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Worst Moments from Fashion Week

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Worst Moments from Fashion Week

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There's No Sweating at Fashion Week!

On the third day of fashion week, the sun finally came out, but we were forced to hide in a mechanic's garage to save face before Zero + Maria Cornejo. The D train had stopped on the Manhattan bridge for a solid 15 minutes, and the E train stopped running altogether, so we were rushing to make the show. We ran up the steps and into a room that was empty save Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover model Marisa Miller, a security guard, and people we assume to be her people.

"Uhhh, is Zero + Maria Cornejo showing here?" I asked, pitifully.  As in, this empty room.  Marisa and the security guard smiled and kindly pointed me in the right direction (which was, thankfully, just down the block). At this point, we were seriously sweating. There was nothing left to do but duck into the dark, cool mechanic's garage next door and fan myself with a Pennzoil brochure.  A mechanic came around the corner, looked at us, and then looked at the impeccably dressed crowd down the street."Are you one of them?" he asked. "Believe it or not, sir, yes."

The Perfect Storm

Saturday: Steady rain, chilly temperatures, heavy laptop, wildly irregular train service, and Michael Kors platforms. Enough said?

... And We're Spent

We had two hours to kill on Sunday evening in the city between the close of our last show and the kick-off of the Elise Overland show at 7PM, so we puttered around Chelsea and drank too much coffee. Then once we'd finally trekked all the way out to Exit Art on 36th and 10th avenue, we arrived at the show only to discover that our seats were, in fact, standing room. (Ugh.) Our pictures came out fuzzier than a nightscape captured from a moving train. Despite the fairly cool collection, we trudged home with heavy hearts and very sore feet.

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