What: Fashion Week Art Exhibit Opening
Where: Soho
Who: Me, my date, and dozens of people dying to be photographed for page six...and my date's mom
Fashion week had always been a concept to me until last night. The thought of the glitz and glamour is great, but the idea of mingling with people who care about it bores me. A guy that I had gone on one date with invited me to what he called ‘an art opening’ that night. Coming from my marketing firm in Soho I warned that I was in a green polo and jeans, to which I was told that it would be fine (lies).
Before now the only art openings I had been to were in Connecticut and usually consisted of several platters of cheese, a few bottles of wine, and people generations older than myself talking about art in ‘their day’. It was low key, quiet, and sometimes eerily reminiscent of a funeral.
Walking closer and closer to the destination I could see a flurry of lights and people. There was a red carpet, paparazzi, and several people with lists. I continued past this spectacle in the assumption/hope that I had the wrong address. The next few buildings were empty so I doubled back and sidled up to the velvet rope watching as one man with a list took the names of the people ahead of me and let them in.
He then turned to me.
“Can I help you?” he asked appeared to look my clothes up and down.
I knew I was dressed too casual for such an event.
“Umm yeah, my name is Greg *******,” I said.
“Hmm, Greg, Greg Greg,” he said running his finger down the list. “I don’t see you on here.”
“Oh, umm I’m Mike ******’s plus one,” I said lacking any confidence.
“Oh Mike?” a woman standing behind the man chimed in. “He said you would be coming, come in.”
Shocked that these people knew who my date was I walked hesitantly in waiting to see if they were going to kick me back out again; a cruel trick that maybe they were playing on someone who appeared out of place. I walked past the red carpet, but not on it. While part of me wished they wanted to photograph me, I had a strong inkling that they were waiting for more recognizable people. Past the carpet was a dark hallway, and while you could see a light at the end (cliché, but true) you could not see inside the tunnel. I bumped into at least three people inside this space, whether they were one of the waiters or one of the celebrities, I have no idea, but preferably the latter.
Once inside I really understood just how big of an event I was attending. There were dozens of waiters with champagne, water, and other various drinks. All of the waiters were models and I even recognized one of them from an old print ad. I did not realize that modeling involved so much tray carrying. Camera crews surrounded certain individuals to get their perspective on the art.
Unsure what to do with myself I stood at the entrance until Mike spotted me and came over.
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea it was going to be like this. I thought it was just a regular art opening. I forgot it was fashion week”
“No worries,” I said.
We were the only two in the room not in black, he was in red and I was in green. Together we were a Christmas tree awkwardly on display in the middle of a funeral where the casket should be.
The art was modern and combined photographs with spray painted figures on buildings. One artist had combined his photographing ability with another artists spray painting abilities. It was interesting and new. Not being wildly versed in art I could not tell you much about it, other than I enjoyed viewing it. And that there were even a few pieces I would put in my home (if one day I own one). I got to meet one of the artists (there were two). He was an older gentleman who was kind and warm, it seemed odd in the given environment.
It appeared that most guests were just looking around to be looked at. They wanted to see if there was anyone important in their midst, and more importantly, if they were being stared at. A slew of celebrities came through. I had imagined it more exciting to see them and I kind of wish it was. In recent years I have come to view them as just people who work a job, generally prettier people, but people nonetheless. Most of the other guests hovered around each celebrity like dogs plotting to pounce on a bone.
I felt slightly out of place. It seemed that I should care more about my appearance, or who was near me. Mike, having grown up in Manhattan, did not seem phased by the people who cared about these things, nor did he care about them himself. A fact that was proven when he declared his feet hurt and took off his shoes (I joined him to make him feel more comfortable). It was humorous to see people stare at us trying to understand what would compel two young men to go shoeless in Christmas attire at a fashion week art opening.
We stayed for about two hours viewing the art and seeing the various celebrities get hounded for photographs, pictures, and interviews. For the first time I can say I am glad that no one knew who I was. After leaving he surprised me by taking me to dinner…with his mother…shoot me.
Goals Accomplished:
1) Fashion week was definitely new to me
2) I was nowhere near comfortable most of the time
3) Learned that fashion industry and celebrity is not for me
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