This fashion week I failed to get passes to any of the shows I wanted to go to, but hey, that’s fine; there are loads of trendy parties during fashion week, right? I can just spend my evenings farting in a corner, eating low-cal fruit bars and nursing sticky cocktail after sticky cocktail, then go home to write about architectural pleating, or, more likely, Archchuitexytk oleeting. Hmm, turns out the reality of these parties was actually far more depressing than I predicted.
