My First Fashion Week: Part 3

Every season, in our role as an official sponsor of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, we ask one novice MBFW-goer to record her adventures and, ahem, misadventures. This February, ideeli’s fearless Assistant Editor, Carmen Villafañe, is our My First Fashion Week correspondent. The 23-year old Miami native, who is usually orchestrating our sales editorials in the office, is experiencing the glam scene at Lincoln Center for the first time—and let’s just say she’s not the retiring type. Here’s the final installment on her exploits! With three shows to go before I wrapped up my first fashion week experience, I was feeling like an old pro. I had this calm confidence about me—because I’m a fashion insider now, and I know what’s up…right?! So wrong. With Tuesday's tickets to Badgley Mischka in hand, I was late. Very, very late. Train trouble, traffic once I switched to a cab, pretty much the universe saying “Forget it babe, you snooze, you literally lose.” As I sprinted into the tents, it seemed like eons ago that I sat down at my first show, unsure of what to do with my hands while I waited for Luca Luca to start. (That’s my stack of invites below.) The lights dimmed as I slid into my seat. I'm definitely not a pro yet; this was beginner's luck at it's finest. The show was everything you’d expect from the famed design duo. A one-shouldered, fuschia-sequined column gown begged for an invitation to a gala, and of course, in true Badgley Mischka form, the piece de resistance: bridal. The slim ivory gown with a ruffle that cascaded down from the waist was almost enough reason to make me heed my grandmother’s nagging reminder that “I’m not getting any younger and should settle down.” Almost.

My last day at MBFW was Wednesday, and I was scheduled to attend avant-garde darling Alexandre Herchovitch and the always classic Adrienne Vittadini. As I jaunted up the breezeway towards the tents, where all the street style photogs hang out to snap pictures of fashion's elite, I ate it. Literally, on hands and knees, face 15 shades of red, hyperventilating from my sprint up Broadway. But it wouldn’t be me if it stopped there. While I was trying to access Twitter on my iPhone, I proceeded to tweet the ideeli login information for the free world to see. Crisis was averted by my much more calm and collected co-workers back at the office, but still. All before even stepping into the tents? Lock it up, Carmen! Check out one of my more successful tweets below, streamed live in the lobby. Luckily the show hadn’t started, so I dusted myself off in my 3rd row seat, and made sure there were no unsightly tears in my stockings as the music cued up. Herchovitch is known for his off-kilter sensibility and dark motifs. I loved that he stuck to a palette of chartreuse and black for a dramatic effect, but tempered it with lady-like lace. And I have a few ex-boyfriends who probably would agree that the straightjacket-strapped coats are perfect for me. That's out one of the designer's hooded numbers below. Just like that, it was time for my last event of the season. I thought Adrienne Vittadini’s Modern Muse collection was going to be a presentation—where you admire the clothes up close like a museum exhibit. It was packed, and I realized, not only was this going to be a full-on show, but I’d be standing two feet away from some of the most iconic women in fashion. That's them below—from left, Pat Cleveland, Niki Taylor, Irina Pantaeva, Fredrique van Der Wal,Carmen Dell’Orefice, Roshumba, and Carol Alt. Like real troopers, the supermodels walked twice, dancing and having fun on the runway in a way only established, confident women can do. The practical separates in luxe fabrics were classic Adrienne Vittadini but the real stars were the women that wore them. They personified what style should be, with the inner glow that comes from doing you and loving it—no matter what you’re wearing. Irina and Roshumba work the runway below. To wrap up what’s been a whirlwind of fashion, fails, and what I hope my future will look like, here are a few gems I picked up on my first fashion week.

• Let your freak flag fly. The last thing the industry wants is another knock-off. Be yourself! Fashion week is the perfect time to try that orange lipstick you have no idea what to do with. That said; wipe it off before meeting your real life friends for dinner. It doesn’t translate very well.
• Fashionably late is relative. So you might have a few more minutes to work with, but don’t miss Lela Rose’s show because you’re running late. She sure as hell isn’t waiting for you. Moment of silence for that fail of all fails.
• Positive IDs on celebrities. They’re beautiful, but in the heat of the moment, I guarantee all those years of watching E! News will fly right out of your head and they might as well be the guy sitting next to you on the subway. In short, Tyson Beckford, is in fact, NOT Tyrese.
• The only thing you have to be afraid of…is you. My level of anxiety before my first show would have required horse tranquilizers. But by day 6 I was breezing through the tents, waving at Fern Mallis, and chatting up the bartenders—they might as well have set up a cot for me in the lobby. Keep in mind that this week-long world of all things fabulous is populated by real people just like us.
• Make new friends, but keep the old. The best part about this entire experience was getting to share it—be it with a newfound industry buddy, ideeli staffers or the best friends that are there through it all.

The past week has been a whirlwind. I barely slept—a combination of adrenaline and energy drinks had me up until 4:45 a.m. writing my second blog post. My apartment looks like a bomb hit it, with clothes, shoes, bags, and paper invites strewn everywhere from the various ensemble changes throughout the week. I face-planted in front of Lincoln Center—in flats. I spoke to Grace Coddington. This experience—the rush, the clothes, the people, even the fails—is why I got into this crazy biz to begin with. This may have been my first fashion week, but rest assured y’all, it certainly won’t be my last. See you next season!

My First Fashion Week: Part 2

Every season, in our role as an official sponsor of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, we ask one novice MBFW-goer to record her adventures and, ahem, misadventures. This February, ideeli’s fearless Assistant Editor, Carmen Villafañe, is our My First Fashion Week correspondent. The 23-year old Miami native, who is usually orchestrating our sales editorials in the office, is experiencing the glam scene at Lincoln Center for the first time—and let’s just say she’s not the retiring type. Here’s the second update on her exploits! My weekends are normally full of standard 23-year-old stuff. I go out with my girlfriends, we re-cap the night in pajamas for a good 8 hours the next day, maybe throw a movie in the mix. I’m not usually rubbing elbows with fashion’s elite in the industry’s biggest, most important venue. But this was my first Mercedes Benz Fashion Week(end), and I'd be posted up inside those tents all day, all weekend—live-tweeting everything, from the six shows I was attending to the celeb sightings in the lobby to my inevitable fashion week faux pas. We definitely weren't in Miami, anymore, Toto, and I didn't want it any other way.

My first show was Vivienne Tam. Ideeli’s resident PR princess Diana Gepp and I found our seats in the Theatre(that's us below) and gushed over Tam’s collection from the 4th row. It was dark but girly—chock full of appliquéd silks, tweed schoolgirl skirts, and sculptural navy coats. Diana was also a MBFW virgin, and I was so excited to have someone to freak out with.
As fate would have it, Saturday’s first rookie fail happened right before one of the most exciting encounters of the weekend. I realized I had forgotten to email my RSVP to Charlotte Ronson’s show that night, so I started frantically blasting their PR team. That show had the most buzz and all the celebrities would be there and I’m a huge fan and…WAIT. Is that Lynn Yaeger?! Two feet away from us stood the storied former fashion reporter for The Village Voice, whose eclectic look—red bob, rosy cheeks, and cupid’s bow lipstick—and pointed stories are the stuff of fashion industry legend. (That's us with Lynn below.) Her advice for a MBFW novice? “Don’t cry like I did every night my first time. And have a thick skin if people are mean to you.” Noted, Lynn, duly noted. The crowd gathering outside the Theatre for Charlotte Ronson’s show was by far the best dressed yet, reflecting the designer’s chic Brit meets Soho fashionista vibe. That said, they were a vicious mob, pushing and shoving for dear life. I’m not one to become roadkill so I threw some ‘bows and made my way in. We were crammed like sardines, but had a perfect view of the models before they came out. Yellow Fair Isle sweaters, ripped leggings, and military green rocked the runway, but it was more a party than a show. Impossibly cool.

Brace yourselves for rookie blunder #2. Ideeli’s social media assistant Nicaila Matthews had joined up for the G-Star Raw show, and we spotted the hottest man alive in the front row. I tell Nicaila to go get a picture with the hottie, who we swore was Tyrese. As Nicaila calls out “Tyrese!” the Adonis turns. It was Tyson Beckford (pictured below in the mob scene). He pats Nicaila on the arm, and gives her a devastating smile, “We all look alike, I know.” Clearly, we were delirious and decided to call it a night, but not before a post-fashion show burger. A girl’s got to eat, after all! Sunday was rumored to be the busiest day, full of celebrities milling about. It also marked a moment of fashion journalism glory for me. For the past week, we had been in touch with the PR team at Yoana Baraschi, to get a meet-and-greet with the designer. She was showing a presentation, which I learned means models posing literally 2 feet away from you while the designer goes around meeting with fans and press alike. In short, I was interviewing Yoana Baraschi, who’s been in the industry for over 20 years, and I was slightly intimidated. Even as I hyperventilated over her leather cropped skinnies and a to-die-for red evening gown, I really had nothing to worry about, Yoana was so easy to talk to and very candid about her first fashion week experience: “I was wondering is anybody going to come? But we ended up having over 600 people!” (That's me interviewing Baraschi, below.) Baraschi knows the design process inside and out, having started in textiles, and now designing impeccable ready-to-wear pieces. “But my favorite part is that wild moment is when you strike the right note with each individual garment,” she said. My best friend and MBFW novice Natalie had us all signed up for complimentary hair treatments from Tresemme when I spotted the other iconic fashion redhead: Vogue Creative Director Grace Coddington on her way to Diane von Furstenberg’s show. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet Anna Wintour’s wingwoman. Grace was kind of surprised when I stopped (begged) her for a picture (that's us above). And when I said I knew it wasn’t her first fashion week she said in her quiet British accent, “No, no it’s not” with a smile. Shell-shocked, Natalie turned to me and said, “We need to get into DVF.”

After ideeli staffer Elisabeth schmoozed with the phenomenal PR girls, we were standing in the nosebleeds at DVF, happy to just soak in the glory of the great Diane. The show started with a pointedly Argentine gaucho reference—red and gold, with a touch of fringe—but ended with bright sequined wrap gowns that I could picture Diane herself wearing in her Studio 54 days. Her collection basically solidified the fact that she needs to adopt me. We picked up the gorgeous first row invite above off the floor. One man's trash is another man's treasure has never been more true... I had an extra ticket to Custo Barcelona, so I called my roommate Alisha, another MBFW virgin, and we sat 4th row! Across from us, were our other friends Natalie and Giovanna (that's the four of us above), and all throughout were several ideeli staffers taking in Custo’s wild-child pieces—we all died for the lace-printed leggings, chunky knits and sequined skirts. And me? I was looking around me and realized something clutch. Fashion week, like everything good and worthwhile, is so much better when it’s shared with the people you love.

My First Fashion Week: Part 1

Every season, in our role as an official sponsor of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, we ask one novice MBFW-goer to record her adventures and, ahem, misadventures. This February, ideeli’s fearless Assistant Editor, Carmen Villafañe, is our My First Fashion Week correspondent. The 23-year old Miami native, who is usually orchestrating our sales editorials in the office, is experiencing the glam scene at Lincoln Center for the first time—and let’s just say she’s not the retiring type. Here’s the first update on her exploits!
It was the night before my first Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week and I had nothing to wear. I had emptied my whole closet, texted my sister in L.A. with 15 pictures of outfit options (see option 1 above), and hated everything I own. So I called in the reinforcements and conducted a city-wide closet raid on my gaggle of girlfriends, resulting in a bagful of fab loans like tribal necklaces, colorful scarves, bold-shouldered blazers, and silk shirtdresses. My ensemble crisis was averted, but my stomach was still in knots. Is this what the gliteratti feel like the night before big events?

After tossing and turning all night, I darted off to ideeli HQ on day 1 decked in an army green silk shirt, black leggings, and knee-high stiletto boots, topped off with a scarf covered in red roses. The hours flew, and before I knew it, I was riding the C train uptown with a 5 hour energy drink in one hand and my iPhone in another, guarding my invitations as if the homeless guy across from me was gunning for them. I was a solid 15 minutes late.

I sprinted to Lincoln Center, but had to stop cold in front of the storied compound. I was walking into the veritable Super Bowl of fashion. A photographer’s voice snapped me out of my daze with the words every fashion girl wants to hear. “Wait! Can I get your picture?” I played it cool. Sunnies off, strike a pose, smile, move on. I played it so cool, in fact, that I have no idea who he was, or who he was working for.

I walked right into the tents, greeted by bumping music, low purple lights, PR girls with headsets and glittering “Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week” emblazoned everywhere. No one asked for my ID, or credentials—it was easier than getting into some Manhattan nightclubs!
After getting my bearings and doing a lap, I somehow found my spot at Luca Luca (runway shot above!), but not without a mean case of the shakes. The scene was insane, paparazzi and attendees alike snapping photos of Tinsley Mortimer, Petra Nemcova, and all the other beautiful showgoers. They all seemed to know each other, too, so when my seatmate, London fashion journalist extraordinaire Iman Pasha, turned to me and introduced herself, I was happy as a clam to have a new friend. Then, the lights dimmed. Everything stopped. And just like that, magic.

Goddesses waltzed down the catwalk. Luca Luca’s creative director Raul Melgoza created a collection for F/W 2011 that was one part Katherine Hepburn, with high-waisted trousers in bold burgundy, one part mod chic with an orange fur topping a slim pink pantsuit. My favorite? A white chiffon pleated skirt with a sheer white blouse tied together with a skinny black patent belt. I can’t help it. I’m tan, I’m tall, I’m from Miami: all white everything is kind of my thing.
We made our way to Tadashi Shoji, which I was super excited to see since the pieces featured in our sale were so amazing. As the lights came up, I had a perfect view of the front row lineup, with Amanda Lutrell, Johnny Weir, Kat Deluna, and a bevy of models and socialites (pictured above). The gowns were surreal. I’ll dream about the one-shouldered barely pink number with lace and chiffon super-imposed in frothy layers for days. And just like that, the show was over.

I had gone to my shows, rubbed elbows with New York’s fashion elite, and was ready to go home and get some rest when someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was a reporter with a microphone and a pretty intense-looking videographer. They were from On Style, a Korean street style channel, loved my look, and wanted to interview me! So I smiled, cocked my head to the side and made him laugh when I said I was “just keeping it real.” And then I looked down. A remnant of TP, from when I went to touch up my uber-trendy red-orange lipstick, was stuck to my heel. Fashion. Fail. No worries though, I stopped the camera guy, removed the offending piece of tissue, and kept on posing, man. It’s only my first fashion week once, after all.

My First Fashion Week: Part 3

Noel recounts her adventures and misadventures at the shows and beyond in this final installment of My First Fashion Week!

As I sit at home in my pajamas right now, I can hardly believe that just a week ago, I was traipsing around Lincoln Center in 5-inch heels for Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week.

Frankly, it was exhausting. Sure, I’ve pulled all-nighters in college and somehow survived the next day—but attending Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week was more mentally and physically exhausting than any philosophical discussion or dash up seven flights of stairs to class. How do fashion editors do it? Do they train for this like runners train for marathons?

Lincoln Center is swanky, as you can imagine. People stroll around the media lounge in their highest heels and most stylish get-ups. Tourists stand outside out of the media lounge with cameras, hoping to snap a shot of Anna Wintour (above)—or just someone really good-looking.

I just didn’t know what to expect—from the entire week nor myself. I was going to defy convention and wear flats every day (didn’t happen). I was going to conform and wear heels every day (didn’t happen either). I was going to take a lot of photos (didn’t happen—my camera broke). I was going to meet celebrities (sort of happened, but I’m not going to lie—I obsessed more about meeting Vivienne Tam than seeing Cassie front row at Nicole Miller).

Being backstage at the Tam show (above) was a whirlwind of an experience. When I was looking to interview the designer, I accidentally stumbled into the makeup and hair area, full of gorgeous models flicking their hair, getting pedicures, or preening at the mirror. A model mentioned that it was her 18th birthday. I’m 19 and I look about 10 years younger than her. Nonetheless, meeting Tam right before her show began was nerve-wracking—mostly because she was so gracious even though talking to a short girl with a voice recorder was probably the last thing on her mind. For me, meeting Tam meant meeting a person who shaped much of my perception of the fashion industry as a child.

Also, I don’t care what people say about models being airbrushed into perfection. They still look like goddesses in person, from their flawless complexions to their impeccable bone structures to their long legs.

My favorite part of fashion week, though, is right at the end of each fashion show—when the designer comes out from backstage to say hello. The audience roars with applause and sometimes, when the collection is truly outstanding, there is a standing ovation—such as in the case of Christian Siriano (above).

Sometimes the designer smiles sheepishly and waves shyly before walking backstage again—Nicole Miller, modest in spite of her success. Sometimes the designer winks and bids hello to a few front row guests--Brian Wolk and Claude Morais, for example. And sometimes the designer cartwheels down the runway—I’m talking about Betsey Johnson, of course.

In any of these cases, you can spot the twinkle in the designer’s eyes and the occasional deep breath of relief—no mattered how many times their clothes have appeared in Vogue.

So, that’s Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week for you. It’s a lot of glamour and a lot of sore feet.

But, more importantly, it’s a culmination of months—or years, or a lifetime—of hard work.

My First Fashion Week: Part 2

Noel takes us with her on Days 2 and 3 of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, when she saw the Nicole Miller show, party-hopped for FNO, and snagged a few words backstage with Vivienne Tam.

After sleeping in, I was revved up again for my second day of Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week—and Fashion’s Night Out! I rushed over to the downtown venue for Nicole Miller’s show, only to realize that fashion shows don’t usually start on time anyways. Oh, and I tripped and fell flat on my face while walking over. In flat shoes. I may as well have worn heels. I loved the criss-cross straps on many of the pieces in the collection—in addition to the clean cuts, sheers, and neutral shades. I’m all for the ladylike look; my mother would approve, after all.

I didn’t attend Fashion’s Night Out last year because I was sick, but this year I had a great time! However, by the time my friends and I arrived at the Ace Hotel for Opening Ceremony’s Parisian flea market, there was a line stretching around the block. Instead of making our way further downtown, we headed to the Upper East Side where we posed with male models at Bloomingdale’s, ate candy at Dylan’s Candy Bar—and most importantly, attended our friend’s private birthday celebration on the second floor of Missoni!

The Missoni print on the Pellegrino bottles was too precious and there were three varieties of birthday cake, in addition to an ice cream bar by Glorious Food! Being the glutton that I am, I sampled all three cakes. There’s something dangerous about eating messy food while surrounded by beautiful clothes, but when you have delicious food and fun fashion on Friday night—what more could you ask for?

On Day 3, Noel braved the backstage perils of MBFW!

Being backstage at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week is frazzling and disorienting. Within the first 10 seconds of walking in, I spotted some of my most favorite models, such as Bonnie Chen (why are some people born with perfect legs and bone structure?!). After the initial shock wore off, I proceeded to focus on the matter at hand—finding Vivienne Tam herself.

My obsession with Vivienne Tam goes back to elementary school when Asian-American fashion designers, such as Phillip Lim and Alexander Wang, weren’t as prominent—or existent—as they are now. For a brief while, I wanted to be a fashion designer, and whenever someone would ask me if there were any fashion designers I wanted to model myself after, I named Vivienne Tam. She was and still is one of the most prominent pioneering Asians in the fashion industry.

I was pleased to discover that she’s not that much taller than myself, and I was lucky enough to snag a few minutes with her. One thing I love about her is how she embraces the American fashion industry while remaining loyal to her Asian roots. I saw famous Chinese fashion editors backstage—in addition to the Korean pop music group, the Wonder Girls, whom I also spotted earlier at Concept Korea.

“I always go back to Hong Kong and China every few months,” she said, “I will always return and I love it there. The fashion industry is the same everywhere— Hong Kong, New York. I feel at home anywhere.” She proceeded to ask for more lipstick as she posed for the cameras. And as I walked away with my little digital voice recorder, I couldn’t help but admire her poise in the midst of pre-show madness. Check back tomorrow for more, mes amis!