In the back of my mind, I just assumed Fashion Week would make me skinny. Perhaps by osmosis—or peer pressure. Maybe I would be transformed into a WASPy fashion type, drinking my meals. Or maybe the exercise alone would shave inches off those saddlebags. (Maybe you’re not aware—lining up to get into a show is like being thrown into a rugby match—where were these people raised?)
But as the week draws to a close my skinny jeans seem to be considerably skinnier. I guess the workout of running from show to show was negated by the fact that I have shoved Peppermint Patties in my face non-stop for seven days. The refreshing little pods are handed out to frenzied editors and publicists much in the way cups of water are made available to marathon runners. But it seems they don’t all say yes every time? Another sponsor of the festivities is Atkins Advantage. Their “granola bars” seem to be more popular with the mean girls. In an effort to fit in, I tried one, peanut butter flavored, but I just can’t eat something so sweet that contains no sugar. I’m scared of that.
The clear choice for tent dining, if you must remain inside that fake interior, is the Bryant Park ‘Wichcraft kiosk, which has been made conveniently accessible from inside. The little sister of Tom Colicchio’s restaurant, Craft, ‘Wichcraft combines flavors expertly, too, but between pieces of bread. The sandwiches range from $5.50 to $9.75. I opted for the $6 grilled cheddar on pumpernickel with smoked ham and quince. Some ladies at the next table were barking back and forth over cappuccinos, and I truly felt bad that they had to witness a piece of ham fall from my mouth into the depths of my tote bag. I guess you can’t hide who you really are. That’s what Fashion Week’s all about.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on February 7, 2006