Skylines, Subways and Press Releases

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

February 17, 2010

Couture, The Congo & Constructive Criticism

(New York, NY)— It was something I desperately needed. To go to a place where waiting to receive a slew of response emails didn’t matter, a pending job search seemed irrelevant, being put on ANOTHER two-week hold to receive my IKEA furniture for no reason seemed practical and where accidentally dropping my debit card in the subway vent due to a freakishly smelling lady startling me when she sneezed in my ear just seemed like, you know, any other normal day. Where negative experiences and negative energies didn’t matter and where glitter, chrome spikes, glistening Christian Louboutin pumps, sparkly corsets and SEVERLY FEROCIOUS designs reigned supreme.

I needed an over-the-top spectacle to distract me from my monotonous routine. I needed to see imagination become reality and wanted to be bedazzled to such a cautionary degree that it could blind me.  This is what I asked for and this is what I received. The last time I had been this speechless, was when I was a six-year-old teased hair little hell raiser; my parents had taken away my Barbie Jeep because I had gotten lost driving around the neighborhood aimlessly trying to find the local Sears, which sadly to admit seemed to have been my fashion Mecca circa 1993. I am fully aware that typing out that last sentence might single-handedly ruin my blog. Perhaps even cause an angry glamour loving mob to find, attack and chain me down on 5^th Avenue and write “FAILED FASHIONISTA” all over my MAC Cosmetics Studio Fix (in shade NC42) painted face.

BELL RINGS. CLASS HAS STARTED: FASHION HISTORY 101 in Cliff’s Notes Style: The Blonds are known for seamlessly integrating two extreme groups: 1.) The frisky and liberal use of sequins, diamonds, leather and chains. 2.) The timeless silhouette of a corset most reminiscent of contemporary old Hollywood glamour. When done wrong, the look can be deemed distasteful, completely lacking in cohesive design and be ready to sell at a local flea market in Chatanooga, Tennessee for $12.75.  When done right, the design becomes more than a piece of thousand-dollar fashion you adorn your client with for a photo shoot, movie premier or concert performance- it becomes a gleaming piece of art that leaves people breathless at Fashion Week and becomes immortalized in the prestigious pages of Vogue, Harper’s Bazaar and V Magazine. The Blondes have a Bachelor’s in fierceness, a Masters in glitz and a Doctorate in Glittercorsetoure (a phrase I would like to officially coin as an amalgamation of the three key ingredients to happiness: glitter, corsets and couture). BELL RINGS. SEMESTER IS OVER. SCHOOLS OUT FOREVER. DONE.

My silent prayers to RuPaul and Lady GaGalupe were answered when I opened my e-mail at 9 a.m. and had received an opportunity to help work The Blonds Fashion Show during New York Fashion Week with a stellar PR firm. I could have convulsed, passed out and started drooling all over my MacBook to such a severity that I wouldn’t be able to physically stop, but I managed to keep it together, let out a couple of high-pitched shrieks and engage in an interpretive dance that consisted of three jumps, two triumphant arm raises and several annoying hand claps.

The crowd was beautifully eccentric, the celebrities were fabulous fashionistas, and the designs were absolutely radiant. I assisted in checking in members of the associated press, buyers, fashion editors, celebrities, publicists and friends of the designers and guide them to their seats. Basically, to strictly adhere to “The List,” and rule the event with an iron-yet perfectly manicured-hand. BEGIN SCENE:

Adam Lambert, dressed in a black tailored suit and wearing a single leather glove with golden spiked claws, checked in and walked by pretty quickly to his seat. Soon after, Ms. Jay Alexander of America’s Next Top Model strolled up with his two guests to check in…

Me: “Hi! Are you Alexander, Jay Alexander?”

JA: “Oh yes honey, that’s me.”

:::he sighs and reclines his above 6-feet-tall statuesque frame against the wall::

Me: “Aw, are you feeling okay? Just give us one moment as we find you on the list and look up your seat number.”

JA: “Chiiild I am so tired; I’m exhausted…Ohh but GIRL, THOSE SHOULDER PADS!”

::he gasps, smiles and touches my strong-pointy shouldered black blazer::

Me: Oh! Well you can take a little nap on my fierce little shoulder pad if you want!”

::he smiles and lets out a brief laugh::

JA: “Girl, and I gotta pee.”

I quickly improvise and grab one of the many bottles of FIJI water from the FIJI event sponsored bin and notify Ms. Jay that if he needs to relieve himself let it be in a FIJI bottle instead of a Dasani. I also assured him that no one would even notice since everyone was graciously sipping his/her champagne-filled glasses. Ms. Jay then chuckles with the miniscule energy he has left and after telling him where to go, he proceeds to find his seat.

Every now and then, a writer for French or Italian Vogue would walk in with their fur coats, patent nude-colored pumps and the whole “I just threw this together in five minutes before showtime because I don’t care” indie-bohemian chic look really caught my attention. I daydreamed for 2 minutes about how I would like to throw that stuff together in an hour and run unnecessary errands on a Wednesday afternoon just to show off my disheveled, yet put together, French look straight from the pages of NYLON. My European daydream was brought to a halt when I saw a sudden slew of fashionebrities walk towards us to check in. Jay Manuel of America’s Next Top Model, Mike Ruiz of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Patricia Fields head stylist to Sex and the City, Robert Verdi and his two publicists, notorious New York gay clubber Kenny Kenny, and Amanda Lepore the most famous transsexual in New York City. Amanda Lepore had boobs that can only be described as excessive and enough lip injections and plastic surgery that can only be referred to as superfluous. Despite the intense vision, she was cute in her own way and she could have been totally rude since she had to wait a bit until we found her name on the list, but she was really sweet.

The lights dimmed, the strong bass of electronic dance music pulsed through the floors, neon lights flickered to the climactic beat and then suddenly, bursts of diamonds, sequins, leather, fur and chrome spikes strutted the stage. The models mercilessly ripped up the runway with the show’s custom-made glittery Louboutin pumps. Each model’s hair was platinum, teased and big- as it should be. The corsets were embellished with crystals, glitter and grace. Some of the long sleeved strong-shouldered mini dresses were made of leather and fierceness but all were adorned with rock’n’roll chrome and golden spikes. Not an ounce of cotton could be seen. Everyone was so enamored by the immaculate radiance of every design that each person would stalk the model from the time they stepped foot on the runway to the time they stepped off, completely entranced by the meticulous detail and flawless construction of each piece.  Never had I seen such an enchanting showcase of glimmer and glamour. Every celebrity, every fashion editor, every intern, every publicist, every buyer was left utterly speechless, including myself.

Everyone batted their fake eyelashes in disbelief not knowing whether or not they just hallucinated a dazzling utopia or if they just witnessed The Blonds out-design the Godfather of Sequins and Glitz, Bob Mackie. Phillipe and David Blond, the two designers of The Blonds, did their end-of-show designer closing walk to an uproar of praise and the thunderous sound of numerous flashbulbs from photographers.

They always close and deliver with every piece they construct and with every show they produce, but this year’s show was taken to an entirely new echelon. The Blonds brought the fury and they brought the heat, in the form of everything I admire: MAC Cosmetics, Christian Louboutin, PERFECTLY-PURIFIED FIJI water bottles, glitter, glitz and classic-edgy rock’n’roll glamour wrapped up in a sparkly, shimmery splendor.

# Now, lets get out of this world of diamonds and back into my cubic zirconian lifestyle.

The New York PR and Journalism scene is brutal, yet little forms of vindication are what make it all worthwhile. Alex Kuczynski, a former reporter for the New York Times, current columnist for New York Times Style Magazine and Vanity Fair said my blog looked great and was really funny. She was kind enough to direct me to some editors that I should pitch to. VERY RARELY do writers do this and although it may seem minor to some, this little nugget of positive reinforcement is all I need to keep going. The amount of work that goes into getting at least one New York journalist to open your e-mail, read it and respond to your work in a receptive way is monumental.

For Valentines Day, my parents decided to be adorable and FedEx me a couple boxes of Wheat Thins, a 20-piece GODIVA Chocolate box-of which I disgustingly ate eight pieces in one sitting-three cans of chicken soup and four cans of Tuna to add to my ever-growing collection of canned goods. They even thought it would be necessary to throw in several Ziploc baggies full of chips. To which I couldn’t help but wonder…how come they didn’t leave the chips in the bags they bought them in? BUT, who am I to critique when my parents are going out of their way to be sweet. Sometimes I feel like my mother thinks I flew off to the Congo instead of New York. Her little girl, protagonist of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness Part 2, shipped off to the depths of the jungle and left to revert back to her most primitive state in order to better scavenge for food, glitzy rockstars and designer labels.

(PS:PH2H)-Things with one of my best friends are still at an all time low and I really feel this time that it’s the worst its ever been and that it could be it. The last straw has been dealt, the damage is irreconcilable and I feel that his/her anger, although incredibly merited will last for a long time. I miss the way things were all the time and I wish better decision making had occurred and catastrophic mistakes weren’t made. No one can hit rewind, backspace, or rewrite the story line; we are only allowed to hit play, move forward and narrate a new storyline full of new-found maturity, evolution and change. I’m learning to grow up, take certain things in stride as opposed to fullforce and to discuss situations openly and honestly with close friends like Jacklynne Cleave, Sinatra SKYY, Golden Pearl, Cherry Sour and Penny Platinum. I value them all to such an extreme degree because they know all my flaws and want to help me ameliorate them, as I do theirs. They critique me constructively so that I can become a better person and they don’t tag me in hideous Facebook pictures where my pose is incredibly off and my collarbones aren’t sticking out enough due to me being caught off guard and not sucking in fast enough. Oh wait, didn’t Sinatra SKYY do this and Facebook message it to the world…hmm…itsok ilu ss.

Eating An Obscene Amount of Post-Valentines Day Godiva Chocolates in NYC,

-erika

location: apt on W34th.

listening to: the subway zoom underground, cars passing by and “November Rain” by Guns N Roses.

feeling: hungry, unsettled and anxious to wash my face

missing: green enchiladas and guacamole

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