Image via Complex Original
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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.
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Day 1: Check in and first selfie of the week
Let’s just address the elephant in the room right off the bat. No, not the piece of strugle luggage on the floor. THE FUCKING CANE. Yeah, like, two and a half days before LAS dared me to come out, I woke up with the inability to walk or move without feeling like I was going to die and at one point contemplated just falling down the stairs because that would be less painful than walking down them. A quick trip to the hospital and a Valium prescription later, I’m on a flight drinking ginger ales and feeling my #influence because I got a wheelchair ride through the terminal and only paid $40 to upgrade to first class. Then I remembered I was going to Fashion Week with a cotdamn cane from CVS. Also, instead of staying at some cool guy hotel like the Tribeca Grand or the Ace or whatever, I’m staying at a Holiday Inn because MONEY. Yep, I’m operating at a negative influence level before Fashion Week even starts.
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Day 1: Bastian Show, 3:35pm
Damn, now this hotel is swanky. Like, it probably has a wildly racist past that is conveniently over looked swanky. There’s even a beautiful woman singing accompanied by a live pianist. That shit is classy, MB, very fucking classy. But how the fuck do all these influencers take such clear photos? These models aren’t walking slowly FYI. I needed to document the illness that is this pineapple bucket hat, but this is seriously the best photo I have. Fuck it, I’ll just sip on this coconut water and let someone explain the collection to me later. A lot of these kids know a lot about clothes.
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Day 1: Outside the Shade of Grey by Micah Cohen presentation, 4:00pm-ish
That’s me, hunched over like Methuselah. Did you guys know that when you go to some shows you get a gift bag? Almost everyone who has the correct formula to make taste straight abandones them joints without even looking through them. Me? I drank that gratis drink and took the complimentary fancy shampoo and conditioner DESPITE THE FACT THAT I’M BALD. My grandma didn’t escape the cultural revolution in China, immigrate here and start her own business for me to turn down free T-shirts and hair products. But don’t let all these jerkstores fool you with their jaded takes on Fashion Week. When I grabbed the gift bag before I could say, “Beautiful job, Michael” I had, like, seventeen free tees discreetly shoved into my bag by your favorite blogger’s favorite blogger. ALL THESE FOOLS TOMMY TON’S BEEN SNAPPING ARE INTO FREE SWAG, BUT DON’T WANT TO ADMIT IT LEST THEIR KLOUT SCORE BE ADVERSELY AFFECTED.
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Day 1: I don’t even know what time (steady popping pain pills, so I can check out these presentations in an old warehouse or whatever and not die)
Having a fucked up nerve means you can’t really walk at all. Guess what you do at Fashion Week? YOU FUCKING WALK EVERYWHERE BECAUSE FOR SOME REASON NEW YORKERS NEVER REALLY WANNA TAKE CABS ALL THAT MUCH BECAUSE “THERE’S A SUBWAY STOP RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER AKA SEVENTEEN MILLION BLOCKS AWAY.” I was with Schlossman when this photo was taken. I was just a half mile behind him, hobbling away. FASHION WAITS FOR NO MAN. And because I’m from Detroit I don’t know all the cool guys in New York, so of course Schlossman tells everyone I’m here on a Make A Wish Foundation trip and that’s how all the dudes at Blind Barber know me now. THANKS, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF. YOU’RE A TRUE FRIEND.
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Day 2, 10:00am
Valium is a helluva drug. I’m on that diazepam wave all day, that way, if we end up walking it again like I know we will, I’ll feel like rainbows.
1:00pm
Actually haven’t walked all that much today, BUT STILL STORMING THOSE MUSCLE RELAXANT BEACHES. WHY NOT HEAD OVER TO THE COMPLEX MEDIA HEADQUARTERS LUDED THE FUCK OUT? I Forgot to bring my laptop to the office, so I’m just that weird guy with a cane that showed up to with Schlossman and Woolf with no explanation. I sit in a trance for a while until Woolf tells me about Kenneth Cole’s social media strategy. SO I BANG OUT A POST ABOUT THAT DICKHEAD ON MY MOBILE WHILE ON PRESCRIPTION DRUGS LIKE A TRUE RAPPER. On my first day in the new, fancy offices I literally phoned it in. No, the irony of that isn’t lost on me.
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Day 2, The Fall Classic, 5:00pm-ish
Evidently someone convinced a bunch of #menswear dudes to play five on five basketball in Tompkins Square Park. Shouts to Blind Barber and Nike and Fohr Card for sponsoring this shit. Can someone explain to me what the fuck a Fohr Card is? I got, like, seven different explanations. Peep The Style Blogger’s Go Pro rigged to his chest. I would make fun of him more, but he dunked on Carson Street’s Matt Breen so hard that I was like, “Damn, I need to stop talking shit about the Style Blogger.” I mean, I still giggled because dude has a Go Pro camera strapped to his chest like a total dork.
The game itself was pretty much a giant metaphor for the Internet in that it was 10 guys actually doing something, while, like, a hundred dudes stood around talking shit about how the event could be better.
The afterparty at Blind Barber was super fun too. I wasn’t supposed to drink, but if you don’t tell my doctor, I won’t either. I didn’t even stay that late because we had shows to go to the next day and also because Noah Johnson made fun of me for not having rare sneakers on. Also, VALIUM.
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Day 3, 12:45am
DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT BURGER KING DELIVERS IN NYC?! New Yorkers are probably only skinny so they can maintain their senses of superiority. Don’t worry, I didn’t get this delicious original chicken sandwich meal delivered, but only because Burger King was right next door to my hotel. I passed out in the desk chair shortly after this picture was taken.
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Day 3, N. Hoolywood, 7pm
Another fucking day, another fucking mile long walk to some weird church that’s now a cool hotel thing. I had asked that my boss request an invite for me and it totally worked! Except, I was supposed to be in the struggle standing section. I’ve learned that you do not want to be in the standing section of any fashion show. Plus, my leg was killing me. But guess what? An angel from Des Moines named Nick Grant pretty much made me take his seat. HE GAVE UP HIS SEAT SO YOUR BOY COULD REST A LITTLE. And even though he ended up getting seated too (probably his plan all along), at the time I don’t think he knew this would happen. THAT’S REAL GENEROSITY. FUCK YOU, NEW YORK. DES MOINES IS DOING IT RIGHT. ALL YOU OTHER MOTHERFUCKERS JUST STARED AT MY CANE. THAT’S RUDE AS FUCK. Can you guys tell I was drugged out a little during the show? Peep me Instagramming like a true G on the right. Look just how thrilled James and Noah were to be the guys that rolled through with the guy with the drugstore cane? I pretty much photobombed all of N. Hoolywood’s press photos. MY FIRST FASHION WEEK IS A GUARANTEED SUCCESS.
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Day 3, Todd Snyder, 8pm
I finally got to go to Lincoln Center. It’s really nice at night—a very photogenic spot. Lincoln Center during Fashion Week is like Comic Con. That’s where you see all the weirdos and lots of corporate sponsorship. But I wasn’t complaining because the brolic dude working the velvet rope at the Snyder presentation let me cut in line so I wouldn’t have to walk up some stairs. SUCK IT, STRUGGLE BLOGGERS. It was real crowded at the presentation though. So much so that this is the best photo I got. After the show, like, half of Tumblr went out to eat at some spot where the men’s and women’s bathrooms share the same sink space. SO HIP AND COO! I got gnocchi, which was good but I kinda wish I got the chicken pot pie. Also, the restaurant only had Hunt’s ketchup. JOHN JANUZZI WAS NOT AMUSED BY THAT BUSH LEAGUE MOVE. We retaliated by making the waitress split the bill on 9 different credit cards.
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Day 4
I'm calling this my “free day” because it sounds a lot better than admitting that I got denied invites to all the shows. ROBERT GELLER, I LOVE YOU. WHY YOU GOTTA PLAY ME LIKE THAT? TOO BUSY ADJUST BERETS, BRO? It’s cool though. I slept in real late and woke up to a few texts from people like: “Are you alive?”, “You hitting up Nepenthes?”, to which I never replied. I did go to Nepenthes though and I bought that long hooded shirt joint. DEAR INTERNET, LAY OFF. I’M BUSTING THAT SHIT OUT IN JANUARY AND I DON’T WANT TO BE WEARING THE SAME SHIT AS YOU. Then I went to 3Sixteen’s 10th Anniversary pop-up. I kept saying how nice and well made the Viberg boots were, but Johan and Andrew still didn’t give me a free pair. At least they put me on the guest list for the open bar party later that night at, you guess it, Blind Barber. I showed up to that shit early and posted up at the bar before realizing that the only free drinks were tequila or Jack Daniels. The night gets a little fuzzy from there, but I do remember a lot of people realizing I was “…that Jon Moy…” and then saying I was much nicer in person than they thought I’d be. Kiya from SelfEdge told me about some crazy music and Amardeep pretended like he didn’t mind talking to me for a few hours. Then, as I was standing outside, some random fashion guy everyone else knew had Nutter Butter cookies, so I had a few of those and then passed out back at my hotel. That’s how my first New York Fashion Week ended. SEE YOU GUYS IN SIX MONTHS. I'LL TRY AND HAVE A COOLER CANE AND MORE DRUGS NEXT TIME.