Eichner’s Eye: New York Fashion Week, Day 1
10:21 a.m.: “Cute hat, Sami Gayle.”
10:21 a.m.: “Cute hat, Sami Gayle.”
10:21 a.m.: “Cute hat, June Ambrose.”
10:25 a.m.:“Are there a lot of big names here?” someone asks. “No, but a whole row of small names hoping to be big names,” I reply.
12:44 p.m.: “I was so hungover this morning and I had to film something. It’s going to be on ABC,” Caroline Vreeland, my new favorite social butterfly, tells me. “It’s a two-hour documentary. They are following me around fashion week.”
12:40 p.m.: “Get it from the side,” Allison Williams says. “It’s Antonio Marras.”
4:45 p.m.: “She’s an Instagram sensation,” a woman says, pointing to her little dog. “What?” I ask. “Yes, she’s Chloe the mini frenchie and she has over 50,000 followers.”
5:07 p.m.: I take a sweet photograph of Coco Rocha and her baby.
9:03 p.m.: “Kisses, kisses, kisses,” I exclaim as I flash Ciara, Jourdan Dunn and Iman smooching for my lens. Ah, the power of the camera.
9:11 p.m.: “Hiiiiiiiiiiiii. We are spending all our time together,” Emily Ratajkowski purrs as I snap her. “Yes and I could not think of a better way to spend my time,” I say. I am such a doofus.
10:05 p.m.: Stressed out in the rain dealing with a s–t show at the door. Finally I persuade my way in. I put my flash on my camera as I’m led upstairs by a publicist. I see a huge bodyguard I recognize. My instincts kick in. It’s Kim and Kanye! As I’m spraying them with flashes, another photog asks them to stop and pose. “No, get us walking,” Mr. West directs.
10:52 p.m.: As Drake’s “Started From the Bottom” bumps on the sound system, the room fills with what smells like cannabis smoke. RiRi is in the VIP room surrounded by body guards and she seems to be partaking. Shocker.
11:47 p.m.: Timberlake approaches Pharrell’s table. I start blasting away. Then walk over to the elevator. Suddenly, there is a bearded man in my face screaming as if I just killed his child: “Asking the f—ing question! Ask the f—ing question!” He’s so close to my face that it takes me a moment to focus and recognize him. Oh, crap, it’s Justin Timberlake still roaring, “Asking the f—ing question! Ask the f—ing question!”