I've just flown back into Paris from Berlin and my phone was waiting for me when I arrived. Thanks Telecom! Prepare yourself for a Twitpic storm coming from Haute Couture all week. First big show tomorrow is Dior. Can I break my 100% failure record? We'll soon find out.
Verushka von Lehndorf at the Kai Kuhne show - All images /Steve Wood
Kai Kuhne, the final show of Berlin Fashion Week had just ended and I was walking out of the backstage area with Steve when he stopped abruptly in front of me. A striking elderly woman shrouded in charcoal cloth grabbed his hand and said in thick accented English: "David! David, is that you?" "Verushka my dear," replied Steve, "how are you? It's me Steve." "Oh!" She gasped. "Steve, I'm so sorry. I thought you were David." We were in the presence of Verushka von Lehndorf - Germany's answer to Twiggy - and she'd just mistaken Steve Wood for David Bailey. Guess those swinging 60s really were swinging.
Georgia Fowler channeling Storm backstage at Kai Kuhne
Besides maybe one major show to close the event, the final day of most Fashion Weeks is generally reserved for those designers you could afford to miss. The reason for the big bang at the end? To keep media and buyers around - otherwise they'd all bugger off on the second to last day. I watched one show from the front of house today, it was one you could afford to miss. The clothes were fine, nice even - floaty dresses in aqua-esque printed silks - but it was the finale that killed it.
Andreea Diaconu running off the catwalk
If you look at shows like Prada, Gucci or Burberry, the designers come out at the end for a split second then run off again as quickly as possible. Few designers can get away with walking the entire catwalk - John Galliano is the only one that I can think of - he can strut a 100 metre long runway, pull his signature pose a few times and have the crowd screaming for more.
Grrrrreorgia Fowler
Then there are the gimmicks. I like my fashion shows short and sharp - models walking down the catwalk, posing once, then walking back off. Call me conservative, but for me there's nothing worse than models walking up and down the catwalk twice, or three models walking at once, or complicated formations where nobody quite knows what's going on. You see it a lot with student designers - and it's always a gigantic cringe fest.
Raaaaaaaaaaaah!
The finale of this show included a full runway walk by the designer and a gimmick - girls lining up at 10 metre intervals all the way along the catwalk. Oh, and did I mention the flowers? Not one bouquet, not even two, but three gigantic bunches of flowers the designer could hardly carry. But topping it all off was the microphone. For some reason the poor woman had decided to thank the audience audibly with the help of the venue's full PA system. Only it didn't work. So she was walking down the runway, carrying two bunches of flowers, then a third, and speaking into a microphone that just would not make any sound. New Zealand model Georgia Fowler was in the show, and I could have sworn I saw her stifle a giggle.
Jeanne Bouchard and Georgia Fowler - they only have eyes for you
The big bang show of the day was Kai Kuhne, a designer who'd shown in New York for the past few seasons but this time chose to come back home to Germany. I slipped backstage with Steve and immediately went to work setting up his mini studio. He's the only one who does this and I can never figure out why - the shots always come out looking so perfect you'd think they were already retouched. Pretouched if you will. When I say studio I mean he finds a clear piece of white wall and surrounds it with two big sheets of polystyrene, or a sheet of polystyrene and a mirror - to create a sort of light box effect. That done, we herded all the models one-by-one into our little lair to shoot beauty (the closeups of the face to showcase hair and makeup). There must have been some kind of alien theme to the mostly white and gold collection because all of the girls wore white or black contact lenses. Channelling Storm from X-Men perhaps?
Testing out the flash pre show, jumped a little too high and the flash cap flew off - I received a stern telling off from Steve
My favourite backstage shots are the ones taken when the girls have just stepped off the catwalk - they're always hyped up and willing to pull crazy shapes. This one was wild. With the freakish white colour contacts the girls looked like aliens running around in dresses and heels, and with it being the last show of the week they really went for it. The minute the show had ended and the crowd departed, the security guards arrived, proclaiming "everybody must leave right now!" We packed our bags and walked out as workers stormed the tent dismantling anything and everything in sight. Very efficient, very German. It was all over.
Jeanne Bouchard - Hold that face
Would I go again? Definitely - it's still a very young event and it'll get better and better each time, though perhaps next time I'd just come for Hugo Boss and Michalsky. While I did enjoy myself, it was always going to be tough to live up to the hype, success and fun times of Paris menswear. I guess the one thing that really sullied the experience for me was the people working on the doors - the security guards and ushers who insisted on seeing my pass everytime I walked near them - sometimes even four times in one day. I understand that they were just doing their job but come on - if I could remember their faces, surely they could remember mine. Let's call it a cultural difference. Us New Zealanders are notoriously relaxed when it comes to most things so the idea of such strictly controlled procedures is always going to be abhorrent to me. Maybe I'll get used to it with time?
Mercedez Benz flew tennis star Boris Becker into Berlin for the Kaviar Gauche show this morning. He stayed for fifteen minutes then headed straight back to London for more Wimbledon commentary this evening. What a life. The pap photographers went nuts. I love the German paparazzi! There's this big fat sweaty one who shouts "Tweet tweet tweet!" like a little birdy to get the celeb's attention. Those guys get angry too - if another photographer gets in their way they'll throw down. I've seen pushing, wrestling and extreme shouting matches in the last few days. No KOs yet though. Here's to hoping.
Line up preshow with Siri Tollerod and Andreea Diaconu - All images /Steve Wood
I'm standing backstage amidst a twenty five metre line up of bouffant haired girls and slicked back boys. We're one minute from the beginning of the Michalsky show. The producer steps forward. "Alright girls, you're all very sexy! None of you have any money, but you rock it anyway!" Music stops, lights die, first model steps forward. A spotlight appears. "Chk chk chk chk The best things in life are free. Chk chk chk chk But you can keep 'em for the birds and bees I want money... that's what I want." Jonas Kesseler with Siri Tollerod
I should have learnt my lesson in Milan. I said it then, and I'll say it again. Pride comes before a fall. And I had it in truckloads yesterday. Not today. Oh no no no. I woke up after three hours sleep feeling a little worse for wear. We arrived at the Fashion Week venue and, after following correct procedure, went backstage. Nothing much was happening, so we took a few shots then left. We didn't have a pass to the next show so I thought I'd go watch it from the front. Security denied me. Next show, same thing. All that cockiness from yesterday flew straight out the window. I'd lost my touch.
Siri Tollerod
For the next two shows I sat around in the media centre feeling tired, hungry and sorry for myself. I had a new attitude: don't try, can't fail. I kept at it for the rest of the day. At about 6:00pm Michael and Steve came and grabbed me to go to the Michalsky show offsite at an old theatre. We'd been emailed earlier in the day by the company to tell us we had full access to the show but when we got there, the PR lady said that we weren't allowed backstage. Steve and I looked at each other. We'd been very good today but this situation called for one last mission.
Lenz von Johnston, Siri Tollerod and Jonas Kesseler
We walked past the check in desk in the direction of the toilets, waiting till a burly, hairy security guard turned away, and then slowly made our way up the stairs. We headed down a long corridor and into a ballet studio. Crossing it, the only exit was a fire door. I warned Steve that it might have an alarm attached. "Only one way to find out," he said with a smile and pushed it open. No alarm sounded. Another long corridor, then another, and we found ourselves outside the makeup room. The friendly girls in there informed us that the action was downstairs. We found the stairs and descended, being as slow and calm as possible so as not to raise suspicion. We arrived in a huge black floored area - turns out we were on the stage.
Bromance part 1: Lenz von Johnston and Jonas Kesseler
I sat down, plugged my laptop into a spare outlet and set to work looking like I belonged. We waited about twenty minutes then got down to business, Steve shooting, while I held reflectors or flashbulbs. First beauty, shooting extreme closeups of all the boys' and girls' faces. Then, after they were changed, we started on full lengths where we captured them in their first looks. The menswear was an odd mix of Lanvin inspired foppish tailoring with flowers pinned to jackets, and sportswear - think printed sweatshirts and distressed denim. Womenswear was all maxi dresses and prints, but the best things were the tied pants (as worn by Andreea Diaconu above).
We kept shooting while the show was on, then when the models went out for the finale we raced around the stage to the alternative exit to capture them coming off. As the first model walked off the catwalk we realised our mistake - we'd chosen the wrong side. Not wanting to miss the shot, Steve ran across the back of the catwalk pulling me behind him. It was one brief second of fame then straight back to work.
Tomorrow I will wake up grateful and chastened, and, no doubt, with a little less sense of entitlement. And I won't forget - Chk chk chk chk The best things in life are free.
Up until the Boss by Hugo Boss show at Paris Menswear in January, I'd always thought of the label as too big, too old and too unrelatable for me - the sort of thing 90s muscly guys would wear. The January offering began to change my mind but the show last week turned me 180. I would have worn every piece. So I was pretty excited heading to Boss Orange last night - not only because it was the highest profile show of the week but because I wanted to see what the label's younger, scruffier label had to show for itself. Boss Orange designer Eyan Allen was feeling denim this season, lots of denim. Double denim, denim overalls, denim jackets, denim tuxedo shirts, denim coloured blazers... you get the idea. It worked a charm but I had to draw the line at a full denim trench. Some things are better left unchanged. My favourites on the boys (surprise surprise) were the pleated, rolled, light cotton denim pants paired with laundered chambray shirts. For girls I was really into the maxi skirts teamed with high top sneakers.
Boss Orange was the ultimate backstage - huge, well catered (even nonstop Mars Bars), incredible models and friendly staff. Steve and I set up and got to work about two hours before the show started and he managed to shoot over 700 images. As it grew darker Steve instructed me in the ways of the remote flash lamp - I'd stand holding this huge bulb about five metres away from him, which leads to some pretty awesomely lit pictures. Models backstage included Siri Tollerod, Margarita Senchylo, Vlada, Kasia Struss, Lakshimi, Eniko Mihalik, Cato, Arthur and Helge.
Adrien Brody waxing lyrical front row at Boss Orange by Hugo Boss
I was walking off the catwalk through to the backstage area when a young IMG employee asked me in German for my credentials. My first reaction here is always to just keep walking - I can't understand the language, don't like having to explain myself and just want to get on and do my job slash have fun with Steve backstage. If we were in Paris or Milan it'd be a different story, but Berlin Fashion Week is so small and there are so few international media here that I feel a rare sense of entitlement. Usually the keep-on-walking tactic works a charm - they either keep talking in German then give up, or follow me until I begrudgingly show them my pass. WOW! It's Georgia Fowler backstage at La La Berlin - All backstage images /Steve Wood
About a minute after walking past the IMG guy, a higher-up IMG guy came backstage to talk to me and Steve. He told us we had to leave the backstage area due to not having an appropriate pass for the next show. We chose to politely decline to react. He got on his radio. The backstage manager came along. She'd been getting a bit testy with us yesterday due to our not following instruction. She too asked us to leave. Once again we chose to politely decline to react. They both got on their radios. The Vice President of IMG worldwide walked in. With a security guard. She explained the situation to us. We explained the situation to her. After ten minutes it became clear that we weren't getting anywhere. Steve was rather annoyed at this point and told them exactly what he thought of their behaviour. He did an admirable job of staying calm. He packed up his things and walked out, his head held high. I walked behind him shaking mine. I just don't get it. The organisers here are so obsessed with the rules that they're willing to sacrifice the international exposure that a photographer like Steve can get for them over something as insignificant as a backstage pass for one show. Where on earth is the sense in that?
Lunch with Georgia
Thirty minutes later Steve and I drove to Berlin Fashion Week's headline act - Boss Orange by Hugo Boss. After getting nowhere with European PR agents for the Hugo Boss show in Paris, I went back to my trusty Australian contact Amy. Within 5 hours she'd emailed me confirming a front row seat for the Berlin show, but no backstage access. You never know until you try though, so as soon as we got there, Steve began making enquiries with the giant blonde security guard out front. "No pass, no entry," came the reply. We waited around for a bit then decided to take matters into our own hands. We'd seen a group of thirty or so young people walking around the back of the building and decided that they must be the catering staff. We walked in the same direction and straight into a security guard. He said hello, we said hello and kept walking. 20 metres later we came to a second security guard. He said hello, we said hello and kept walking. We slipped in through the kitchen and found ourselves backstage. You win some, you lose some.
Georgia rocking out backstage at Anja Bockel
Backstage was like a who's who of big money girls - Siri Tollerod, Margarita Senchylo, Vlada, Kasia Struss, Lakshimi, Eniko Mihalik and Cato all sat idly. We set to work snapping the lot (I'll post the pics tomorrow). Two minutes before the show was to start I ran out onto the catwalk in search of my seat. Along the way I spied Adrien Brody with Sienna Miller and snapped a few quick shots. That girl sure knows how to work it for the camera. After the show Hugo Boss put on the biggest barbecue the world has ever seen. Tables lined with food (including better lamb chops than I've ever eaten in New Zealand) stretched as far as the eye could see. We enjoyed the festivities for quite some time then headed home.
@ Anja Gockel
It's now 3:51am. Something tells me that's not going to make for a very enjoyable 8am wake up call tomorrow. Only time will tell.
With Adrien Brody backstage at Hugo Boss. This was his second front row appearance at a Hugo Boss show in two weeks. Does anybody else smell a celebrity/fashion campaign? Maybe a fragrance? The man always did have a good nose for such things.
A few more well known attendees below - Sienna Miller, Jade Jagger, Siri Tollerod, Eniko Mihalik and friends. Jade Jagger and Sienna Miller
The funniest thing that happened today was some weirdo German guy coming up to Georgia backstage and giving that classic line "I'm a photographer/I'm a producer/I make TV commercials... Can I have your number?" I couldn't stop laughing. Or repeating it in my best German accent. She got sick of it all and shut my head in the cupboard. I probably deserved it.
With my mate Sona from Slovakia All images /Steve Wood
Was enjoying myself a bit more today until we were unceremoniously booted out of backstage about an hour ago. Our crime? You guessed it - not having the appropriate credentials on hand. I'm hot, tired and more than a little over it. More on that later. We've been getting some great stuff out of the girls though, see below. I miss Paris! BONJOURRRRRRR!
Me falling, my new mate Andreea not really helping - Image /Steve Wood
Zee Germans love zee rules. Zey love making them, zey love following them, but zey especially love enforcing them. Fellow New Zealander Michael Ng and I left our imaginatively named Berlin Berlin Hotel at about 9:50am to catch the first show of Fashion Week, scheduled for 10am. In good Kiwi tradition we arrived five minutes late. In good German tradition they started right on time. In good Kiwi tradition we still made an attempt to get in, which was swiftly thwarted by a couple of good German security guards. "Do you haff accreditationhousen?" They asked. "Not yet," we replied. "You haff to get accreditation firstenhousen," they told us. "Yes, but we're missing the first show," we said. "You haff to get accreditation firstenhousen," they told us. "Yes, but, the first show!" We said. "Do you haff accrediationhousen?" They were bigger. We resigned ourselves to our fate and went and got accredited. We missed the first show. The paps hard at work with a local celeb - never seen her before in my life
Berlin Fashion Week looks very much like New Zealand Fashion Week or Australia Fashion Week. It's in one giant white tent with black carpet and little stalls and is populated mainly by local media, liggers and celebrities. Only here in Berlin, the local celebrities cause giant reactions wherever they go. It's an odd sensation to watch somebody you've never seen nor heard of before getting papped by 15 screaming photographers. Another similarity: Miro was at the shows today. If you don't know Miro, he's the one-named, tall, handsome and powerful (I hear he can kill you five times before you hit the ground) Russian/Czech front of house manager at Australia Fashion Week. He's here on holiday at the moment which is strange - I normally don't go to my place of work for a vacation.
Miro on holiday - taken front of house at Berlin Fashion Week
Berlin Fashion Week is a lot younger than our Fashion Weeks, only two or three years old. So they're still ironing out the creases. First one that I'd sort out - the four day schedule. Each day there are about seven shows. Most have one and a half to two hour breaks in between. If I was them I'd make everyone work a bit harder and get it all done in three. Where's zee efficiency when you need it?
Monkeying around with the lovely Georgia Fowler - Image /Steve Wood
To be honest, it's a bit of an anticlimax coming here after Paris. Not only was I with great friends there, but it was menswear (much more my thing than German designers I've never heard of before), it was hot and I got to see Lanvin from the photographer's podium. It gets a little tiresome going to shows from designers you have no relationship with, and having to show your little badge to every single PR or security person every 10 seconds. So I decided to spend the entire day with Steve backstage.
Georgia just hanging about - Image /Steve Wood
Backstage is always fun - but most of all when you're with Steve. He has this amazing ability to cause trouble, divert attention and get the perfect shot all at the same time. We were at one of the morning shows when I spied a familiar face. It was New Zealander Georgia Fowler. We said our hellos and Steve immediately put her to work. The girl's a good sport. She had no problem climbing on precarious metal bars, throwing out fifty looks per second and getting tangled in complicated arrangements with four other models for Steve's amusement.
The multi-talented (and lingual) Andreea - Image /Steve Wood
A little later I was walking where I shouldn't've been and tripped over a poor young model. Steve rather enjoyed it and got us to re-enact the moment. While doing this, I started a playful banter with her, where we both lied about the countries we came from and tested each other's language skills. I stopped laughing when I realised that she spoke six fluently compared with my one and a few bits. Turns out her name is Andreea, she's from Romania and she's practically a genius. We bonded over Twilight and The Great Gatsby (which she'd read in Romanian and English) and talked at length about religion and philosophy. Luckily she was called away for a fitting before she could begin quoting Dostoevsky.
Fur protesters at Escada
Final event of the day was Germany's answer to couture - Escada. It started with a bang - 20 young Berliners chanted slogans of protest to Escada's use of fur in their collections. It was extreme. When Germans protest, they really protest. The group did everything from trying push through the gates to punching security guards while a bemused fashion pack looked on. The police were eventually called and arrested the few who'd been grabbed by bystanders. The photographers went crazy when one of the young girls fainted and started dry retching on the ground. It was all very exciting.
Slightly underdressed at Escada - Image /Steve Wood
I didn't have a press pass for the presentation but a kindly Japanese guy took pity on me and gave me his spare. We walked up to the press entrance together and were told by the worst kind of German security guard (ginger and stubborn) that no press was allowed in right now. Twenty minutes passed. Then thirty, forty, fifty, an hour. I went back to the PR agent to ask why we weren't being let in. She promised to sort it out and went to have words with Ginger Gustav. Despite being asked to let us in, he refused - he was following direct orders. Another rule. Finally we were let in and as I wandered around I noticed that everybody else was in full dinner suit attire.
Here's that video I was telling you about. This was seriously the greatest show I have ever seen. Hands down. I'm in Berlin now where the weather is cooler and the streets less crowded. Oh to be back in Paris!
Paul Smith and his lads (Harry Wakefield, Will Eustace, George Barnett and Benoni Loos) - All Images /Steve Wood
Steve is a maestro with the boys backstage, he never fails to astound me with the things he gets them to do. If anybody can help me with model IDs please leave a comment!
Bonjourrrrr! I've always loved that feeling when you're so utterly exhausted that you feel like you're floating around on a surreal cloud all day long. That was me yesterday. Two back-to-back Fashion Weeks, jetlag and almost no sleep caught up with me and I wandered from place to place in the 40 degree plus heat with a big stupid smile on my face. First stop was breakfast with Dayne and Zippora at our local, then a walk through the streets with the Zipster, then fruit in the park with our favourite Canadian Megan, then a little lie down at the hotel, then a late afternoon gelato, shopping mission and giant lemon meringue pie with Dayne and Young ZeeZee in the afternoon, then moving all my stuff to my friend Tessa's loft apartment in Montparnasse, then pizza, then a taxi ride to Oberkampf at 9:45pm to have dinner at Ave Maria with Dayne, Zippora, Megan, Jasper and his girlfriend Dempsey, then a late night stroll to Le Marais and La Perle, then a big walk to Zippora's hotel to drop her off - which I thought was close to Montparnasse, I was so wrong - then a really really long and expensive taxi ride back home to Tessa's, then emails and bed.
I took photos all throughout the day/night (below) and we made a little video tribute to Dayne (above). Paris has been kind to me. How will Berlin match up?
A tourist moment.
Fruit in the park.
Canada's answer to Penny Pickard.
The remains of our Lemon Meringue Pie.
Yeaaaarrrr!
Pan-world fusion food at Ave Maria - a little mix of Mexican, Afghanistanian, Korean and Mediterranean.
Two white buddies.
Keeping the peace.
I was eating pizza with Tessa and her brother and they told me that I could put my Pop Swatch on my tee shirt. I've owned it for two years and never known about it!
Me and a few mates - Lucas Ossendrijver, Alber Elbaz and Lanvin's show producer
The Gay Pride rally was all a bit noisy for me after a long day of shows, so last night I left the naked street dancing men of Le Marais and headed out into the balmy Parisienne night. I met up with Zippora and some of her model friends at a bar named La Perle (a word I had extreme difficulty pronouncing until I found out it's said just like 'pearl' in English). Two of the boys were models.com Top 50 listers and I immediately began asking them a few (hundred) questions to try to get a better understanding of what life in the business is really like. Family portrait backstage at Lanvin - Alber Elbaz, Lucas Ossendrijver and the kids
Do they like the shows? Not particularly, but you do the shows to get the campaigns. Paris is fine but Milan is awful - models there get treated like pack animals. The campaigns must pay huge right? No, most of the big name design houses don't have any money - a fragrance campaign which might have paid $75,000 last year would now be eagerly snapped up at $15,000, day rates of $20,000 have been slashed to $1500. The campaigns beget the catalogue work - the only way to really make money is to build up a good relationship with a commercial client like Macys. So do they like the job? It has its perks - the girls, the travel, the experiences, but it's not at all glamorous like it seems. They stay in tiny rooms in low cost accommodation, and rarely get to go home to see the family. Poor buggers.
The new Lanvin sunglasses, backstage preshow
The party at La Perle turned into a full night of running around Paris and I didn't end up back at my apartment until nine this morning - which left me no time to get changed or shower before my favourite show of the week, Lanvin. Exhausted, unwashed and accompanied by Dayne and Zippora, I arrived at the venue (a theatre in the 16th) and went straight backstage to see the two greatest men in Paris - Alber Elbaz and Lucas Ossendrijver. Those guys blow my mind - they stay relaxed and joke around with each other up until the very last minute before the show. They even took the time to take a photo with me - but I had to promise Alber it wouldn't end up on Facebook... I may have lied. As soon as I saw the clothes I literally just about passed out with the urge to steal them all and run away. But being the upstanding citizen that I am, I resisted and joined the excited crowd milling around the catwalk. NZ photographer Michael Ng waved to me from the podium so I decided to join him there - I wanted a premium view for this one.
Lanvin business wear
The show, as always, was pitch perfect - a playful approach to the businessman's wardrobe - Wall Street suits paired with banker's visors, incredible trench coats, the best pleated pants of all time, amazing tiny collars on shirts, and to top it all off, each model had a drawn on moustache. When the boys came out for the finale, they walked in a disjointed pack reminiscent of faceless suits in a train station - all rushing to get to their destinations on time. Then they took their positions at the start of the catwalk... and just stayed there. Seconds passed, then a minute, still the crowd was clapping and the boys weren't moving. People started to get up to leave and the boys never left - Alber obviously taught them well - polite gentlemen wait for their guests to leave before exiting themselves.
Will Eustace at Lanvin
The next few hours of the day were a bit of a blur, I was utterly exhausted and was getting all antsy about my biggest challenge of the week - Dior Homme. I have a 100% failure rate with Dior - I tried so hard last year to get in but was denied at the front entrance, the side door and backstage.
Luke Worrall at Lanvin
I met up with Jethro Cave backstage at Masotomo, where, just seconds before, he'd had an altercation with a security guard over the merciless killing of a pigeon. I've heard a lot of crazy stories about the Australian model (and son of musician Nick Cave), but the impression he left with me was of a fun, young, enthusiastic Antipodean who won't let anything get in the way of a good time - or animal rights obviously.
Usher interviewed pre show on Fashion Insider TV
The ride over to Dior Homme was a tense one for me. As I've said before, the best way to get into a show is to have no expectations and to be utterly detached either way - if they say yes, fine, if they say no, fine too. I just can't do that with Dior. I care too much. Besides Lanvin, Dries Van Noten and Raf Simons, it's the show that I'm most obsessed with. But the others give me invites, Dior says no. So, just like last year, I was flustered and nervous, and, just like last year, I made the fatal mistake of hanging back at the start. I may as well have had a big sign around my neck screaming "I'M DESPERATE AND DON'T BELONG! PLEASE LET ME IN!" I had no hope. My 100% failure rate remains intact.
Sipping on some refreshing Moroccan mint green tea preshow with Zippora
Rejected, dejected and generally over it, I got back on the bus to head over to Paul Smith. Michael Ng dropped down beside me. "Where were you?" He asked. "I had a spare invitation for you and I was running around but I couldn't find you anywhere!" Oh joy.
The larger than life Jethro Cave backstage at Masatomo
Waiting for Paul Smith to start, I fell asleep twice. I was rudely awakened the second time by a distinguished looking gentleman whose seat I had stolen. I had to move. I was ready to kill. But Paul Smith shows are always fun and light hearted so as the first model came out - an eccentric aristocratic looking kind of guy - my mood gradually lifted. Soon I was tapping my feet in time with the soundtrack and feeling happy that the week was just about over. As the last model left the catwalk the music changed - I heard a familiar beat. Then a voice rose from the grave - "It's close to miiiiiidnight and something evil's lurking in the dark." The crowd erupted. All the boys came out and danced with Sir Paul down the catwalk.
All tuckered out (it's a very draining job after all) - Ash and Julius doze preshow at Masatomo
I walked out with that unbeatable mix of relief, exhaustion and completion that you only get after finishing a major exam. There were two more shows to go but I just kept walking. I'd done my dash, it was time for bed.
Kaiser Karl Lagerfeld's Hummer out front at Dior Homme
Even Olivier Zahm had to be checked off the list to get in at Dior Homme
Image /Steve Wood - Me and Zippora Seven enroute to shows, Sonny Vandevelde watching on
My local breakfasterie in Paris is an organic bakery named Le Pain Quotidien in Le Marais. Every morning I go there and attempt to explain my not too complicated breakfast order in French to the same waitress who knows I don't speak French, but delights in correcting me at every given opportunity.. (Hot chocolate, orange juice and selection of breads - hold the brown, add an extra baguette.) For the past two mornings I've watched an amused twenty something year old guy watch me as I slowly sound out my bad French vowels. This morning he spoke to me and asked why I don't just speak English to her. I replied that the only way my bad French will ever improve is by practising it with rude French waitresses. He laughed and introduced himself. His name is Kalle Heimburger, he comes from Denmark and he's here for the menswear shows too. He's a buyer for Normann Copenhagen - apparently the biggest designer store in the country. "What do you sell?" I asked. "Oh, you know," he replied, "clothing, books, shoes, furniture, dildos."
So much for that famous Danish restraint. At Kenzo - an abandoned carpark with sand-filled jars lining the catwalk
I met up with Dayne Johnston - we're swiftly becoming inseperable Paris BFFs - to go to the Kenzo show together. 25 minutes and three train changes later and we arrived at the same carpark where the John Galliano and Hugo Boss shows were held. Between us we had one photographer's pass - they obviously misread my email requesting a seat - so, being the nice guy I am (and seeing as Dayne is not so acclimatised to public humiliation as me), I gave it to him. He breezed through the door and I followed, giving my best "check the list!" performance - as they scramble through pages and pages of names I walk straight through - by the time they've either found my name (or not, as is mostly the case), I'm long gone.
NZ expat model Aiden Andrews at Kenzo
The catwalk was long, industrial and reminiscent of a Zambesi show venue, but with one addition - huge glass jars filled with sand hung at regular intervals along its length. The show was based on the expeditions of Pierre de Brazza and featured washed linens in creams and whites - gracefully streaked with mud and sand - and the most amazing hiking boots. They first appeared in snake skin - a bit flamboyant for my tastes - but soon came out in beautiful greys, browns and beige leathers. I'm obsessed. As the show closed the big glass jars began to tip forward emptying vast quantities of sand onto the catwalk, the models and some of the front row. Dust filled the air and for a moment it almost felt like we were in the desert - hot, dehydrated and blind.
My new obsession - hiking boots at Kenzo
Dayne ummed and aahed about going to the next show - Miharayasuhiro - with me, fearing that he'd miss his 1pm Maison Martin Margiela presentation. I assured him that we'd be fine, if anything went wrong I'd pay for the taxi, but there'd be no need for that, there was no way we'd be running late. I finally convinced him to come and we made our way into the venue. The show was based on my dad's favourite book Le Petit Prince, channelling the young protagonist's nights spent in the desert - more laundered linens, though this time in a darker colour palette. I thoroughly enjoyed the show, it featured Zdenek Zaboj and my favourite of the week Will Eustace, but I fear it wasn't worth the drama that took place next.
All worn out - a model yawns at the Maison Martin Margiela presentation
Dayne and I ran out the door (the moment Mr Yasuhiro had taken his last bow) and onto the street to take a taxi. What was I thinking? This is Paris. Even if the taxis are free the blasted drivers won't pick you up. I knew where we were going so we started half running in the direction of the presentation, constantly looking around just in case a kindly driver took pity on us. They didn't. Dayne started looking a little worried as we increased our speed. It was hot - at least 30 degrees, and my feet were already killing me from the last few days of walking (I drive everywhere in Auckland). 12:50pm rolled by, then 12:55pm, and we began virtually sprinting down the road. I finally spied a taxi and knocked on his window. He welcomed us in then shook his head and ushered us out after I told him our desired address. Back to running. We finally arrived at the presentation at 1:07pm, both pouring with sweat, both panting like dogs. We wiped our brows, paused for a moment then entered. The presentation began as we walked through the door.
Appropriated Burberry trench at Maison Martin Margiela
Going to bed at 4am during fashion week is never a good idea, and my lack of sleep, water and aching feet began affecting my mood. Our next show was Bernard Wilhelm. I had an invitation but when we arrived I found they'd overbooked and weren't letting anybody else in. My mood quickly deteriorated. I was ready to go home.
The makeup goes on Marcel Castenmiller at Ann Demeulemeester
Next show was Ann Demeulemeester. I didn't have an invitation and I was happy to not make the effort to get in but Dayne was terribly excited at the prospect of going - as a long time fan of her work he was eager to see the show in real life. I couldn't leave my new BFF hanging so off we went on the Fashion Week bus to the show. I fell asleep twice, both times rudely awakened by fellow bus-mates waxing lyrical about the latest fashion news and gossip. I was over it. I pride myself on being a pretty happy-go-lucky kind of guy, not much brings me down, but on the rare occasion I do get like this (usually during fashion week), my tolerance levels go out the window. I wasn't going to let some bully French security guard get in my way of seeing the show so when I got to the venue I pushed past all the other attendees waiting in line and walked straight in, daring anybody to say anything. Nobody did. I left Dayne in a seat and headed backstage for a drink. It had been at least four hours since my last glass of water. The security guard wasn't letting anybody through. I walked past him, he started saying something, I kept walking, he kept saying something, I ignored him entirely and walked through, grabbed a glass of water, snapped a few shots then walked back out. In the end I was glad to have stayed for the show - it's not my usual style but I saw some of the best leather pants of all time. Might have to grab some.
Watching the show screen pre show at Ann Demeulemeester
Next up was a presentation at The Ritz. I did the same thing past the security guard but this one decided to take offense. I argued then gave up and walked out. It was definitely time for home.
Ethan James - one of the breakout stars of the week at Ann Demeulemeester
Now I'm sitting in my hotel room listening to ten thousand half naked men screaming and blowing whistles. It's Gay Pride day here in Paris and I'm stuck in a hotel in Le Marais. It's going to be one looooong night.
Me and my mate Usher at Comme des Garcons - he obviously didn't get the memo though; nobody looks at the camera these days
I was eating breakfast with Dayne Johnston and Zippora Seven when I heard the news about Michael Jackson. I was 12 hours behind the rest of the world, I know, but I have limited internet access here in Paris and the whole different language thing doesn't make for the quickest of news gathering. I was terribly upset - just two days ago I was quoting one of his songs! - but it would seem judging from the conversation of the other diners that I was the only one. Like Princess Diana, the Twin Towers or Y2K, I'll always remember where I was when I learned of the King of Pop's death. For the rest of the day every Paris newspaper, TV and radio station blared Michael Jackson news, photos, video and music.
But would it make its way to the Paris Menswear shows? Models backstage at Rick Owens, seconds before I was removed by an overzealous PR agent
I was too sad to make it to the first two shows of the day - Blaak Homme and Thierry Mugler (well, I missed Blaak Homme due to shoddy time management and Thierry Mugler due to getting lost in a taxi - while singing along to Michael), so first up was Rick Owens. I arrived an hour early with Steve and we made our way past security and into the backstage area with no hitches. I snapped a couple of photos and helped myself to a large juicy slice of watermelon when a PR agent tapped me on the shoulder. "Out please," he said, giving us the classic line, "we're keeping things backstage very tight this season".
A cool, calm, collected and perma-tanned pre-show Rick Owens
I walked out to the catwalk area and ran smack bang into the man himself. I introduced myself as Isaac from New Zealand and asked if I could take a photo. He seemed slightly amused (or bemused?) by me, and consented. Since I had him there, I asked him the question on everybody's lips: "so, Rick, can we expect to hear any Michael Jackson on the soundtrack today?" He smiled and said no. "Not a fan?" I asked. "Oh he was wonderful," he said, "but I never bought an album." He paused. "Actually, there was one song I loved..." He paused again. "Oh, wait, no, that was the Jackson Five." I thanked him and went on my way.
Gareth Pugh front row at Rick Owens
Walter van Beirendonck put twenty clones of himself down the catwalk at the next show, in a collection entitled WonderBear. For those of you who don't know, a 'Bear' is a large, bearded, hairy, muscular gay man. These guys were huge. When he came out for his bow at the end of the show nobody even noticed it was him - until he lingered on the catwalk a moment longer than necessary for even the most posey Bear.
I went straight backstage at Kris Van Assche and was about to take a photograph of the designer, but the poor guy was pacing back and forth looking so nervous that I just didn't have the heart to do it. It made me think - it must be absolutely terrifying putting six month's worth of work out there for ten minutes for all to judge - and Kris Van Assche has to do it all again on Sunday for Dior Homme. I took my seat as the show was about to begin and heard raucous shouting. Protesters were outside screaming about something or other, what exactly, wasn't immediately obvious. Post show I went out and asked someone what all the fuss was about. He told me that the students at the university where the show was being held were complaining about the noise being made by the show. They wanted to study in peace. Riiiiight. Obviously that one made a lot more sense in French than it did in English.
My mum complained about all the obnoxious looking male models, so here's a smiling one just for her - backstage at Kris Van Assche
There's a lot to be said for having low expectations. Most of all, you have nothing to lose, and there's no disappointment when you don't attain the object of your desire. I had no preconceptions walking up to the door at Comme des Garcons - last season I'd wanted it so badly but had no luck whatsoever in getting in, so this time, I figured that even getting an audience with the PR agent would be a huge achievement. I held back for a while, not wanting to crowd them (or get denied in front of the crowd), and I'd all but given up on the idea of even attempting to get in, when Dayne tapped me on the shoulder. "I have a good feeling about this," he said to me. "You should go talk to him." So I did. I introduced myself to the English PR agent and dropped the only name I knew that might help get me in - that of Adam Bryce. "I still haven't met that guy, but I really want to!" The PR agent exclaimed. I started to say who I was and who I worked for but he held up his hand and silenced me. "Give it a rest," he said, "you can both go in". Dayne and I exchanged a glance and walked straight in - we weren't going to argue with that.
Bears at Walter Van Beirendonck
The whole show was a surreal experience. Usher walked in moments before the lights went up and sat front row. Usher at Comme des Garcons?? I don't believe I've ever seen a more incongruous celebrity appearance. The show was Comme at its best - a style I'll call homeless bespoke. Button up coats stitched together with mismatched cloths and clumpy shoes, on a cast of less than 10 models. How they managed to get changed so quickly is beyond me, but there was certainly magic in the air. At one point Australian model (and son of Nick Cave) Jethro Cave walked to the end of the catwalk and pulled up his sleeve to reveal 'RIP SMOOTH CRIMINAL' scrawled in biro. At last! Michael Jackson appears! A moment later Ash Stymest walked out in shorts. He also had words scrawled in biro on his ankle, though I'm not sure that 'I WANK' has quite as much poignance. Must not be the son of a poet.
The new proportion in men's pants - pleated, tapered, cuffed and cropped above the ankle - on the catwalk at Cerruti
Next stop was Cerruti. I sat front row next to David from Dazed and Confused. We spoke at length about the print VS online media debate and whether newspapers were becoming obsolete. Then we exchanged blogs, and I told him I'd put him on my Google Reader. Obviously nobody communicates anymore in this post modern world. The show was short and sharp - more of those pants I can't get enough of, this time paired with desert boots and tailored blazers. I said it yesterday and I'll say it again - come next summer we will all be wearing pleated, cropped and cuffed pants.
Gareth Pugh and friends pre-show at Raf Simons
Final show of the night was Raf Simons. In perfect ring composition Dayne, Zippora and I met up for dinner in Le Marais. Zippora brought a Canadian friend named Megan. We had three invites for the show between the four of us. We assured Megan that we'd get her in. I was prepared for a blagfest of sneaking and dodgy invite pass outs, but when it came down to it there was no need - Dayne knew the guy on the door and none of us were asked for invites. We ended up front row - a far cry from my barge past security last season.
Mark Cox on the catwalk at Raf Simons
The first set of looks were all very traditional tailored suits - no narrow pants, nothing cropped, not a cuff in site. The blazers were a conservative length and cut. It made me think. If an ordinary designer put suits like that down the catwalk I'd dismiss them as boring. But because it's Raf Simons - THE Raf Simons - there must be something more to it. A few looks later some suits with reversed darts came out. Then reversed zips. Then suit jackets with lining sleeves. The Belgian designer seemed to be revealing the inner workings of a man's wardrobe - what goes in to making a man look good. With suits it's all that's on the inside that counts. Raf Simons had put that notion on its head. What does it all mean? I'm not sure I know. These things generally seem to have a habit of revealing themselves at a later date.
I will approach tomorrow with low expectations and high hopes. To quote the late, great Michael Jackson, "When you're down and out, there seems no hope at all. But if you just believe, there's no way we can fall".
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