New York Fashion Week: Diary of a Beauty Editor, Part 1
Arrival at Bryant Park: It is bitterly cold in New York. While we're wrapped in coats and caps, the New Yorkers tripping up the stairs next to us into the white tent village in Bryant Park show their bare legs, their feet in fine strappy heels. Her complexion is enviably perfect, her lips are somehow puffed up. They have to be, the Park Avenue princesses, so-called socialites, who are here because lifestyle is their favorite. Behind us, black-clad photographers drag their gear into the tent. They come from everywhere, Japanese, Germans, French, Italians, are casual, want to do their job.
The show starts: I like to admit: Carlos Miele does not tell me anything. That his designs could be significant, in the end he is even the next Marc Jacobs, tells me the narrow, brunette woman in the? Frontrow ?, two rows in front of us. Good, not for me personally, but their presence is crucial: Carine Roitfeld, head of French Vogue, is interested in Mr Miele. My colleague from the German Vogue next to me confirmed my guess. Having fished my glasses out of my pocket, am I also discovering fashion critic Suzy Menkes? These two decide on top or flop. The music starts, the models stalk over the pier in elegant black and white cocktail dresses and beige costumes with cleverly twisted lapels. In addition her complexion shines? a little too much, I think. The fashion highlight: a canary-yellow silk dress, presented by a black beauty, before which Naomi Campbell should beware from hour to time.
February 16, 5 pm, New York Fashion Week, Show by William Rast (fashion label by Justin Timberlake)
Backstage before the show: OK, after a day of Fashionweek, I understood? S: Models have to smoke and look either very absent or pretty nasty. I suspect that they look so angry because of the cold and because of the constant hunger. Before the Justin Timberlake show are such fragile, thin-legged creatures, sucking on their cigarettes, their skinny long legs stuck in Scottish plaid tights, the flat bottom covered a denim miniature moonwashed look. They are waiting for Charlotte Willer, global make-up artist at Maybelline Jade, to give them the make-up for the run on the dock. "They should look fresh, just like sunkissed," says Charlotte, dabbing blush at the girl's cheeks in front of her. The stylist herself has bright red lips and never mascara. Very consistent, very cool. Steven Waldberg, Maybelline's Global PR Manager, walks in, grinning and whispering to us three German journalists: "Justin the room is Justin." Yes, we just ask the fashionable guy over, I would suggest! No, Mr. Timberlake has a few more interviews with American colleagues. What a pity. So it will be nothing with the image of Justin and Steffi.
The show starts I'm really embarrassed about that now ... but I find it absolutely exciting that the barbie-like Hilton sisters are sitting in the front row, close enough to touch. I jump fast forward and just want to snap the girls, but their unfriendly bodyguard shields them? Crap. As a proof, I hold their backs? freshly styled by the private stylist.
Paris and Nicky both wear silvery sequin fumble. Glitter, by the way, seems really popular? not just the Hiltons. When the models in their studded leather jackets with shoulder pads and Stretchminis start (so eighties!), From the opposite row from the front row jumps to an incredible decollete? a stark contrast to the narrow-chested girls and boys on the catwalk, I have to take this picture.
And see only afterwards that Jessica Joffe (famous German Socialite in New York) sits next to the bosom. The fashion highlight: Studded jeans minis, which definitely demand slim legs.
