paris fashion week, can I be honest here?
Here I am in Barcelona, my empty suitcase staring at me longingly, explosions of clothes strewn across the floors and a TO DO list the length of my forearm. It is that time of year again, Paris Fashion Week, my flight is at 10 am tomorrow and I am yet to pack a single sock. So same old situation really, it comes around every 6 months and it’s always the night before when I realize, despite all my planning and arranging, I’m a mess. Now, I’m not going to pretend PFW is some exclusive event, nor will I suggest you head to the city when it is happening and I certainly will not talk about it as if it’s some chicer city version of Coachella that you should aspire to attend. Frankly, I am so bored of bloggers glamorizing what is in essence a trade-show. I couldn’t give a hoot about catching the glimpse of what has become a scary photography street mob and networking for me comes about as easily as making a dentist appointment. So why do I go? For work, for the money – for the opportunities that arise in abundance at this time of year. I don’t mean to be negative, there are lot of components of PFW that I love – friends from everywhere flying into town, fun projects that exist around the periphery of PFW as well as a show or two that I am surprisingly invited too. But so the life of a blogger goes – carving out enviable moments everyday from everything – I just can’t do that with you girls. If I’m happy, I’ll share my happiness and if I’m sad, well I share that too. And yes, I will no doubt be jumping around with the Eiffel in view, I will be wearing pretty clothes, I will eat at fancy restaurants (and cry later into a sea of receipts) – but as a girl who is happiest in no makeup with a book in her hand – I’m usually feeling out of place or wondering how to look ‘cooler’ and then reprimanding myself for even trying in the first place. So between the fun projects I’ll be sharing and the good-looking friends I’ll see, PFW is mostly me working all day and into the night and between that? Shifting around uncomfortably, pulling at clothes that suddenly feel too tight and loitering by some sort of free food wondering why everyone else is awesome and why I am so painfully lame.
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