This might be the most bizarre, awesome event so far: At the Loden Dager cocktail reception/presentation at the Frying Pan, the models were required to stand next to posted descriptions of what they were wearing for the duration of the party. I headed down into the dilapidated boat, ordered a cranberry vodka at the open bar, and stopped to read the writing next to one shaggy brunette model’s head. Jimmy: cable-knit pullover sweater, cashmere; selvedge denim jeans. “Jimmy” was chatting up people in a doorway, cocktail in hand. It was not unlike pacing through a museum, except the object was alive. Does this happen all the time during Fashion Week? It’s schadenfreude at its finest. One model in an olive suit and big white sneakers kept surreptitiously trying to stray from his post, standing a good six feet from the posted description. I see you over there, model. Downstairs, two brave models were shaking their hips in tandem to “Freak-a-Leak” onstage, while everyone gawked. Models drink! Models speak! Models dance! Models dance as goofily as regular people do, actually. On the way out, I sidled up next to Asaf from DNA agency (Cassidy coat; Keasy plaid button-up shirt; Taylor jean) and asked him if he had to do this all night. He looked pained. He also looked like he would like to spit on me, glaring for a good couple seconds before he responded. Time to leave.
The clothes: G-star employees meet the British uppercrust—grayish-blue dark denim jeans with big white sneakers, plaid jackets and thick cashmere sweaters you could shoot grouse in.
Goodie bag: None that I saw. Celeb spottings: Fabian Basabe, or someone who looks like him. Does Fabian Basabe even count?