To some fashion types this is simply the most important event, perhaps, ever. But for a mediocre civilian like me it’s like stepping into a sartorial scene of The Hunger Games.
As a red carpet reporter I don’t know what terms like ‘athleisure’ mean.
I assumed the word’s connotations derived from some sort of toga-donning scenario. Like from Athens? Unclear.
Nonetheless I felt overwhelmed by the presence of incredible-looking people in their designer threads and fancy cameras.
This is what happens when a fashion type does Fashion Week verse when I do Fashion Week:
So I didn’t get the memo about the crying eye shadow trend at this year’s MBFWA – here I am thinking contouring is still in! Fail.
One blogger told me she started ‘pulling looks’ from PRs for fashion week back in January. Wow. I don’t know what I’m wearing to my best friend’s wedding in two days let alone an event in five months time. Luckily I got a girlfriend on the blower from Glue Store and she styled me in some of their their best brands (seriously lucky – this NEVER happens to me). I tried my best to be organised and set up a clothing rack and everything but it’s not as glamorous when you’re living at your boyfriend’s parents place and the living room has to double as your wardrobe.
Getting papped by Street Style photographers
Did Fashion Week even happen if you didn’t end up on someone’s blog in your mum jeans? I certainly wasn’t half as glamorous as the lovely ladies strutting their stuff down at Sydney’s Carriageworks.
This was an issue. The salads going at the Carriageworks cafe were $20 and totally grim! I stashed olives and cubes of cheese in my bag for the media room but when you’re stuck on site for 12 hours straight that’s not really going to cut it. Us reporters didn’t really fit in at the beautiful Wedgewood Tearoom so the Maccas drive-thru was frequented THREE times in one week. I’m not saying this is a record for me but it’s close.
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