Along came Polly
The life of a blogger is indeed a 24-hour one, especially where the fashion weeks are concerned. Whilst the likes of Anna Wintour et al have legions upon legions of minions beneath them to do the bidding necessary to produce effective fashion week coverage--editors, photographers, writers, sub-editors, PR's, and so on and so forth--the life and work of a blogger is a relatively lonely one. One woman (or bloggerboy) shows, we bloggers are responsible for every aspect of our day, from peddling requests to brands for access to the shows, to getting ourselves there (alas, no Town Cars in the 'sphere, at least not yet!), getting the shots, getting the notes, writing the review, editing the photos, posting, Tweeting, Facebooking and so on and so forth (phew). So here's a look into one hectic day in the life of this London-based blogger, The Clothes Whisperer, as I tromp about Paris Fashion Week, Louboutins strapped to my feet, wallet armed with Metro tickets, camera in hand and heart on my sleeve.
7AM: Whilst the editrixes feast on continental room service at the Ritz, my first order of business each day is to post, post, post. There's no point in even going to shows if you're not going to blog it first thing, content posted a week later is content wasted. In the blogosphere, it's as much about who gets it up first as it is about even getting the invites. This morning, I'm desperate to get up my review of Vivienne Westwood, as not only did I manage to wrangle a last minute ticket, but I slipped backstage after the show and even toasted with the Dame herself! In the lingo of the 'sphere: Blogger Gold! So waste not, want not, that post's going up even if it means I have to fly to my first show of the day...
10:30 AM: First show of the day, I hit Tsumori Chisato together with my blogger friend (and local) Mademoiselle a Paris. Upon arrival, being a designer of Japanese origin, the street style photographers are out in full force staking out the entrance to the Westin. After I pose for a few obligatory snaps come the obligatory questions, ("what are you wearing?" "How would you describe your style"), I make my way through the sea of other street stylers and posers, including pushing past Susie Bubble, towards the entrance. Point two for bloggers, if you're not going to work the street style, then you're not properly "working" or doing your job, as it were. Surprise surprise, Tsumori started about 45 minutes late. Hope I don't miss the Fashion Bus...
11:30 AM: So I missed the Fashion Bus to the second show of the day, Siatzy Chen. I won't lie, part of why I LOVE the Fashion Bus, despite being free for all registered show-goers the French Fashion board has a habit of hiring particularly dapper men to shepherd fashionistas from venue to venue, looking smart and handsome in their suits and red ties. Merci Modea Paris! Anyway, I barely make it to the venue at the Beaux Arts in the left bank, why do designers LOVE to scatter their shows around the city?? At least everyone understands that everything runs late (well, everyone except for Marc Jacobs, of course, but that's another story) and Chen was waiting for us with cookies and lollypops (first FOOD of the day, I scarf it down). I sit down frazzled, in fact, so frazzled I forget to shoot a video of the final walk with my Flip. Oops.
11:30 AM: Race back to the press area at the top of the Pont Alexandre III (hellllllo free wifi!) to edit this morning's pics and gulp down some complimentary tea as well as Twitpic a few choice items from this morning's adventures (way too expensive to upload directly from your phone!). Too bad the French don't recognize the value of a massive mug, and I find myself becoming that annoying girl teeing up to the counter four or five times for a top up. It's not even noon and already I am in dire need of a serious refuel.
1:30 PM: I hop on the Metro to the Jardin des Tuileries (aka street style HEAVEN, such an unbelievable place to shoot) for the Viktor & Rolf show. My excitement is uncontainable, this is the first season I've scored an invite to witness the avant garde creations of the cutting edge design duo first hand. Everyone's there: Grace Coddington, Anna Dello Russo (whom I spot posing exclusively for Scott Schulman of the Sartorialist), I hardly know what to do with myself. I have this problem alot, I wish I were an octopus, because upon spotting such a juicy nugget, do I Tweet/shoot/Flip it?? God really should have given all bloggers at least four arms. After lurking about the entrance to take it all in with both Twitter and camera, I finally brush past the enormous bouncers, proudly brandishing my SEATED invite and enter the enormous tent.
Though I'm in the second to last row, I'm there, in all my blogger glory, and that's all that matters. In fact, I believe that all a blogger needs to do is JUST GET IN and the rest will sort itself out. So I surrender my seat to one of the standing vultures poised ready to swoop and scoot over towards the steps so I can have a clear shot of the runway, sans heads (though would it really be blogging without the heads??), thank god for massive zooms. So there I am, sitting on the steps, getting great shots, and I notice over my shoulder a few other less savvy bloggers who had decided to remain glued to their seats as a matter of principle in lieu of playing it scrappy eying me up with jealous looks as their shots of the decadent triceratops-meets-wedding-gowns are obstructed.
3:00 PM: After running into another blogger friend from London outside Viktor, we decide to head back across the river to my favorite cafe (and PFW hotspot) Cafe Deux Magot for a Croque Monsieur and Chocolat Chaud to plan our next few moves for the day. I do the scary bit and switch on the data roaming on the iphone (nooooo) so as to catch up on a few emails. And lo and behold, it was totally worth it! At the last minute, a friend had come through with an extra ticket for one of my all time favorite Parisian designers, Sonia Rykiel. Shout at the garcons to "CANCEL MY ECLAIR," bid my friend adieu (no blagging on this one, I'm afraid, babes) and break into a sprint towards the Metro. The balls of my feet, despite being in flats, still feel as if they're about to split open on the Parisian cobblestones. No pain, no gain--onwards I go.
4:30 PM: I arrive at the Sonia Rykiel venue on the Right Bank just as the security are starting to let people in. Before descending the stairs towards knitwear glory, I nip round the corner to stealthily slip from my black ballet flats into my five inch Louboutins. Heels in place, I totter towards the tent and scan the crowd for my ticket-bearing friend. Thank god for networking, thank god for camaraderie, without it, bloggers would be kept outside the tents forever. As I enter the runway space, I note Sonia herself, seated in the front row. Time to whip out my camera...
6:00 PM: I return home after a long war waged against the rest of my fashion colleagues trying to nab a cab post-Sonia. The rain is pouring down and my python pumps are sinking into the ground as I walk. No umbrella, this little wet blogger dragged herself all the way to the Champs Elysees, soaked through and through, before finally acquiesing to the metro.
7:00 PM: Time to edit today's photos: Viktor & Rolf and Sonia Rykiel, totaling about 900. That's the problem with us bloggers, we just can't stop snapping away. Runway, backstage, street style, ourselves, our friends, the ambiance...it's all relative. But alas, the more you snap, the more you edit. And I am not allowed to put one foot into a party shoe until I have finished this lot and given my readers at least one more post before bedtime.
10:00 PM: At last I head out for the second round of the day's fashion week activities: THE PARTIES. I meet up briefly with two of my editor friends (hooray for expense accounts!) for a tasty treat at Laudree on the Champs Elysees (it's fashion week, dinner is an elusive luxury; you eat what you can, when you can). Then I bid my fair lady editor friends adieu and head to Voyage en Capitale: Louis Vuitton & Paris, the launch event of a new exhibition from the legendary French house at the Musee Carnavalet. Monsieur Bernard Arnault was there, the champagne was flowing, and for the first time in all day, I allowed my camera to remain in my massive oversized purse (no clutches on a night out for a blogger, we have too much equipment to lug around) and started to breath.
12:00 AM: The night isn't over yet!! After the Vuitton soiree wound down, I skipped back across town yet again to the Champs Elysees to check out the launch party of the massive new H&M store, which I had expected to be the party of the night. Alas, turns out I was wrong, and while the party had a steady stream of cool people, champers and a wristband granting guests 25% off all purchases, the event failed to materialize into the heaving celeb-packed fun-fest I had hoped for. No matter, not every party, no matter how cool or major the brand, turns out to be a blowout. So having linked up with some of my blogger friends at the event, we decided to make the most of the discount (I blame the champagne). First up on our list?? For those of us who have been on the fashion week haul since the first day of NYFW (September 9!), CLEAN UNDERWEAR. That's right, four weeks on the road means no time for laundry. We may look glamorous on the outside, but underneath, by the midst of Milan, it's serious Granny Panty Time.
2:00 AM: I finally return home for the evening (hooray I found a taxi!), but sadly, there's no such thing as bedtime in the blogosphere. So it's time to upload, while my brain may be too mushed to write a single word, it's still functioning on a basic level which means I can take this quiet time to upload all my pics from the day so that I'm ready to rapid-fire-post in the morning....
4:00 AM: The framework is in place for 7 posts tomorrow morning, all I have to do is make sure I don't throw my phone out the window when it's brazen alarm blasts through my three well-deserved hours of precious, precious sleep.
7:00 AM: Alarm goes off. Time to blog again, first show at 11...
http://www.theclotheswhisperer.co.uk/
7AM: Whilst the editrixes feast on continental room service at the Ritz, my first order of business each day is to post, post, post. There's no point in even going to shows if you're not going to blog it first thing, content posted a week later is content wasted. In the blogosphere, it's as much about who gets it up first as it is about even getting the invites. This morning, I'm desperate to get up my review of Vivienne Westwood, as not only did I manage to wrangle a last minute ticket, but I slipped backstage after the show and even toasted with the Dame herself! In the lingo of the 'sphere: Blogger Gold! So waste not, want not, that post's going up even if it means I have to fly to my first show of the day...
10:30 AM: First show of the day, I hit Tsumori Chisato together with my blogger friend (and local) Mademoiselle a Paris. Upon arrival, being a designer of Japanese origin, the street style photographers are out in full force staking out the entrance to the Westin. After I pose for a few obligatory snaps come the obligatory questions, ("what are you wearing?" "How would you describe your style"), I make my way through the sea of other street stylers and posers, including pushing past Susie Bubble, towards the entrance. Point two for bloggers, if you're not going to work the street style, then you're not properly "working" or doing your job, as it were. Surprise surprise, Tsumori started about 45 minutes late. Hope I don't miss the Fashion Bus...
11:30 AM: So I missed the Fashion Bus to the second show of the day, Siatzy Chen. I won't lie, part of why I LOVE the Fashion Bus, despite being free for all registered show-goers the French Fashion board has a habit of hiring particularly dapper men to shepherd fashionistas from venue to venue, looking smart and handsome in their suits and red ties. Merci Modea Paris! Anyway, I barely make it to the venue at the Beaux Arts in the left bank, why do designers LOVE to scatter their shows around the city?? At least everyone understands that everything runs late (well, everyone except for Marc Jacobs, of course, but that's another story) and Chen was waiting for us with cookies and lollypops (first FOOD of the day, I scarf it down). I sit down frazzled, in fact, so frazzled I forget to shoot a video of the final walk with my Flip. Oops.
11:30 AM: Race back to the press area at the top of the Pont Alexandre III (hellllllo free wifi!) to edit this morning's pics and gulp down some complimentary tea as well as Twitpic a few choice items from this morning's adventures (way too expensive to upload directly from your phone!). Too bad the French don't recognize the value of a massive mug, and I find myself becoming that annoying girl teeing up to the counter four or five times for a top up. It's not even noon and already I am in dire need of a serious refuel.
1:30 PM: I hop on the Metro to the Jardin des Tuileries (aka street style HEAVEN, such an unbelievable place to shoot) for the Viktor & Rolf show. My excitement is uncontainable, this is the first season I've scored an invite to witness the avant garde creations of the cutting edge design duo first hand. Everyone's there: Grace Coddington, Anna Dello Russo (whom I spot posing exclusively for Scott Schulman of the Sartorialist), I hardly know what to do with myself. I have this problem alot, I wish I were an octopus, because upon spotting such a juicy nugget, do I Tweet/shoot/Flip it?? God really should have given all bloggers at least four arms. After lurking about the entrance to take it all in with both Twitter and camera, I finally brush past the enormous bouncers, proudly brandishing my SEATED invite and enter the enormous tent.
Though I'm in the second to last row, I'm there, in all my blogger glory, and that's all that matters. In fact, I believe that all a blogger needs to do is JUST GET IN and the rest will sort itself out. So I surrender my seat to one of the standing vultures poised ready to swoop and scoot over towards the steps so I can have a clear shot of the runway, sans heads (though would it really be blogging without the heads??), thank god for massive zooms. So there I am, sitting on the steps, getting great shots, and I notice over my shoulder a few other less savvy bloggers who had decided to remain glued to their seats as a matter of principle in lieu of playing it scrappy eying me up with jealous looks as their shots of the decadent triceratops-meets-wedding-gowns are obstructed.
3:00 PM: After running into another blogger friend from London outside Viktor, we decide to head back across the river to my favorite cafe (and PFW hotspot) Cafe Deux Magot for a Croque Monsieur and Chocolat Chaud to plan our next few moves for the day. I do the scary bit and switch on the data roaming on the iphone (nooooo) so as to catch up on a few emails. And lo and behold, it was totally worth it! At the last minute, a friend had come through with an extra ticket for one of my all time favorite Parisian designers, Sonia Rykiel. Shout at the garcons to "CANCEL MY ECLAIR," bid my friend adieu (no blagging on this one, I'm afraid, babes) and break into a sprint towards the Metro. The balls of my feet, despite being in flats, still feel as if they're about to split open on the Parisian cobblestones. No pain, no gain--onwards I go.
4:30 PM: I arrive at the Sonia Rykiel venue on the Right Bank just as the security are starting to let people in. Before descending the stairs towards knitwear glory, I nip round the corner to stealthily slip from my black ballet flats into my five inch Louboutins. Heels in place, I totter towards the tent and scan the crowd for my ticket-bearing friend. Thank god for networking, thank god for camaraderie, without it, bloggers would be kept outside the tents forever. As I enter the runway space, I note Sonia herself, seated in the front row. Time to whip out my camera...
6:00 PM: I return home after a long war waged against the rest of my fashion colleagues trying to nab a cab post-Sonia. The rain is pouring down and my python pumps are sinking into the ground as I walk. No umbrella, this little wet blogger dragged herself all the way to the Champs Elysees, soaked through and through, before finally acquiesing to the metro.
7:00 PM: Time to edit today's photos: Viktor & Rolf and Sonia Rykiel, totaling about 900. That's the problem with us bloggers, we just can't stop snapping away. Runway, backstage, street style, ourselves, our friends, the ambiance...it's all relative. But alas, the more you snap, the more you edit. And I am not allowed to put one foot into a party shoe until I have finished this lot and given my readers at least one more post before bedtime.
10:00 PM: At last I head out for the second round of the day's fashion week activities: THE PARTIES. I meet up briefly with two of my editor friends (hooray for expense accounts!) for a tasty treat at Laudree on the Champs Elysees (it's fashion week, dinner is an elusive luxury; you eat what you can, when you can). Then I bid my fair lady editor friends adieu and head to Voyage en Capitale: Louis Vuitton & Paris, the launch event of a new exhibition from the legendary French house at the Musee Carnavalet. Monsieur Bernard Arnault was there, the champagne was flowing, and for the first time in all day, I allowed my camera to remain in my massive oversized purse (no clutches on a night out for a blogger, we have too much equipment to lug around) and started to breath.
12:00 AM: The night isn't over yet!! After the Vuitton soiree wound down, I skipped back across town yet again to the Champs Elysees to check out the launch party of the massive new H&M store, which I had expected to be the party of the night. Alas, turns out I was wrong, and while the party had a steady stream of cool people, champers and a wristband granting guests 25% off all purchases, the event failed to materialize into the heaving celeb-packed fun-fest I had hoped for. No matter, not every party, no matter how cool or major the brand, turns out to be a blowout. So having linked up with some of my blogger friends at the event, we decided to make the most of the discount (I blame the champagne). First up on our list?? For those of us who have been on the fashion week haul since the first day of NYFW (September 9!), CLEAN UNDERWEAR. That's right, four weeks on the road means no time for laundry. We may look glamorous on the outside, but underneath, by the midst of Milan, it's serious Granny Panty Time.
2:00 AM: I finally return home for the evening (hooray I found a taxi!), but sadly, there's no such thing as bedtime in the blogosphere. So it's time to upload, while my brain may be too mushed to write a single word, it's still functioning on a basic level which means I can take this quiet time to upload all my pics from the day so that I'm ready to rapid-fire-post in the morning....
4:00 AM: The framework is in place for 7 posts tomorrow morning, all I have to do is make sure I don't throw my phone out the window when it's brazen alarm blasts through my three well-deserved hours of precious, precious sleep.
7:00 AM: Alarm goes off. Time to blog again, first show at 11...
http://www.theclotheswhisperer.co.uk/
