Public88 : Fashion

There’ll be jostling, there’ll be squabbling, and you’ll probably have to stand up the back. But it’ll be splendid, and Noelle McCarthy has some hints to help you make it work.

Step 1: Get in.

It is not hard to go to a fashion show. The hardest thing about going is getting in. Exclusivity is the currency of every designer worth their salt. Don’t take this personally, it’s simply how it works.

The people who sell expensive clothing realised a long time ago that their best hope of parting you from your hard-earns lies in convincing you that wearing their stuff is an instant marker of how special and discerning you are.

Putting on a fashion show is an easy, fun way to do this because a show allows designers to take the concept of exclusivity and extend it out from clothes and onto people as well.

A fashion show is like a party, and not everyone gets to go.

In fact, nobody gets to go, really, besides some buyers and sellers, some photographers, and a few obliging celebrities du jour.

That’s not how it looks in the papers and on the news because designers are infernally clever and know that journalists are as prone to starry eyes as the rest of us, and they invite a few of them too.

So, getting in will be a problem, unless you have loads of money, work in the industry, and/or have supported the label since year dot.

My advice is not to sweat it too much. Fashion shows, like taxidermy or Morris dancing, aren’t for everyone.

What you gain in spectacle, you tend to lose in having to witness the many incarnations of humanity at its most base. (People aren’t nice at fashion shows. They’re stressed and tense and really, really concerned about how they look. That’s the worst of it, so you need to be prepared for that.)

If your heart’s still set on going, however, and you’re prepared for the stress and the vapidity of it all, then
start a blog, and apply politely to the designer’s PR.

Or befriend a celebrity who’s currently hot. That is, if you can’t become one yourself.

In a New Zealand context this could translate into going out with someone off Shortland Street or tweeting fashion publicist Murray Bevan non-stop.

Step 2: Get dressed.

You’ve scored a ticket. You’re in. Congratulations to you. Now comes the important part. You need to get dressed. This is a matter of some import.

Looking knockout fabulous isn’t just one of the many enjoyable aspects of enjoying a fashion show,
it’s your single most important responsibility as an attendee.

Think of it this way: these people are putting on a show for you. You need to honour that by looking
your best when you attend. At the very least, make sure you’re wearing something that you feel good
in, something that’s becoming, and clean.

Also, wear shoes. New Zealand is probably the only country in the world where that needs spelling out.
These small strictures aside, however, you really can wear whatever you like.

Fashion shows have their own formalities, but aside from observing a certain degree of fabulousness, the sky’s the limit, baby.

It could be argued that the joy of shows in London, Milan, Paris and New York isn’t so much in the designers’ clothes as in the way the spectators dress.

It’s a privilege to be front row at a show that a great designer puts on – the best attendees realise this and dress the part.

The results are madly gorgeous, and often just plain mad.

So much the better – a fashion show is all about elevation from the humdrum.

How better to realise this than to invite people who look extraordinary and live extraordinary lives.

New Zealand got a taste of this the year international style icon Diane Pernet was a guest at the shows.

Nothing like a four foot mantilla to jolt you out of the workaday.

So if you’re feeling adventurous, and would like to up the ante somewhat, that is all to the good.

Fashion Week is the place to launch your brave new look. Google Daphne Guinness and André Leon Talley and away you go.

Step 3: Sit where you’re put.

Whatever you wear, you’ll need to bring your best thick hide. Fashion shows enforce the pecking order,
and this is where it gets rough.

Imagine a show as a brief trip back to school. You’ll remember it all from the first time: the brutal hierarchies, the sudden inexplicable episodes of bullying, that brief, shining moment when you’re in with the in-crowd and feel like you belong.

That’s the moment when your ticket gets you through the door, and it will last until you’re lead to your seat. Or not, as the case may be.

You may need to sit down for this next bit: odds are, you’ll be standing up to watch the show.

It’s a simple question of logistics: X number of seats, X number of investors, sponsors and other important
people. Add in X number of celebs and supporters, plus the designer’s mother, two Australian buyers
and the stylists who buy the jackets for 3 News, and there aren’t many chairs left for the hoi polloi.

It’s nothing personal, according to the people who organise these events.

It’s just a question of fitting everybody in.

This is bullhickey, obviously. I’ve been to many packed-out shows over the years, and I’ve never seen Petra Bagust standing up the back.

Celebrities get the best seats, the rest of us get what’s left. You can’t really fault the organisers for it either, though.

A front row full of celebrities increases the designers’ chances of media coverage.

Their shows make the paper when the All Blacks and Petra are sitting in the front row. That’s just
how it works.

GA means general admission. Take the ticket and lean against the wall with good grace. If you’re in heels, all the better to see the show.

Sometimes there’s the chance of an upgrade if seats are empty because someone hasn’t turned up. Just like on an aeroplane, being well-dressed and polite is your best chance of scoring one of these.

And if you do get a seat, sit down, cross your ankles and rejoice. You’ve lucked out. Because just like on an aeroplane, at a fashion show, all the best stuff happens up the front.

Step 4: Bring your childlike sense of wonder, not your inner brat.

Fashion shows are exercises in extravagance and ephemera.

Like butterflies and doomed love affairs, they’re not built to last.

You catch them while they’re flying, so it’s important to keep your eyes peeled.

Not just your eyes, but your ears, and possibly your nose as well.

After her death, Alexander McQueen paid tribute to Isabella Blow by soaking the air with her perfume at one of his shows. Some of the guests broke down in tears when they walked into a room full of Fracas de Robert Piguet.

McQueen was on another level entirely. He put on shows that pushed the boundaries of technology,
twisted notions of beauty and, at their finest, engaged with history, with humanity, and with the
cosmology of heaven and hell.

All of which is a long way from the Westpac tent in Auckland, but you’ve got to be alive to it all the same.

At every show, however modest in scale, there will always be that moment when the lights go dim, and
the music comes up, and the first model comes out of the shadows – and whether she’s prancing like a pony, or got up like a geisha, you’ll feel it: that little tickle of goosebumps along your skin that tells you you’ve
stepped inside a dream.

You’re watching something, a drama, a scenario, a story, that started out its life on a page,

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