NYFW is my drug of choice


It is September which means that spring has technically sprung, and even though Melbourne seems to have missed the memo judging by the sad, gloomy weather we have been forced to continue enduring. However, no matter what the weather, rain, hail or shine there is no putting a stop to one of the most exciting fashion events of the world, That’s right, the unveiling of the upcoming Spring/ Summer Collections of all the major fashion players and of course, a chance for a newcomer to establish themselves and compete with the best of the best all it takes is impressing the who’s who of this impossibly stylish set, the editors, the it girls, the trend setters and the celebrities who flock to event after event, managing to race from the front row of the catwalk to a luncheon honouring one of the longstanding elites lifetime achievements, back to a show on the other side of town and this continues right through to the wee hours of the morning at the most exclusive after-after-parties from which it is not uncommon to see a model with smudged makeup from the runways earlier attempting to slink away unnoticed. The luckiest of the top models may sneak in an hours cat nap before heading to her first commitment of the next day, losing slightly more colour and glow from her complexion each day deeper into the chaotic week. With every late night comes a little more time needed in the next mornings makeup chair, a little more concealer to mask the sins from the night before, a touch more bronzer or blush to add some colour to a face beginning to look sapped of energy and of course by the final day if a fashionista’s favourite highlighter isn’t getting worryingly close to running out then we can assume that the active social life they portray on Instagram may be more façade than reality because one can not attend that many events in a day without needing a secret weapon to restore her glow despite a champagne headache and the hunger pains that become so common to feel when you are surviving solely on canapés, adrenaline and for a surprisingly large portion of the fashionistas and stylistas in attendance, the slightly manic buzz that good ol’ Charlie envelopes them in, like a child with their safety blanket, a protective force from the piranha like mentalities of their peers as they are compared and forced to compete for best dressed lists and who wore it better sections that will run in magazines all over the world. While other fashion weeks are certainly exciting, each city offering their specialty niche to the round-the-world festival, New York is definitely the most wild week and of course an appearance at each different event warrants a complete new outfit, hairstyle and makeup look wether it be a bold trendsetting pop artist being rewarded for taking a risk and causing a mass influx of the fashion lambs to follow suit and co at the shelves of department stores or a retired queen of the catwalk blowing our mind with a shocking ice blonde pixie crop replacing the luscious natural brunette waves that until the hair appointment ended were the only style she had ever known.

Come the final day of the week the in demand models are really feeling the toll it has taken on their body, an exhaustion like a physical heaviness upon them but because of a slight oversight by a probably hungover fashion assistant in the planning of the first ever years of the worldwide celebration of wearable art this is just week one and they will now be jetting off to London, Milan and finally Paris at which point they are forced on holidays to try to recuperate and stave off any signs of stress that may have threatened to make itself a permanent  feature on her sallow, gaunt face and vows of doing it all differently next year but as sure as we can be that black will always be in style, NYFW will never lose the blurry, amphetamine like rush that it offers to the  attendants of the events hosted there, and no matter how hard the come down may hit, the highs of the week are worth every second of the recovery needed

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