The Day I Saw Cory Kennedy...
I went into Manhattan last weekend with the intention of seeing friends and doing some fashion-people-stalking at Bryant Park. I woke up late on Saturday after a bizarre night out with my friend (who is a model and is evidently only friends with other models, as I was perpetually thirty pounds heavier than every person I met that night). However, I threw on a semi-cute outfit (lest I miss my chance to be on The Sartorialist) and caught a cab to meet some friends at Bryant Park.
I met my friend Elliot (who looked fabulous and had a much better chance of landing a spot on the sartorialist than I did) and I walked to the back of the tents, where the people who didn't want to be seen (and thus the people I wanted to see) exited the tent. The first spotting of the day was Irina Lazareanu and Iekeliene Stange, each sporting their signature looks--thick, dark bangs on Irina and kooky, lenseless glasses on Iekeliene.
Next, my personal favorite spotting of the day, Cory Kennedy came galloping out of the tents with Mark-the-Cobrasnake (her boss? her friend? her boyfriend? her dealer? It's unclear...). He snapped a picture of her which I found on his website the next day and in the background of which Elliot and I seem to be idly sitting and chatting (we were, in fact, gasping and giggling). Elliot and I stood up and walked over closer to her. Her outfit was pretty disappointing (skinny jeans and a red jacket), but she was wearing a fantastic purple nylon Prada backpack that almost made up for the rest of the outfit.
After a few more very D-list celeb-sightings (does Damien from MTV count as a celebrity?), I got a call from my friend Will saying he had tickets to the Rock & Republic fashion show later that night and asked if I wanted to come (his celebrity-offspring friend who got him the tickets couldn't come last minute). Seeing as how attending a fashion show was on my list of ten things to before I died, I agreed to meet him in an hour.
I was immediately shown up in the clothing department, as Will was wearing canary yellow pants, black boots, a blue shirt, and a huge fox fur vest. Once he was done getting ready ("Does this smell like women's perfume? I swear it's for men..."), we cabbed it back to Bryant Park, where we entered through the front entrance. It was pretty crowded outside the tents, with a lot of people (like me, earlier in the day) who were there just to watch the festivities outside. The inside of the tents was fabulous as well--Will and I went up to each of the three bars and ordered vodka tonics (which were free!), drank (no, chugged) them, and moved on to the next bar. We then hopped in the line to get into the show. I was a little disappointed there was a line inside the tent, although we quickly made friends with a woman in front of us who was foreign and seemed to be friends with all of the people going through the V.I.P. entrance. She gave Mickey Boardman a kiss on the cheek right in front of me, to which Will, who was fairly tipsy, tried to impress her by saying, "He's so good at what he does," only clarifying to our new friend that he indeed had NO idea who Mickey Boardman was.
When we finally got inside the show, I felt like a kid in a candy shop. We were given shiny black booklets listing the models' names and their "looks". After taking our seats and reading the pamphlet from front to back, I looked up, only to realize I was under direct fire from the paparrazi who were shooting pictures of Sophia Bush. Christina Milian and Tyson Beckford also stood up in front of the photographers, and although being mildly blinded by the flashing lights, I was able to get a close enough look at them to confirm Tyson Beckford’s real life attractiveness. The photographers were soon asked to stop taking pictures, and when the flashing lights stopped, I was able to see across the runway to the plethora of celebrities on the other side. Nigel Barker ("noted fashion photographer" of America's Next Top Model fame) sat in the front row looking beautiful as ever. In his velvet blazer, he looked like the straight man's answer to Tom Ford. Lydia Hearst sat nearby with a beehive-esque hairdo and pink dress that made her look like cotton candy. Joss Stone sat to the right of her, looking particularly grungy in what I discerned to be Rock & Republic jeans, a blue C&C California tank top, and an oversized sweater-wrap.
The lights soon dimmed and a ten-person orchestra/band took the stage. After a few moments of darkness, they started in on Eric Clapton's "Layla" and the models started coming out. The clothes were, for lack of a better word, hideous; the show consisted of mainly black nylon-looking suits and draped jersey dresses with horrendous cutouts. However, seeing models like Jessica Stam, Caroline Trentini, and Flavia de Oliveira strut their stuff on stage was pretty incredible.
After Michael Ball, the designer, took his bow and the audience finished applauding, I left Will, who was going to the after-party at 1 Oak, and snuck out the back to meet up with Elliot and my other friends and to get one last look at the models and celebs exiting the show. I decided to call it a day after seeing Russell Simmons and his new girlfriend (oh, how I miss Kimo.Lee). All in all, I fulfilled a lifelong dream and saw Cory Kennedy—you can’t do much better than that!
