If you follow me on Instagram, Twitter, or Facebook, you've most likely already saw how I was featured on the street style blog Social Bliss. (Insert "Are you seriously serious?!?!" excited screams here.)
Here's the behind the scenes story:
I had thought about wearing it at the beginning of the second day but after realizing I didn't have a slip (what was I thinking not bringing a slip to Fashion Week?!?!) I decided against it. I changed outfits when I realized my time at Lincoln Center and the fashion shows was coming to a close and I needed an outfit to walk in around town unit dinner that night. I decided I would chance the whole "possibly sheer" aspect of the outfit and wear it as a dress to the last show of the day and then slip on a pair of leggings and wear it as a tunic for the rest of the evening. I was cutting it close to being on time to that last show so I grabbed a cab and headed straight for the Lincoln Center.
When I arrived I quickly took the stairs that lead up to the main plaza. I caught a glimpse of a photographer taking a picture at me from about 50 yards away but decided to put on my best imitation of "fashion face", the slight smile that seems both serious, confident, and sexy in equal parts. I had been immersed in this expression throughout the previous two days but I don't "do" a serious face so I figured the photographer caught something that resembled more of duck face and bravely kept walking. As I got closer to the main building, I noticed there were more photographers training their cameras on me.
Seriously ya'll: All I could think of was, "Oh. My. Gracious. Theycanseemyunderwearandimgonnalandinthefashiondontcolumn!!!"
I was bordering on paranoia when I walked into the main building. Out of the direct sunlight (and with the clock telling me I didn't have any time to stress out), my nerves soon got back to normal. Those same nerves went directly went back to "freak out" mode when I left the Lincoln Center for the last time and again saw the cameras directed my way. I kept walking until someone actually asked me to stop for a photo at which time four photographers clicked away to their collective hearts' content. I simply sighed and resigned myself to the "infamous/ outrageous/ see-through-dress " column of Fashion Week attendees and finally made my way past the photographers.
Once I got out of "range" (i.e. I didn't feel any lens turned on me) I stopped behind a large concrete column and took a breath.
"Am I really okay with showing up on some bad horrible gossip rag? Is that really how I want my grandmother to see me as she strolled up to checkout at the grocery store? Oh gosh- This is the age of Facebook- Every best friend and worst enemy I've made since I started kindergarten in 1989 will see this picture by tomorrow evening at the latest and I have nothing to look forward to at home other than the paper bag I'm going to have to grow accustomed to wearing around town."
With all these thoughts running through my head I did what any, negatively self-conscious girl vaguely fashion paranoid girl would do: I asked a cop if he could see my underwear. Yep, I took a deep breath and turned to the fashion neutral, defender of good, and protector of tourists (even those that forget to pack slips) policeman standing a few feet away from my haven of a concrete column and said, "Serious question: I need to know if you can see my underwear."
He gave a quizzical looked that turned into disbelief and I pressed the issue, "If you can, it's not intentional and I have to hide. If not, I can at least take a breath."
"Are you serious right now?" he asked with more than a hint of skepticism. Now I'm sure this gentlemen had just spent hours observing throngs of women try to have attention of any kind turned their way. The fact that I was standing in front of him asking for direct validation was probably blowing his mind with the lengths that women were willing to go to get noticed.
"Yes,I really need to know," I replied in the most sincere and genuine way possible.
"Why is he stalling?!?! Oh gosh- This is horrible!!"
"Wow. Okay, whatever. You're fine."
And with those five words, relief washed over me. He hadn't said, "You're fine!" like some disrespectful teenager but, "You're fine," like a pissed off big brother who was about to miss the school bus if you kept fussing unnecessarily with your jewelry. I thanked him and asked if I could take his picture. Again, he shot me his most quizzical look and answered, "Well, I guess I can't stop you." I clicked and crossed the street thinking at least I would have a good story.
It was only after I crossed the street the last photographer (the one from Social Bliss) asked to take my picture and then handed me her card. I'd like to think that my attempt at "fashion face" worked because of "all the practice" I'd had in the preceding hour but I really know that any beauty I portrayed in the shot came from the ever so slightly condescending but super confidence inducing comment given by one of New York's best.