So last night I found myself here — a fashion show hosted by local magazine…
Honestly, I don’t think I knew what I was getting myself into. Not that it was superbly grand, had any hints of scandal, or even so tragic it was epic. But it was amusing none-the-least.
Yesterday evening I received a call from my friend Dan (who lives further north than I do), “Do you want to go to a fashion show? .. I can’t get you home at a reasonable hour.” So I ceased my cleaning, borrowed my roommate’s car, and made my way into the city.
What I know of fashion shows are other people’s experiences. The media industry’s version of beautiful people, various pieces of fabrics and textiles which are interpreted as clothing, people who think they’re important, and free stuff (gift bags-o-swag).
There was a short show, girls with slightly edgy nearly pop punk hair (meaning it had some color), and clothing that looked very wearable — something I wasn’t expecting. Normally things you see on runways aren’t things you’d like to go out and buy for your general wardrobe. There was free wine (the party was hosted by a wine company), a not-so-terrible DJ (but it wasn’t enough to convince my friends Dan and Adam to partake in some ass shaking), various photographers and videographers, and of course, Wicker Park’s hippest kids.
At moments, it was like Fall Out Boy meets Gossip Girl.
Dan and I both donned our suit vests, Adam sported a good tie, and Sara (Adam’s roommate who’s an intern at the zine) rocked her red hat. I think we made a good presence.
It wasn’t a dear diary night, but the good company and the interesting environment led to an enjoyable night. Plus, we capped it with dinner food.