Shredded Jeans and American Dreams: Taylore’s MFW Diary

On the last day of MFW, our senior editor talks politics, peacockers, and celebrity stunts.

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10:45am

I’m late for the Prada re-see. Last night I had a martini at Si Ma and a paloma at the Gucci party and I’m feeling both physically and metaphorically thirsty. It’s never a good look to stay at a fashion party afters midnight. I decide to have my morning cappuccino at the showroom but when I end up trying on a pair of alien sunglasses instead. I wonder whether Mrs. Prada will be able to get the girls wearing platform espadrilles next season.

11:15am

The Ferragamo show starts in 15 minutes. I still haven’t had a coffee and I can’t catch a cab. The Uber is 70 euros so I opt for a scooter instead. People keep congratulating me on my free wheeling inclinations but I can’t stop thinking about how embarrassing it would be to get run over on the way to a show. An Italian producer hovers over my seat in the third show. “Where iiis Solangee,” she screams into a walkie talkie. I’m getting sick of celebrities.

11:55am

Outside, I bump into Steff Yotka and Rachel Tashjian and walk we them to the metro. We stop in at a pizza and pasta place pre-Bally, and after 30 minutes of gossiping about media moves realize they haven’t brought our food. Tim Blanks and Imran Amed arrived after us, but they’ve already finished their meals. “See you at Bally,” Amed says as they glide past. Even the random restaurants seem to understand the fashion week hierarchies.

1:40pm

Mel tells the girls and I that he’s upset that an Airmail article on Olivia Nuzzi won’t load on his phone. Moments later, an Instagram story informs us that RFK Jr.’s wife, the actor Cheryl Hines, is here at the Bally show. She looks fabulous and I wonder whether this signals that she’s unaffected by philandering man or if that she’ll be fine without him. I realize I’m behind on the news.

3:25pm

My battery is at 12 percent and I’m 25 minutes away from the Diesel show. Outside, a peacocker carrying pink balloons steps out of a taxi. People will do anything for a photo. Inside, an-artificial sounding voice reads the Wikipedia page on denim over a loudspeaker. Julia Hobbs briefly rests her head on my shoulder as we stare out onto an abyss of shredded jeans. I wonder how many people are fantasizing about talking a nap in the scraps.

7:20pm

Everyone’s on their way to Bottega Veneta but I’m battling for an Interview Instagram video at Aniye Records. On the show’s “black carpet,” the Cobrasnake plays the role of paparazzi while show-goers in sultry dresses cheer on the models as if they’re mega celebrities. Everyone is somebody when they’re on the other side of a barricade.

8:15pm

I’m at Spazio Maiocchi staring at a wall of provocative polaroids. Usually I’m a big fan of Richard Kern’s work but sometimes I can’t help but feel a little bit offended. I find in a Yeti cooler in the corner and grab a can of IPA. It’s ironic to be spending my last night in Milan drinking beer at an a exhibition titled American Fantasy but it’s nice to catch up with the team at Kaleidoscope magazine. At dinner, I try a Milanese dish consisting of mayonnaise and thinly sliced beef and Richard and I talk politics. He doesn’t like red meat but he’s a big fan of RFK Jr.

11:15pm

I meet Lyas at the Bottega Veneta party for a final nightcap. America’s first couple, Rihanna and A$AP Rocky, breeze by and I’m briefly blinded by all the flashes. “Maybe if they didn’t have such a big entourage people wouldn’t follow them around like that,” Jessica Willis says. But then it wouldn’t be so fashion. On the bike ride home, I realize I accidentally left my copy of Kaleidoscope featuring Kern at the event. It’s okay, though. I have American Dreams at home.