We're in the midst of yet another season at New York Fashion Week, and I'm again in complete awe that this has somehow become my life. It still feels surreal to grab a hold of my credentials and walk into the tents and be surrounded by people I have admired for years, even though my name has been on the masthead at Marie Claire for the last two years. There are moments that I don't feel like I belong there, and there are moments where I'm certainly made to feel like I don't belong there. Continue...
I try to remember why I am there, though: to work, to report, to observe, and to have fun - and be grateful that I have the privilege of being there at all.It's hard not to get caught up in the politics and circus of getting dressed to head to shows, but being that I don't have Valentino Rockstuds or a Celine bag to tote around (though I'd gladly accept gifts of either), I'm choosing to stick to what I know: lots of black, lots of leather, and pops of color and pattern to have fun with.
