I’ve always dreamed of going to Fashion Week in NYC. To see the slew of people walking the runway in crazy-ass get ups and clothes real humans over size zero would never actually wear. But alas, no one is beating down my door to have me cover fashion. Weird, I know.
So instead, I have figured out the the airport is actually, in effect, a catwalk.
So while I waited in the airport security line, I pretended that I was sitting next to Anna Wintour and observed.
First down the runway was the young woman in her early twenties wearing leggings as pants. Pants that give her camel-toe and the ability to see the Hello Kitty underwear she was rocking underneath them. She is also the same girl who wears an Aerosmith shirt she bought at Old Navy without having a clue that the band produced songs beyond what is heard in car commercials.
Next down the runway was the high-level business woman. She’s wearing heels that would be used in a James Bond movie to kill a man, as well as a briefcase that is perfectly situated on her shoulder without the slightest bit of strap falling off her shoulder. I had no idea that was physically possible. She is using a Bluetooth device so the entire catwalk can feel included in her conversation about the merger. Not to give away the ending, but the merger doesn’t seem to be looking good.
Following her is the teenage couple who walk with their hands in each other’s back pocket. Although they both don’t fit horizontally in the space, they are determined to defy the laws of spacial relations and squeeze their adolescent bodies together, as if they were Siamese twins. He is kissing her neck which makes me want to slap him like a fly grazing over a plate full of hot dogs. She is fiddling with one of those earrings that stretches out the pierced hole larger that a crater formed by a meteor. I’m sure she won’t regret that one when she can soon use her ears as a scarf.
Lastly is the disheveled mother. I rise to my feet to cheer this final model. She’s the definition of grace as she balances two diaper bags, a stroller, three children and a husband who is looking at his phone completely oblivious to his surroundings. She is wearing sweatpants with a mysterious stain on the thigh, tennis shoes with one shoe untied, and her hair in a messy ponytail. Her children are grabbing at her for snacks but she still stands tall and walks her strut with ease. She’s the crowd favorite, no doubt.
If I could have applauded at the end of the show, I would have.
Instead, I handed the TSA agent my ticket and hoped for a pat down.
