Listen, if you told me a year ago I’d want nothing to do with fashion month, I would have rolled my eyes and said ‘yeah right’ – but here’s the thing.. I’m over it.
A few weeks ago when the invites started rolling in for the season, a major wave of anxiety swept through my body. Like, how am I NOT excited to see Kyle Richards’ debut runway show? I’m like the biggest Real Housewives of Beverly Hills fan of all time. And the thought that Tyler C. might be front row cheering on Gigi?! Come onnnn! But.. the thrill of RSVP-ing ‘NO” was insanely refreshing. So much so that I hit the decline button faster than anyone could snatch garments off the racks of Target’s latest collab.
The Cut posted an article last week mentioning 2009 was the year that killed fashion. That was the year I graduated college, obsessively live-tweeted red carpet shows (not going to lie, I still live for this), and was told by Joan Rivers (RIP) herself that I had a great eye. The problem is, fashion week has become so overly saturated (thanks, Instagram) with content that it’s lost its magic.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s thrilling to check Getty images post-show to see if you made their street style page, but it seems as though show-goers are so thirsty for that rush that they’re forgetting why we initially started attending shows IRL – to embrace and acknowledge the work of the designers. And to me, it’s just not worth the exhaustion and blisters.
If you’re still reading this ramble, please note that I fully embraced the #JOMO this past week by live-streaming a few shows in my sweats – and didn’t feel one bit guilty.
