N EW YORK - Last season's biggest fashion fist-fight was the result of one man, Marc Jacobs, starting a fashion show two hours after the time promised on his invitation. Writers facing deadlines, and missing Jewish holidays, sharpened their pencils and let the celebrated designer have it. The New York Post, never known for subtly, asked "What is wrong with Marc Jacobs?" In the International Herald Tribune, Suzy Menkes said: "The entire event was a parody of fashion now."
But anyone who has attended a fashion show here can attest to the fact that while the wait for the Jacobs show was extreme, tardiness is by no means unheard of. Nothing at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week starts on time. On Friday night, for example, the Rock & Republic show, slated to begin at 8 p.m., finally started at 9 after the orchestra - yes, orchestra - was seated. A few days later, several high-ranking fashion editors nearly missed Oscar de la Renta's show because he started his show only 25 minutes late - an unheard-of feat.
It remains to be seen if Jacobs will be able to start his show in a more timely fashion tomorrow night. Meanwhile, this reporter decided to do a little experiment and break down the timeline of a typical Bryant Park show. We chose Brazilian designer Alexandre Herchcovitch's show, scheduled to begin at 3 p.m. Saturday.
2:50 p.m.
I should be queuing up for Herchcovitch's show. Instead, I'm trapped at a different runway show in another part of the Bryant Park Tents. (There are three runways, each in a spacious, enclosed area, with seating: the Salon, the Promenade, and the Tent.) The show I'm now in, featuring designers Araks and Mara Hoffman, began nearly 45 minutes late. Because two designers are showing, I already know the show is going to run past 3 p.m.
3:11 p.m.
The Araks/Hoffman show is over, and, along with hundreds of other people, I shove my way in the direction of the single exit. People who attend fashion shows don't leave when a show is over. They take the opportunity to stand up and start texting or talking, or simply lollygag in the aisles in hopes of being noticed. This means getting out of a show can take as much time as flat ironing Julia Louis-Dreyfus's hair on a humid day.
3:23 p.m.
Free of the Araks/Hoffman crowd, I'm now in another claustrophobia-inducing mob, trying to get my seat assignment. I'm sandwiched between a woman who I believe is Russian talking very loudly on her phone, and a gum snapper carrying a purse bigger than an Olsen twin. The behemoth bag is pressed into my ribcage and the line, which is more like a corral for well-dressed cattle, is not moving.
3:32 p.m.
I have my seat assignment (fourth row, drat!) and I'm pushed into another holding pen outside the Tent. As soon as the guards open the doors into the Tent, a rush, not unlike that for the lifeboats on the Titanic, begins. I'm feeling strangely like Fred Astaire's character in "The Towering Inferno."
3:35 p.m.
I've located my seat, now I'm looking for celebs. Joan Jett and Bebel Gilberto are supposed to be here. Instead I see Niki Taylor, and the band the Misshapes. The photographers have descended on the front row. I received a text from a friend who wants to sit near me, but he's trapped in the crowd. (He uses an exclamation mark to punctuate the dangers of being trapped amid this sharp-elbowed throng.)
3:41 p.m.
A very tall man takes the seat beside mine. Personal space is nonexistent at Fashion Week, and I'm sitting closer to the tall man than I would sit with someone on a third date. Naturally, we need to make small talk, otherwise all the close-quarters touching would be inappropriate.
3:45 p.m.
It's show time!
3:54 p.m.
It's over. It was, however, nine minutes of bliss. I look at my watch and realize that I'm already going to be late for my 4 p.m. show as I join the crush for the exit. Fortunately, I know that one won't start on time either.
See who else made an appearance at NY Fashion Week at boston.com/ae/celebrity.
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