The day before I left for Fashion Week, I realized that if I was to make it through even one day, I needed a giant bag. Since the only one I had was a weekend tote, I picked up a cheapy patent "leather" bag at Forever 21 during my lunch hour. It turned out to be a lifesaver due to its ability to swallow my normal needs (wallet, grooming items) as well as press passes, snacks, folders, a camera, and a recorder.
There's something enjoyably, secretly subversive about attending fashion shows while toting a shitty $18 bag. There's something so gauche about it that I couldn't stop laughing, and oddly enough, carrying the bag in question made me immune to the stares of well-heeled fashion types. I mean, if you don't play the "whose bag is more fabulous" game, you kinda win by default. Nobody cares what you're wearing, although, in a weird turn, I received compliments on my crap bag. Go figure.
Based on my observation that the less fancy your clothes are, the less vulnerable you are to mean fashion snobs, I plan to show up wearing a potato sack and flip-flops in September. Watch out, Anna Wintour!
There's something enjoyably, secretly subversive about attending fashion shows while toting a shitty $18 bag. There's something so gauche about it that I couldn't stop laughing, and oddly enough, carrying the bag in question made me immune to the stares of well-heeled fashion types. I mean, if you don't play the "whose bag is more fabulous" game, you kinda win by default. Nobody cares what you're wearing, although, in a weird turn, I received compliments on my crap bag. Go figure.
Based on my observation that the less fancy your clothes are, the less vulnerable you are to mean fashion snobs, I plan to show up wearing a potato sack and flip-flops in September. Watch out, Anna Wintour!
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