Last week, we asked readers to send in their saddest, most pitiable Fashion Week tale of woe for the chance to win a big old swag bag. Here, the top three TEARIEST tales of woe:
3) Because I take classes at FIT it allows me the opportunity to dress backstage (keep in my mind I do not get paid). At the Aurelio Costerella show, I had a pair of silk shorts, and there was really no way to put my model in her shorts with her shoes on, but they insisted. I just could not squeeze my model into the shorts without ripping it. So, I had her put the short on and then the shoes. My supervisor saw me put my the shorts on my model before her shoes and decides to get in my face in front of the designer, yell at me and tell me that I was doing it all wrong. It's been a very long Fashion Week, and again I don't get paid and stay late and dress models for no money with no complaints, but because the designer was next to him he decided to try to flex his paid muscles on an unpaid volunteer and degrade me in front of my model several times and the designer.
2) Sadly, I'm not worthy to enter the hallowed tents of Fashion Week. The closest I ever got was last year, before I was laid off from Court TV, when I snuck up to the security guard at the side entrance and asked him to let me peek in. And he did (while making sure I stayed right outside the door). And it was the most exciting thing ever. I saw some tables! And fancy dressed-up people! Who mostly gave me horrible looks when they came out! Isn't that sad and pathetic?
1) It may not be petty, but it sure is humiliating. Having the Sartorialist look in your direction, pick up his camera, and aim as if to take a photo—then change his mind—that's perhaps the epitome of personal style rejection.
Congrats Sartorialist reject, you are our Fashion Week tale of woe winner! Please do console yourself with a bag full of products and mini bottles of liquor. To everyone else who sent in highly entertaining stories: Thank you for playing.
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