Barely in Paris for two weeks and my current Instagram feed is blowing up with hashtags of the newest spring and summer collections of 2015. Two day ago, Kendall Jenner and the rest of the Kardashian crew had given us a real sneak peak into the Chanel fashion show through their live streaming of Kendall’s performance via social media; Haute Couture Week has started!
1800h at Hotel Salomon de Rothchild was the stage for elegance and glam last night and the Prima Ballerina was Valentino. Recently finding out that I could theoretically “sneak-in” to these fashion shows with the study-abroad mentality of being invincible in another country, I honestly thought I could waltz my way pass security and join the elites. Boy was I wrong. Caught in the rain but looking fierce with my fellow AUP friend, Nikki, we couldn’t leave the scene that was painted before us. Photographers began taking photos of our outfits, at that moment we felt important. Lights, camera, and wait for it- no, actually we had to wait for models, bloggers, and very important people to show up for any action. A town car pulled up and this very tall pale girl with a flat chest and defined collarbones stepped out. Stereotypically this marked her as a model and her carefree attitude that allowed her floor length chiffon dress to kissed the ground we commoners walked on ensured that she was. Boom! Lights started to flash and journalists and photographers commenced screaming like a monkey cage at the zoo for attention. It was like she didn’t see them and strutted towards the hotel.
Around 10 minutes past by, Nikki and I got wetter and colder as our heels (not Valentino, we are commoners we can’t afford Valentino) began to slip off of the cobblestones. Next to us was this thing. I’m using the word thing because he embalmed this dirty hippie essence and his lack of a camera didn’t help his case, but his features were rather sexy that we concluded he wasn’t homeless. On purpose we began to speak to English louder than the norm so people would think we weren’t part of the norm, the “thing” was now intrigued. His name is Franz, and Austrian who had been working in the industry for the past 6 years had given us insight into last night show, “They aren’t letting anyone in like they use to, after the terrorist attack they strengthen their security. Secretly they are using this as an excuse, they never wanted to let people in.” It made sense, for a group of well-dressed elites to use the Je Suis Charlie campaign to tighten security as an excuse to avoid being securitized for being too exclusive. It was just as Nikki’s leather jacket was all wet and my fur vest looked like a sad dead and wet carcass on me, Franz left us with the phrase “Meet me in the Bahamas tomorrow! Better weather, better drinks, and beautiful women!” He laughed and carried on his hippie ways. We were hot messes in the land of haute couture. We stumbled our way back to the Champs-Elysees were we wouldn’t have to fear of breaking a heel on the old Parisian cobblestones. Our night was bust but we got our photos taken, we saw beautiful models and met interesting people from the industry. The night was young enough to enjoy martinis and let our clothes dry, at this point we considered ourselves “haute” messes. And besides, we went home and watched the live-streaming of the Valentino show. It was like we actually snuck-in. Yours Truly, Javiera Pierattini