My Fifth Fashion Week: A Diary

Make sure you read Jon's first, second, third and fourth New York Fashion Week diaries so he will feel good about himself.

I'm back, motherfuckers. This time around, the CFDA decided we all were so important and influential that we get our own dedicated week of fashion. NYFW:Men's kicked off last Monday and despite being only four days long, the week seemed like a success. To be honest, a four day week suits my work ethic perfectly. Although, sad face emojis all around for you guys because that's three days less to read about my misadventures in the big city. Thankfully, my awkwardness knows no bounds of time or space, so sit back, relax and avoid the assignment you were supposed to have done by EOD.

[Lead image via Tommy Ton for Style Dot Com]

Day 1: Sunday, July 12, Travel

I flew in the day before the official start of NYFW:Men's so I could prepare for the shows by reviewing past collections and be well rested so I could start the day as early as possible. YEAH FUCKING RIGHT. I flew in the day before because I needed to make some last minute struggle cops to round out my fits.

First, I checked into the most poppington hotel of all time, the Holiday Inn *loads up Chingy playlist*. The front desk agent asked me why I was in town and could not hide the fact that he totally didn't believe me it was for Fashion Week. Like, the Holiday Inn flow is so struggle that even Holiday Inn employees didn't believe I could possibly be attending fashion week. So, yeah, that made me feel great about myself.

Sunday mid-afternoon in SoHo is like a fucked up version of Lord of the Flies if the island was a stretch of real estate chock full of expensive eateries serving boozy brunch and the boys driven mad with total power were bros and their boos raging through said boozy brunches. Instead of fighting this unstoppable force of debauchery, I just went to Aesop and bought their 30 dollar deodorant because I knew the week was going to be a scorcher and, surprisingly, I have to spray something on my body to give my sweat notes of vetiver.

I could have been planning the week with my editor or linking up with some of my best frenemies, but I decided to eat my weight in rice and beans and passed out at 5pm only to arise at 1am wide awake. So I watched The Other Woman and fell back asleep, visions of drop crotches and first row seating assignments dancing in my head.

Day 2, Monday, July 13

I woke up super early (read: 9:30ish) because somehow I always forget that I'm contractually obligated to write posts for Four Pins during Fashion Week despite the fact that writing posts for Four Pins is the only reason I'm allowed to attend Fashion Week in the first place. The plan was to meet at the Complex offices and attend the afternoon session of New York Men's Day, a gaggle of presentations downtown. The squad arranged to meet at 4 and leave by 4:30 AND I WAS TOTALLY ON TIME FOR ONCE to which Lawrence responded, "I was betting on you being late. I was gonna fucking kill you." GOOD TO SEE YOU AFTER SIX MONTHS TOO, MY GUY.

The offices haven't changed much, although they have a very Drake-inspired NWTS cloud wallpaper now and James and Jian's office has this creepy ass casting couch that they are weirdly proud of. I only stood around for, like, 10 minutes while everyone else worked so no one made fun of me for not getting seat. I did get to see the Jurassic Park "What are those?!" Vine spread throughout the office like wildfire and that was fucking dope.

We bounced to look at the collections and I was very into the long double breasted suits that Eponymovs by Hvrminn was showing. We waited in line for the free beers for a minute only to be given warm beers. Granted, we didn't turn them down. We all posted up on a Cadillac that was parked in the lobby and drank them while we made fun of the other struggle attendees as per usual. The only other thing on the schedule that day was the Rare Weaves party at Green Fingers, so instead of trying to get work done in the meantime, we went to Meatball Shop and I stuffed my face with some rigatoni and a pitcher of IPA.

Day 2, Night

Even after eating and arguing about the best way to walk towards the party, we still had an hour to kill, so we stopped at another bar to have another beer. Pro tip: Drinking a single beer sounds like a responsible decision to avoid getting hammered, but if you drink a single beer every ten to fifteen minutes you will get Surprise Drunk™. Surprise Drunk™ is tough because you don't even feel drunk until you are, like, super fucking drunk.

Case in point, we arrived at the Rare Weaves party in the very picturesque Greenfingers shop fairly sober and in good spirits. All the usual suspects were in attendance and I avoided knocking anything over on my way to the free Red Stripe station. It was at this point that I had my first OG Noah Johnson sighting. He was seriously wearing a Faith No More T-shirt, guys. I'm not sure you're old enough to know the significance of this garment choice, but let me tell you, IT IS SIGNIFICANT. Thankfully, this left field sartorial maneuver seemed to distract everyone from asking about my cane WHICH WAS, LIKE, THREE FUCKING YEARS AGO, ASSHOLES. GIVE UP THE GHOST. In fact, everyone was so focused on Noah's shirt that they didn't even notice Lawrence's Sade tee, which I'm sure hurt his feelings because he is an egomaniac.

After about 15 minutes, I discovered there was an actual outside courtyard, so we posted up and collectively blocked the rest of the party from enjoying the courtyard with a cloud of cigarette smoke and curse words. My recollection gets a bit hazy as every time someone went back inside to get a beer, they would just grab as many as they could carry, so I was well overserved before I could even give away my Newports.

Highlights of the night included, but were not limited to: Everyone making fun of Noah Johnson’s T-shirt, the god Caramanica taking the glorious squad selfie you see before you and this really handsome guy being like, "I hate to do this, but can I bum a smoke?" only to return my Newport when he discovered someone else had Marlboro Lights. For some reason, all New Yorkers smoke Marlboro Lights like a bunch of fucking dorks.

We were eventually kicked out of the Rare Weaves party so they could close up shop. Nothing like starting your fashion week off right by getting the "You don't have to go home, but you fuccbois can't stay here" line.

Day 3, Tuesday, July 14

I woke up hungover despite never realizing I was drunk the night before. I made a mental note to not drink so much, since pretty much every day this week started at 9 in the morning. I saunter into Skylight Clarkson Square for the Public School presentation feeling triumphant because this is the first time Public School has ever let me attend any of their events. Next stop friends and family Jordans, right? Anyways, the collection was dope and the concept was cool and they had cool models and as Lawrence and I were remarking about how cool Waris Ahluwalia's grill was, out of nowhere Jenna Lyons aka Ms. J. Crew herself turned around and just goes, "I KNOW, RIGHT?! SO GREAT!" Lawrence and I just stared at one another as we realized Jenna Lyons straight up just inserted herself into our conversation. It feels weird when you're not the one awkwardly joining already in-progress conversations. I chalked this interaction up to our rising influence in the fashion world.

We decided to peruse the lobby and all the offerings the CFDA was providing show attendees. We noticed fancy pressed juices at a bar and, in our dehydrated, hungover state, decided that would be a strong early lunch look. Lawrence and Skylar went with green juice and I went with straight OJ because I am an eight-year-old. We walked off commenting that this was a nice little pick-me-up in the face of the 8 hours of shows and presentations we had in front of us. We even told everyone about the free fancy juices until someone who actually read the signs in front of the juices informed us that we were in fact supposed to pay for the juices, which cost 9 fucking dollars. Naturally, we never had pressed juice again. I'll have you know that a stolen $9 juice tastes so much sweeter than the legally paid for alternative. This come up made Robert Geller's fantastic S/S 16 show even more fantastic despite that fact that this season we weren't sitting behind Kanye and Kim.

After that we all went to get some lunch and seven dudes ordered seven salads and it was hilarious and Tommy Ton snapped this pic to memorialize the most sus meal I've ever had the pleasure to partake in.

Day 3, Late Afternoon

The schedule today was very intense, with a show every half hour from 1 to 9pm. The Rag & Bone presentation, which was loaded with refreshing mint based cocktails, mini caprese-style hors d’oeuvres, fancy potato chips and pulled pork sandwiches, stands out the most looking back. I think I only remember the spread because it was the only thing I ate for dinner.

Outside Rag & Bone, we debated whether or not we should walk back to the main venue until someone in the squad decided they should expense an Uber, so five of us piled into an UberX like the fucking clowns we are. I was literally sitting on another grown man's lap to avoid paying for my own ride. We desperately asked the driver to drop us off blocks away from the venue dad-dropping-kids-off-at-the-mall-style to avoid anyone witnessing our shitshow of a commuting arrangement.

Fun fact, five dudes, three of which are extremely hungover, don't smell very good packed into the back of a Toyota Camry. The upside? We all bonded, this photo of Noah and me serving as proof for those of you keeping score at home. We made it to the Ovadia show, watched Thaddeus O’Neil bro out with his model bros and jetted off to the Four Pins' official Fashion Week Party.

Day 3, Night

Did you guys know that Four Pins threw a real, actual party? Yeah, you might want to re-read that last sentence. Four Pins, along with Gentry, VSCO and Larose Paris threw a straight banger on the roof of the Jane Hotel. CRAZY, RIGHT?! I didn't find out until, like, the day before when Lawrence called me and informed me that, contrary to popular belief, I was allowed attend.

We showed up in time for the open bar and DRANK OUR FACES OFF. I met a lot of cool people and annoyed the bartender by ordering, and I quote, "ALL OF THE BEERS I CAN CARRY PLESE" 38 seconds before the open bar closed. I smoked a million cigarettes and before I knew what was going on, we were at some cool guy spot called Up & Down for the official after party. Cut to someone giving Redbull vodkas, more cigarettes and dancing to oldies.

Over the course of who knows how long—at that point I was time traveling—I proceeded to steal a bunch of beers from the bar, shamelessly asked Them Jeans to bum cigs and made weird rap hands to, like, a Madonna song or some shit.

After that, I ended up wandering around weird, late night Manhattan with a bunch of French Canadians at. We ended up at some place that I think I've had Fashion Week crew meals at? All I know is I went to the bathroom and by the time I came out the French Canadians had peaced to yet another bar and I accosted a nice fellow from Brazil for even more cigarettes, mistaking him for someone we were hanging with. At this point, Lawrence threw me in a cab and I got home around 4 in the morning. I ate all the potato chips from the minibar. I'm pretty sure they cost more than an entire night's stay at the Holiday Inn.

Day 4, Wednesday, July 15

Four Pins perennial favorite John Elliott must hate me because he decided to have his show at 10 in the morning. I suppose it's not his fault that I got way too turbo the night before and decided that passing out in all my clothes at 4am was a good idea, but holy shit was I hungover. I awoke to several "Not gonna make it to JE this morning" texts, but I soldiered on and the effort was worth it because I was sitting in front of a bunch of dudes I know. FLEX. FLEX. FLEX.

Not gonna lie, I didn't linger for very long after the show because I thought I was going to die and/or vomit at a moment's notice. I went back to the hotel to try and sleep it off. Also, the next show was Michael Bastian and true to my own personal brand, despite being my ONLY invite the first time I attended Fashion Week, I've never been invited back. I protested by snoring loudly. My power nap payed off and I was in good spirits moving forward aka I felt less like dying, but still couldn't figure out why it hurt to talk. That is until I saw Jonathan Evans who was like, "Dude, that was the loudest I've ever heard you be, like, ever. You were on one last night."

Day 3, Afternoon

After the Greg Lauren show where I coached a random woman on how to surreptitiously gank a better seat, we all bounced to offices where Sarah Honda was kind enough to give me a real actual chair. FUCK YEAH, NO MORE LURKING BEHIND LAWRENCE AND SKYLAR. NOW I CAN SIT BEHIND THEM! But a few minutes in everyone was like, "Wow, nice job Four Pins, keeping everyone up to date with one post in three days, guys," so I just retreated into Jian and James' office and sat on the aforementioned creepy ass casting couch. I think I wrote a post and then we all decided to eat at this place that is famous for having really good hot dogs, but instead of a hot dog I got a Caesar salad with chicken tenders on top because, again, I am eight-years-old.

After that we headed over to the venue and as we waited for the Plokhov show to start, James, Jian and I traded thinly veiled barbs. In the midst of that conversation, someone politely tapped me on my shoulder. I looked up and IT WAS ROBERT FUCKING GELLER. He was like, "So good to see you" and dapped me up. I was like, "Oh Robert, have you met James and Jian?" I GOT TO INTRODUCE THEM TO ROBERT GELLER. I was pretty starstruck despite Robert Geller and I being best friends. I could only manage to compliment him on his show and we talked about how we were both going to see Plokhov, his old running mate from the Cloak days. I think my awkwardness was palpable because James pointed it out immediately after Robert went on to go do something cool while I just stood there trying to figure out who I could brag to about meeting Robert Geller.

The Plokhov show was cool and directional, but honestly I was distracted planning all the fun stuff me and my new, actual best friend Robert Geller were going to do until I remembered I only have the email address of his show room.

Day 4 Thursday, July 16

I had an appointment at the Engineered Garments office to get a walk thru of the Spring/Summer 16 collection and it was fucking dope. I even got to meet our lord and savior Daiki Suzuki and, of course, he was super cool and even has a cool ass voice. It's so deep and cool you, guys. I want to pay him to be my stunt voice if I ever get recorded on TV again because, holy shit, you jerks were disappointed in my real voice. Anyways, like I said, the collection was amazing and I wanted to buy all of it and I unnecessarily tried on every piece and the EG team was kind enough to indulge me.

On the way back to Complex, Jian and I stopped for dank hamburgers and some Hawaiian shaved ice. While paying for the shaved ices, the guy was like, "Wait, are you Jian Deleon? Oh shit, I read Complex." Jian introduced me to which the guy said, "Damn, thought you'd look more Asian." In response I made my best sad Pepe face and then inhaled my dessert before eating my hamburger. NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES, FAMOTRON.

Day 4, Afternoon

On the way to the venue, we stopped by this tailgate thing Bloomindale's was sponsoring. It had free water and, more importantly, free fancy hotdogs. When we sauntered up to the register, we promptly ordered two of each artisanal dog, to which we were sternly told that we only get one each. Despondent, we looked at one another, hoping we misheard them until Josh Peskowitz swooped in and loudly proclaimed, "NAH, they can have two of each." BOOM. PESKO-SPONSORED LOOPHOLE. We all high-fived and inhaled our free snack. I was magnanimous and give one of mine to Lawrence because I was still really full from the hamburger, fries and shaved ice I had eaten just a few hours earlier. Also, I wanted to make him look like a total fatty in front of a bunch of fashion people. Sucker.

I personally closed out the first New York Fashion Week: Men's with Siki Im's incredible show that opened with a live falsetto rendition of LCD Soundsystem's "New York I Love You" and featured some amazing graphic tees and sweatshirts.

After the show I think we all needed a break from one another so we retreated to private places only to tweet at each other for the rest of the night like a bunch of losers.

Day 5, Friday July 17, 2015

There weren’t any shows on Friday, so I went into the offices to finally write something. Thankfully, James was out of town so I got to sit at his desk, spending all day downloading really weird porn onto his computer. SHOUT OUT TO THE COMPLEX MEDIA HR DEPARTMENT. The rest of the day I learned that there are adults that still actually drink Yoo-hoo and that the best place to buy toilet paper is on Amazon.

After "work," Lawrence and I met up with Four Pins' alumnus Jake Woolf and ate a bunch of really good paella and had a carafe of red and a carafe of white sangria while we talked shit about all of you.

Concluding Thoughts

I think I can safely say the first New York Fashion Week: Men's was a success despite being a fucking mouthful of a name. The centralized location made every day a lot more palatable, even if I had to spend a lot of time ducking the Shinola booth because they have a price on my head. I'm not out here trying to catch a passive aggressive body. I'm not even that mad I didn't get to go to the closing show—John Varvatos—because I couldn't cop an invite DESPITE BEING FROM DETROIT. Seems like a PR oversight, John. Although, I did see that guy from the Red Hot Chili Peppers that looks like Will Ferrel on his way in.

Overall, I had a great time. I got to witness everyone calmly point out Christian Slater vaping in the lobby only to have Lawrence blow our cover by loudly yelling, "WAIT, MR. ROBOT IS HERE?!" I only had to discuss that New York Times piece about the L train stopping in Detroit seventeen times and I only paid for, like, four beers total. I met Daiki Suzuki and Robert Fucking Geller. I heard people refer to Lawrence as "the fashion bro." I got to intersperse street style shots of myself throughout this diary whether or not they had anything to do with the words written underneath them. Speaking of, everyone keeps remarking that I'm always smiling and/or laughing in street style photos and lemme just say once and for all that's just because I'M A RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE IN YOUR OTHERWISE GLOOMY SOCIAL MEDIA FEEDS AND THE DARK NIGHTMARISH CAVES YOU CALL OFFICES. My presence is a present. See you fucks in six months.