They were bigger. We resigned ourselves to our fate and went and got accredited. We missed the first show.
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. 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?
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 photographer Steve backstage.
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.
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.
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.
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.
If I'd known, I would have changed my...socks.
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