Heart of the City: Bryant Park

We walked through the back and entered the main showroom. And it was exactly how looked on TV. The black walls, the white chairs, and the long, white runway. It's Mercedes Benz Fashion Week, and the last one at Bryant Park. And I was there, standing under the big tent.

We helped set up, assembling gift bags and piling papers on the seats, doing anything they needed to get done. A little salt and pepper haired Hawaiian woman came out, telling the male models where to stop, how fast to walk, not to cut the corner, etc. She was funny. And she kept yelling at one of the guys who wouldn't get off his phone. Then as the time for the show to start grew closer, we headed to the front to check people in. A bit hectic. "Do you have an affiliation?", "Spell that again for me, please," "I'm sorry. You're not on the list," all phrases that became all too redundant tonight. Alas, the hoard of people disappeared into the showroom. And, running 30 minutes behind, it was almost time to start. The lights went dim, then flashed on, and the music started playing.

I found myself nodding my head as the models walked by. One of the models passed, and seemed awkwardly hunched over. Turtle-like, I would say. I scanned the seats, and in a room where most people were dressed in black, there was an older woman with a hot pink turban and a hot pink fur coat. This made me smile. I looked over to where the media was set up; steps filled with photographers, snapping their photo as the model hit the end of the runway, then, as if rehearsed, bringing down their camera simultaneously to check out their latest shot. It was beautiful in a way. Synchronized swimming-esque.

They did the finale walk, and Eric Kim, the man behind Mik Cire, did a final walk with his baby son. He exited and the lights shut off. The show was over.

What a great night.