The FWM is back and once again, might do some real damage (to the eyes). The Fashion Week Monster is the Mr. Hyde that comes out of us about a month before fashion week. He is very very mean (and very very ugly).

He’s greedy and needy. He’s an attention seeker. He blows up our bank accounts and makes us do things we’ll regret for months on end.

It’s a little like back-to-school. Or when you get a new job. Or right before a first date? Or when you suddenly get invited to the party of the year?

Just think of that type of pressure.
After spending the summer in jean shorts strolling down streets full of tourists with no fashion stakes, New York suddenly becomes Fashlandia and around you, here are the most superific fashionistas on the planet all showing their newest items and fancy new shiny hair, with their new sinewy muscles and everything else you totally forgot about because of Mexican Cokes at the Wythe Hotel*.

Truth is, it’s a lost cause.
The real truth is that it’s not our goal, really, to try to match the fashion pack.
The real truthiest true truth is that what our mission is in this world, is just to try to be ourselves.
All right, let’s say, be ourselves, but at least have our hair done, maybe.

But ALL THAT, the FWM knows nothing of.

And one fine day, fashion week arrives, and the FWM wakes right up.

Then there you are, four in the morning on Net-A-Porter wanting to buy a multi-colored buffalo hair clutch even though you’re ethically against multi-colored buffalo hair.

A leather maxi-skirt for $12,000 (Who cares about my dental plan?!** I’ll take a plane to France if I get a cavity) that you’ll only wear once til you realize it’s a total FF (Fashion Fail)(A leather maxi-skirt is unwalkable, sister) and that you’ve already ripped off the tag that says “once ripped, there is no way back we’ll never ever refund you, ever” written on it. (Then on the other side, it’s written, “You seriously think you could walk around in a leather maxi-skirt? Ahahah, silly goose.”) You’re never going to make all that money back and shit, you’ve got a toothache now!

(Oops!)(“Hey doc, can I pay you in leather skirts to fill in my cavity?”)(“Not even if it’s like, real leather?!”)

A headband with an apple on it (real-life size, obvi) “because it’s so fun!”.
Obviously, any resemblance to actual events would be purely coincidental and the names of the protagonists have been changed to protect their anonymity.

But the FWM doesn’t stop there.
The FWM creeps into all the layers of our lives and whispers evil thoughts in our ears like…

“Of course you lose 10 pounds in 3 days to get into that sample size skirt. Go eat nothing but cooked leeks in lemon juice. Quick!”

“Yep, if you had short blonde hair, you’d look your best. Go to the salon immediately. Why? Because I said so!”

“Well, duh, of course you can get a chemical peel three days before fashion week starts. Everyone does it. How would everyone be so perfect without that, uh?”

“Of course you can walk a whole day in 8 inch heels! Go get yourself three pairs, one in every color. It’s four in the morning you say? What do you think the INTERNET IS FOR?”

“Pfffff, of course it’s definitely time to wear your florescent pink Moschino outfit you’ve been holding onto for 20 years. This is it’s hour of glory! Get it out! Everyone is going to swoon at your avant-garde fashion sense!”

Ohhhhhh. FASHION WEEK MONSTER, I know thee all too well. AND I’VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU.
This year, you can’t control me.

Right now, as I’m talking to you, I’m proud to announce that I’ve tamed my FWM.
He’s in a cage and I have a keen monitoring system so that he’ll never escape.

Whenever a strange thought gets in my head, I yell out at the studio, or sometimes by text:


And then I simply wait for the responses.
Usually, they get right to it: “Fashion Week Monster!”

Ah but yes. You have to get organized. Like Brad Pitt in World War Z. Always on the watch.

FASHION WEEK MONSTER, you won’t get us.

Shut your pie hole, FWM.


• I’ll give you an Address Book to fully explain to you the why of the Mexican Cokes at the Wythe Hotel.

** I promise that I won’t do a post on the healthcare system in American compared with in France. I will say that please, my dear compatriots cherish your doctors. They really really deserve it.