some of the wine from the party and bring it back. Yesterday at the end of the day, we popped open a wine bottle and had more fun writing and editing articles than usual. I think we still created decent articles. I actually had finished writing by the time I had a glass, but I think the editing part went well. It was the first time my boss didn’t have anything to correct for me. Maybe I should only edit after alcohol consumption? Here’s how it turned out: http://www.editorsweblog.org/newspaper/2011/03/uk_study_finds_low_numbers_of_women_in_j.php
Roanne has been interning for a PR firm that represents designers, so she’s been partying it up for Fashion Week. She texted me during the workday and asked if I would like to attend the Marie Claire magazine party. I was uberexcited. I’ve only seen parties like that in cinematic gems such as 13 Going on 30 and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I assume those are exactly like real life.
I assumed I’d never have the chance again, so I accepted.
Roanne asked Martin to come with us, and it became a reunion of the 3 people who decided to stay the whole year in Paris (such a chore, I know).
The invitations are so artfully displayed on one of my reject dresses.
I had Roanne make sure I was dressed properly. My clothing was still too bright for the fashion industry (for a group of supposedly “fashion forward” people, their color palate is decidedly lacking… black is the new black), but I assume that I’m also happier and more mentally stable than most of the fashion industry and was completely unconcerned.
My nose is really red in this picture, but I had just come from outside. It isn’t red in the later pictures, but that was when Roanne told me to stop smiling because models don’t smile. Instead, they look like they’re in pain. I assume this is because of their shoes. But anyway, I wanted to look like I was having a good time… and not like I wanted to kill whoever was taking my picture.
The main photographer snapped a picture of Roanne and me. I assume this will be in every Marie Claire magazine next month- all 25 of them. Roanne and I are Very Important People, even if we don’t have Porches or BMWs.
You do get free food and drinks at these parties, but you must pay for it in pain. To be “in fashion” means wearing stilettos: shoes designed by a man who hated feet and wanted them to die. I actually did engage in this fashion ritual. I will never be going to a Fashion Week party ever again so I wanted to do it right. My heels were 4 inches. That was high enough. I don’t know how anyone could go higher and still walk.
It was worth it. The food was fabulous! We had crab sushi, risotto, paté, shrimp, and fillet mignon served on sticks. I’ll have to make a few million dollars before I eat that well again.
The champagne and cocktails were also quite lovely. God bless the man who invented the “open bar.” (Don’t worry, I didn’t overindulge. Even if I had, fillet mignon cancels out alcohol.)
The space was a bit cramped. I think I would have chosen a bigger place. We mostly stood by the bar and the stairs to ensure we got first dibs on anything food-related.
There weren’t any famous people there, but we did talk with a boy sporting black fingernail polish and a brooch of Marilyn Monroe. He assured us that brooches were coming back. Of course, his brooch was black. If I hadn’t been able to see the color on my dress, I would have assume that the room had some kind of color-changing device that automatically made any color black.
Roanne managed to find the only straight male in the entire room. I don’t know how he even got in- everyone else I met definitely batted for the same team I do. I think they’re going out today. I’m glad she’s expanding her contacts in the fashion industry.
We all got to take home a magazine. I took one in Portuguese and one in French and Roanne took 3: French, Italian, and Arabic. Martin didn’t take any, but he wouldn’t have been able to carry anything as he was in charge of helping me walk. (By this time, I had stopped being able to feel my feet. It made walking more difficult.)
All-in-all, I gave the party an 8. The lack of famous people and space brought it down 2 points, but the food and drinks brought it back up.
I might be a tourist today in hopes of seeing some celebrities breaking up. I’ll keep you updated.
Pain au chocolat count: 60
3 thoughts on “Fashion Week”
You lucky duck!
Carla is not very cultured: I saw Porches, and if it weren’t for the BMW’s next to it in the same sentence, I seriously would have been picturing the thing on the front of your house. *sigh*
On the other hand, I understood almost all of the names of the foods you mentioned, and it has made me hungry. I’m going to go find me a snack!