So, basically two days before New York Fashion Week was about to start, my Editor-in-chief forwards me an email inviting me to Michael Bastian’s show because I had written this post that, naturally, was so goddamn hilarious I just had to be on the guest list. He was all, “Too bad you’re in fucking Detroit, dickbag.” Homie was essentially double dog daring me to come to NYC for the week of the fashions. WELL, I CALLED HIS BLUFF AND I WAS OUT THERE IN A HOT MINUTE. This is the diary of my first New York Fashion Week. You think you know, but you have no idea.