No one told me I would spend the bulk of Fashion Week standing in lines.

First I stood in line for my press credentials as a tiny Amy Adams doppelganger in a cape went up and down the line giving orders. Then I traveled 20 blocks downtown for my offsite show, signed in, and stood in line outside until I could stand in line to get into the standing room section.

The girl in line next to me already had several inches on me in her naked feet and her high heels out-towered mine, so her bag was at the level of my head. Speaking completely objectively, her bag was more valuable than my head and, by the time I got to the standing room section to stand in line for the seat, her bag had bruised my brain. Total time standing in line: three hours.

What everyone knows, though, is that the 20-minute show that follows is worth it. First for the fashion. All New York’s glamorous people show up from the classy (Vogue Editor Anna Wintour) to the trashy (Lindsay Lohan). Even people with press credentials still have to wrangle invitations, and Craigslist entrepreneurs scalp tickets for hundreds of dollars.

Loris Diran tickets, though, only went for $59 on Craigslist, which may be how I, a lowly person with no Elle to my name, got an invitation. These models sauntered down the runway to David Bowie’s “Fashion” in clothes I would wear—cashmere, mink, classic cocktail dresses, and nipped blazers in silver, grays, and wine—except for maybe the “leather armor headgear” that looked like an armadillo helmet.

Second, for the free stuff. Loris Diran gave gift bags filled with shampoos and conditioner samples that probably cost more for an ounce than I pay for my whole year’s worth of shampoo, along with Izze and ad pages. And thanks to being the first of the press, I have one of the few vouchers for yet another free gift bag.

Now If I only had a big, brain-bruising handbag to go with it.

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Alisa Harris

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