Last season during New York Fashion Week (NYFW), I was heading to the Coach show, and admittedly feeling myself. My outfit, I felt, was on point for the occasion: I paired a vintage red leather blazer with a bolo tie and heeled Cuban boots—a slightly-western vibe that perfectly encapsulated my personal style. Walking towards the venue, I could see the swarm of street style photographers and VIP guests from about a block away. It was a total zoo. Even so, I strutted towards the chaos confidently, feeling like I belonged and was part of the cool crowd.
Only, walking in, I was met with utter crickets. Not a single street style photographer even glanced in my direction. Some pointed their lenses towards far-cooler or more-famous show goers; others simple put their cameras down to rest at the sight of me. I was being totally street style shunned. But it’s okay—I’m used to it.
Every season, NYFW—which officially kicks off this week—has a cutting way of humbling you. For starters, the glitzy clothes on the runways can instantly make your day-to-day wardrobe feel dull. The front-row models and celebrities at the shows, all dressed impossibly-cool, cause you to feel just a little less interesting too, or not even worthy of being there at all. But my favorite aspect of attending NYFW, is the absolutely brutal way that street style photographers analyze your outfit going in and out of the presentations.
Heading into a show, your fashion week outfit—which usually represents your closet’s very best—is met by a jury of photographers who deem whether you are worth documenting or not. If you get a few snaps, it means that you are trendy, chic—on point. Yet, as someone who has attended shows for over a decade now, I am rarely ever part of said crowd. If street style stars like Chloe King and Eva Chen are fashion’s beloved maximalist darlings, I am simply the gum on their shoe—their homely sibling who never ends up making the family scrapbooks.
Not me during NYFW.
Video: Getty Images
At first, I took this refusal to peacock personally. Am I a terrible dresser? Am I ugly?! But I am not telling you this to give me a pity photograph this week. (Although, please do, because I simply live for the sound of a shutter going off.) I actually enjoy being sartorially shafted. Not because I’m a masochist, rather I love the drive that it gives me to do better.
Every morning before a busy day of shows, knowing that I will be largely ignored inspires me to put more creative ensembles together. I will spend just a few extra minutes putting together a look, hoping someone—just one person!—will think it’s cool. As someone who largely adopts a daily bare-minimum uniform, I find this added pressure during NYFW refreshing; it gets me out of my style rut, and forces me to try new outfit combinations, or to wear that one statement piece at the back of my closet that has been begging to be worn.
Not that anyone should dress for an outside gaze. At the end of the day, if you like your ensemble, getting a total stranger’s approval should not matter—especially if they are just a faceless being behind a camera. But, as sick and twisted as it is, I personally love the rejection. It fuels me. Great style, after all, is something I always strive for—a north star I feel like I’m always on the cusp of reaching.
Plus, we could all be lowered a peg during all of the glamorous NYFW parties and celebrity hobnobbing, no? Just when you start feeling like a true VIP—while sipping champagne alongside, say, Cardi B—a street style photographer will always be there, to make you feel as irrelevant as last season’s Manolos. This makes me feel alive! But if you happen to see me going into a show through the back entrance because the street style scene out front gives me anxiety, no, you didn’t.
Last season during New York Fashion Week (NYFW), I was heading to the Coach show, and admittedly feeling myself. My outfit, I felt, was on point for the occasion: I paired a vintage red leather blazer with a bolo tie and heeled Cuban boots—a slightly-western vibe that perfectly encapsulated my personal style. Walking towards the venue, I could see the swarm of street style photographers and VIP guests from about a block away. It was a total zoo. Even so, I strutted towards the chaos confidently, feeling like I belonged and was part of the cool crowd.
Only, walking in, I was met with utter crickets. Not a single street style photographer even glanced in my direction. Some pointed their lenses towards far-cooler or more-famous show goers; others simple put their cameras down to rest at the sight of me. I was being totally street style shunned. But it’s okay—I’m used to it.
Every season, NYFW—which officially kicks off this week—has a cutting way of humbling you. For starters, the glitzy clothes on the runways can instantly make your day-to-day wardrobe feel dull. The front-row models and celebrities at the shows, all dressed impossibly-cool, cause you to feel just a little less interesting too, or not even worthy of being there at all. But my favorite aspect of attending NYFW, is the absolutely brutal way that street style photographers analyze your outfit going in and out of the presentations.
Heading into a show, your fashion week outfit—which usually represents your closet’s very best—is met by a jury of photographers who deem whether you are worth documenting or not. If you get a few snaps, it means that you are trendy, chic—on point. Yet, as someone who has attended shows for over a decade now, I am rarely ever part of said crowd. If street style stars like Chloe King and Eva Chen are fashion’s beloved maximalist darlings, I am simply the gum on their shoe—their homely sibling who never ends up making the family scrapbooks.
Not me during NYFW.
Video: Getty Images
At first, I took this refusal to peacock personally. Am I a terrible dresser? Am I ugly?! But I am not telling you this to give me a pity photograph this week. (Although, please do, because I simply live for the sound of a shutter going off.) I actually enjoy being sartorially shafted. Not because I’m a masochist, rather I love the drive that it gives me to do better.
Every morning before a busy day of shows, knowing that I will be largely ignored inspires me to put more creative ensembles together. I will spend just a few extra minutes putting together a look, hoping someone—just one person!—will think it’s cool. As someone who largely adopts a daily bare-minimum uniform, I find this added pressure during NYFW refreshing; it gets me out of my style rut, and forces me to try new outfit combinations, or to wear that one statement piece at the back of my closet that has been begging to be worn.
Not that anyone should dress for an outside gaze. At the end of the day, if you like your ensemble, getting a total stranger’s approval should not matter—especially if they are just a faceless being behind a camera. But, as sick and twisted as it is, I personally love the rejection. It fuels me. Great style, after all, is something I always strive for—a north star I feel like I’m always on the cusp of reaching.
Plus, we could all be lowered a peg during all of the glamorous NYFW parties and celebrity hobnobbing, no? Just when you start feeling like a true VIP—while sipping champagne alongside, say, Cardi B—a street style photographer will always be there, to make you feel as irrelevant as last season’s Manolos. This makes me feel alive! But if you happen to see me going into a show through the back entrance because the street style scene out front gives me anxiety, no, you didn’t.
