the end of what felt like an era

Words can't even explain how insanely unreal the last week of my life has been. I'm going to try my best to accurately document what I experienced tonight--but between the adrenaline, disbelief, and pure shock I'm currently suffering from, it's definitely going to be difficult.

Tonight was the 10th consecutive night I spent in the city. It was the ninth time I went through my suitcase to pick out an outfit for a shoot, the eighth time I took the elevator from the seventh floor to the lobby to a cab, and the last time I rolled the overpacked suitcase through the threshold of a building that I'd never been to before. I can't believe it's all over.

The final shoot I attended during my internship at NYC's Fashion Week was one for designer, Victor DeSouza. It was located at Slate, a trendy bar and restaurant located on 21st between 5th and 6th ave. It was packed with hipsters--both young and old--celebrities, designers, and models.

Call time was 6pm for a 9pm shoot, and I got there early, around 5, hoping to have some time to catch up on writing as well as to take in the scene around me. When I got there, I was directed past the bar and into a VIP lounge that sat comfortably about four steps below the bar. The perimeter was lined with big plush couches and modern-esque steel tables. It was a long, narrow, rectangular space that would later act as the runway for the fashion show, and even later than that, be the dance floor during the after-party.

Tsubasa Wantabe, me, Yuliya Shadrina

I sat on one of the couches and watched as 6-foot-something models glided down the stairs past me and congregated around a couch across the floor from me. Some of them waved to me, some ignored me, and the rest hugged and kissed me, saying my name as they asked me how I was. It felt really nice. In one week, I went from being the new kid to a respectable adult, to someone they trusted. They knew my name because I didn't treat them like shit--I didn't tell them they couldn't go to the bathroom, instead I showed them where it was. I didn't take food away from them while they were prepping, instead I ran to the McDonalds across the street and got them burgers. And I didn't speak to them like they were retarded-- I spoke to them as I speak to my friends. I treated them like people, and in return, they treated me as their friend. It's not a difficult concept, but many people in this particular field can't grasp the fact that they're not just objects to be manipulated and bossed around... a lot of them have different passions aside from modeling, and many of them have awesome, unpredicted talents that hopefully someday, they'll peruse.

As I sat on the couch, I tried to do some writing, but we all know that it's easy to be distracted when you're submerged in an extremely chaotic environment. Music was blasting, the lights were low, and soon enough, my cell phone was ringing nonstop. It was time to start finding the hair crew--some were lost, and others needed help bringing their luggage in. I closed my computer and got to work.

It wasn't long before I was running, and I literally mean running, a few blocks downtown to pick up donuts (which I thought were the edible kind until I found out they were sponges that were going to be placed in the models' hair). After I returned with nine donuts and four blush brushes, I was thrown into the hustle-and-bustle of the final shoot. It's really hard to describe the energy that exists in these situations. The amount of time from when I arrived until the time the show actually began, was probably five hours, but it felt like five minutes. Yelling, throwing, shoving, pleading--anything to get people to do what you needed them to do was done. And no matter how many times we found ourselves literally racing the clock, in the end, everything worked out. No one was left untouched, everyone had makeup and hair, and the show went off without a glitch.

fashion.. who could figure?

you talkin' to me?

Today I took the best cab ride of my life.

I wasn't going to even take a cab, I was going to just walk to SoHo because it was beautiful out, but it just got too hot and I was tired of sweating.

His name was Paul Abrahami and he struck up conversation instantly.

"What are you a tom girl boy or whatever?" he asked me.

He wasn't being rude. He was curious and just trying to get a feel for me.

"Haha, yeah, I guess I'm a tomboy."
"Do you punch people in the face?"
"Nope, no punching in the face. I'm a friendly tomboy."
"Friendly tomboy?" he was skeptical.

It didn't take long for him to realize I wasn't going to punch him in the face, and he quickly segued into telling me how everyone tells him that he looks like Robert DeNiro. I got great impersonations and everything. He also asked me to set him up with a woman, but not a Jewish one. I told him I'd keep my eyes open. And Paul, if you're reading this (like you said you would), I promise I will keep my eyes open.

Paul was a great guy who told me how much he loves "the gays" and how we're the best clients he ever has. Apparently we tip really well and only act up after a few drinks. I have to say, I'm perfectly content with that generalization.

He also shared his dream of being in an independent film about a cab driver.. but it won't be called Taxi Driver, it will be called Cabbie, and he won't say "hey, you talkin' to me?" I told him that if I came across any writers, I'd hook him up with that as well. Hopefully I find a nice woman or a writer because I'd really like to help Paul out. Paul,  I'm being sincere-- I am going to try my hardest for you.

a day for myself

I had one day to myself so I decided to take a few pictures of NYC life outside of Fashion Week. It was kind of refreshing.

I didn't even know phone booths existed anymore

hungry shark

I bumped into a model from a previous shoot on the street,
she'd remembered me and said I could take a picture of her as a "real person."
Idk what that means but I did it.

best bison burger of my life

The day that never ended, part two

As soon as the Eva Minge show was over, I jumped out of my seat and ran behind the stage (which I have to admit was pretty cool since everyone else went out the front doors and watched as I flashed my pass to follow the models). Luckily, cleanup was just about done by the time the show finished, so I got to skip out on that. At this point, I'm still under the impression that my night is just about over, and I can take a nice warm shower and crawl into bed.

As I'm imagining myself in sweats and comfy in bed, Cesar comes up to me and asks me to assist him on another shoot, this time for a style book, on the upper east side. It's for the Jad Ghandour show a few days later. Why not, I figure.

Cesar, his boyfriend, Mark, and myself crowd into a cab with all of our luggage and fly over to the shoot. It's located in a studio apartment in a seemingly seedy neighborhood--the streets are completely packed with thousands of motorcycles from a 9/11 ride. It was a pretty cool sight. It's about 12am now and none of us have eaten since 10am and we're all dying. We run up the stairs and set up some of our stuff and then Mark and I embark on a small journey to find some food before we all pass out. A turkey sandwich never tasted so good.

When we return to the apartment, there are about 20 people there; models, photographers, Jad Ghandour himself, and Kithe Brewster, the diva from earlier in the day.

Kithe is in the center-
he kind of looks like mix between
Jay-Z and RevRun

At this point, I'm delirious and exhausted, but catch a second wind and watch what's going on around me. This gorgeous model is getting her hair done and telling us weird stories about trying to pick up prostitutes for fun.

She laughs as she tells us her stories, and when she laughs, she throws her head back and howls. We all laugh and I don't know if it was because of the story or because of her reaction to it. For the first time this week, everything seems like it's in slow motion. Her head is back, Cesar is behind her with his hands in her hair and he's laughing as well. There's a thick film of cigarette smoke in the air and everyone's eyes are bloodshot from exhaustion, drugs, and smoke. Al Green is playing in the background and people are dancing, Mark and I exchange a look and smile. I feel like this is home for a second. I like the commotion, the insanity, the weird people, and the responsibility. I like having a million things to do each minute, and doing them well. I like being respected and actually being passionate about what I'm doing. I have finally regained motivation and I'm relieved. Everything is going to be ok.

Yuliana, in-between telling
ridiculous stories and chain-smoking cigarettes

I no longer feel uncomfortable when the models strip down completely naked in front of everyone and walk around, proud of their skeletal bodies. Jad Ghandour, the nicest of all designers I have met, comes up to me, puts his arm around me, and asks my name. I smile and tell him and he kisses me on the cheek saying he hopes to see me around more. He says he likes my innocence. It wasn't creepy at all, honestly.

While I'm spaced out on the couch, something catches my eye. I look over to the other side of the room and  a tall Japanese model is searching through her bag, she's obviously frustrated. I've watched her on and off throughout the night. She is very sweet, but getting anxious because she's having trouble communicating with everyone. I walk up to her because I can tell she needs something.

Tsubasa Watanabe,
stressing out over tampons..

I ask her what she needs and she explains that she's out of tampons and needs to get some. She's six feet tall, her hair is in rollers, and she's wearing a designer dress. She wants to walk across the street to 7-eleven and buy tampons and I can't help but laugh. I offer to go get them for her, but I think she's embarrassed and says she wants to go. As she starts walking towards the door, she turns around and asks me to go with her. I look at Cesar and he motions his head towards the door, telling me to go.

Next thing I know, I'm walking down the street with a gorgeous model through a crowd of thousands of leather-wearing and heavily tattooed bikers. Cat calls, whistles, and muffled words overwhelm us as they stare at her. She grabbed my hand, and I looked up at her face and she was definitely scared. I tell her to ignore everything they're saying, I tell her to look right past them. I'm used to feeling out of place, I can tell she is too. As different as we are, for a second, we're so similar.

Hours of hair and pictures go by, and next thing I know it's 4am and I have to be up in four hours. I'm not even stressed about it, because I know that when my alarm goes off tomorrow, I'll be fine. I'll wake up, hop in the shower, and jump right back into the fast-pace life that makes every day feel like a year.

The day that never ended

The past few days have been crazier than ever, so let me try to get my thoughts straight to share some fun stuff.

Saturday was probably the most hectic day of my entire life. It was the Eva Minge fashion show, which going into, I had no idea what it entailed. The call time was 4:30pm, and the show was at 8, so being the naive little girl that I am, I assumed that meant I didn't actually have to start working until 4:30 and I'd be done once the show was over around 10.

Well, I was wrong once again.

I went to bed late friday night assuming I could sleep in on saturday and have some time to futz around-- no more assuming for me.

Saturday morning rolls around and at around 7:30 my phone starts going crazy. I wake up to not one, not two, but 14 text messages from Cesar. And they're not, "hey, what's up?" kind of messages, they're frantic, freaking out, end-of-the-(fashion)-world messages:

Cesar- Email Kieth Brewster, he's a fashion designer, send him the logos for the hair products and salon
Cesar- My agent forgot to do it they were due four hours ago
Me- You mean "Keith"? I don't want to spell his name wrong.
Cesar- No, it's Kieth.

I send the e-mail to this "Kieth" guy, who's a total diva and gets pissed easily. About two seconds later, I get another text from Cesar:

Cesar- my bad, its Kithe.

Perfect. I e-mailed a pretentious designer all these logos and I spelled his name wrong. Very professional, Caroline.

As soon as I'm done e-mailing and calling designers and stylists to make sure dates and times are correct, it's time to start running around the city like a crazy person. Keep in mind, the whole time I'm running from cab to building to cab to salon, I'm lugging a huge suitcase (luckily it's on wheels) that's overpacked with hair products. It's really awesome and convenient. Also, I planned really well and wore a light gray blouse that displayed my sweat stains beautifully.

Latest update from Cesar you wonder? Time to go to DopDop, drop off the suitcase, walk over to Indique Hair and pick up extensions, bring them back to DopDop where I'm meeting him, and head to the Eva Minge show at the Hudson Hotel. But when does anything go as planned?

I drop off the bag, pick up the hair, and wait, wait, wait for Cesar.

"I'm not going to make it to the salon. You have to meet me at the show. Call time is... was 15 minutes ago."

"Oh, by the way, I need you to bring the banner for the salon so we can hang it, and don't forget the products and the hair."

You're kidding me.

So now, I'm carrying my backpack that has both of our laptops, the rolling suitcase with tons of product, and a 6-foot banner. It's close to impossible. To make matters even better, there aren't any cabs available because they're all stuck across town in a 9/11 checkpoint. Finally I flag down a town car that charges me $40 for a 7-minute ride. I love when things go my way.

Once I finally got to the Hudson Hotel things started going smoother. We set up the stations pretty quickly and the hair styles were gorgeous--all the girls got long extensions and the hair was very soft and basic. It also helped that the models were laid back and there was a huge space so hair and make up didn't have to work on top of each other like they usually did. I would say it took a good three hours to have all 25ish models completely ready, but when they were done, they all looked stunning.

the hair team crowding around Cesar to see
what they have to do for the show

installing (is that the right word?) extensions

makeup working on the girls

Paul Miller working on a model

finished product

Usually, once all the hair is finished, the show beings, and we start cleaning up. Clean-up takes about the same amount of time as the show itself does, so we don't usually get to see the finished product or the models out on the floor. When we finished all the hair, I started to help with the cleaning when Cesar runs up to me, hands me a ticket, fixes my hair, and says, "get out there, you have a front row seat for the show-- I need pictures."

I have no idea who this is.
But I think she looked important. 

Wait, what?

This was no joke. It was a legit show with celebrities sitting along the catwalks. Gucci suits and evening gowns were all around me, while I was wearing American Eagle jeans and an Old Navy shirt. I'm 100% content with my personal style, but I have to admit, I was extremely intimidated and felt pretty inferior. 

After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I ran around in frantic circles for a few seconds grabbing my camera, some batteries and a bandaid (I have no idea why). He laughed at me and ushered me around the building to the front of the show. I found my seat and sat down and just stared in awe. I had time to frantically text a few people so I could share some of my excitement and then I just watched everything around me and waited for the show to begin. 

It was an absolutely amazing experience that I would never have thought I'd be a part of. Who would've thought that I could love and be this passionate about something so different from what I've known or enjoyed. There's a lot more that went on in this crazy day, but unfortunately I don't have time right now to keep going. My next post will be part two of the craziest day of my life :)

good thing I kept the flash off

The other day when I was at an INC shoot, I was sitting next to a man who was barking orders at everyone. At the time, I didn't know he was the designer of the line and I honestly just thought he was a total dick. He would scream at Cesar saying the hair wasn't right, he constantly gave us a time-check and he just added a lot of unnecessary stress to the situation. But what do I know?

Part of my job is to take pictures of the step-by-step processes for the different hair styles so I can add them to Cesar's portfolio and send them to other stylists. As I'm sitting at the table, camera in hand, getting ready to take some pictures, the designer jumps out of his chair and runs to another assistant-looking girl who's taking pictures. He rips her camera out of her hands and makes her leave. "How the fuck does anyone get anything done with these flashes going off every two seconds?!"

Dead silence.

Well, guess I'm not taking any more pictures then.

He sits back down next to me and looks at me and says, "see, if she could've been more discreet like you, she wouldn't have been kicked out." Ok, that made me feel better.

To me, that comment was just an open invitation to kiss his ass and get on his good side. Which I did. And apparently I did it well. We talked for a while, and I still had no idea who this jerk was, just that he was obviously important and that everyone was afraid of him. In between his yelling and directing, we struck up a conversation about what I was doing and why I was doing it. He seemed genuinely interested and at the end of the shoot, came up and asked me for my resume, mentioning something about a fictitious blog that he wants to start. I gave it to him, he gave me his card, and that was that. I didn't think much of it again until later.

Later comes around--I was at DopDop salon and started talking to Gay Feldman who was there getting her hair colored. We started talking about how crazy the week was going and when the events of earlier that morning came up and I mentioned I had met a "Bill Millin." Her jaw dropped, she just stared at me. After her initial shock subsided, she laughed. "YOU met Bill Mullen?" Oh, my bad, it's Mullen?

Little do I know, this dude is HUGE. He's an editor/stylist/model/fashion god and isn't necessarily the easiest person to talk to, let alone talk to pleasantly. So I guess that means he is one of those people that I should follow up with... maybe I'll take my dad's advice and start telling people I charge $150 an hour.

Just goes to show that sometimes a little naivety can work in your favor.

Bill Mullen

falling in love with Henry

Today I fell in love with Henry. And yes, Henry is a man (but don't get too excited, mom).

I worked at a shoot for Nicolas Petrou, a designer who created the Petrou/Man line. Before this week, I had never heard of any of these designers and when I saw their clothes, they looked like they were straight out of Zoolander.

The look was dorky but cute but also really.. out there. Same goes for the hair.

you can't really tell.. but it was a slicked
 back look that in the back,
looked like they'd just rolled out of bed

The shoot was in a church off 14th street--so all morning/afternoon I was in a church surrounded by male models... it was kind of bizarre. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't intimidating at all being around all these GORGEOUS people--they couldn't have been nicer. They were genuinely interested in my life and what I do, my family and friends and relationship. It was almost as if they were just looking for a glimpse into the life of a "normal" person. They offered me European cigarettes, joked around with me, and even hugged me when they went into the other room for the shoot.

I didn't really notice how big his ears were...

my boyfriend, left, talking
to his boyfriend, right

Henry was the first guy of 16 to be ready for the shoot, so he sat around for an hour or so with nothing to do. While I had some down time, I was sitting in a chair going over my notes and he sat next to me. I can't even describe what I saw when I looked up. My pictures don't do him justice... he was the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Seriously. When I looked to him he instantly started asking every question he could about me. He had a great English accent and he kept touching my hair as we spoke. Usually that would creep me out, but I totally loved getting all this attention from a model. Until today, no one noticed me at all, which is completely fine, but this was surreal. 

The best  part, is that as I was leaving, I was instructed to sneak out the back and be as small of a distraction as possible. That alone was difficult since I was lugging a suitcase that weighed 900lbs and was packed with hair products, but I managed to be somewhat inconspicuous. So as I'm sneaking out, ducking beneath a ton of photographers, I looked to my left to see where all the models were standing. There they were with their super serious model poses, being instructed about how to stand, and as Henry and I make eye contact, he snaps out of model-mode and smiles and yells across the room to me, "Bye Caroline, it was wonderful meeting you!" I died. I turned bright red, everyone looked at me, he got yelled at, and all the models laughed. It was the greatest farewell of my life. If only I could marry him.

I was sneaking out here when
my sweet love called my name.