I’m running around like a chicken with her head (couture?) cut off. Because of my innate (insane?) need to involve myself in as many projects as possible, I am an on-camera reporter and writer for Fashion Week. It started this morning, but I’ve been working since Monday.
First assignment: interview a Japanese designer with no direction whatsoever. Camera on? Okay, don’t screw up, because fifteen people are watching you. Oh and did we mention this designer doesn’t speak English? No? Oh, well now that we’re rolling, I mean, you should know that. So nod like you know what she’s saying and then reach really awkwardly and far over to the translator to nod again while she talks. Also stand so that you’re blocking some of the designs because they don’t debut for another five days and if they leak, it’s your fault. Go!
Excuse me cameraman? Can I have a do-over?
Next up, high design on the west side, where celebrities flit by and I’m on my second cocktail by the time we’re told the cameraman isn’t coming. So, hey how ‘bout you do the interview while the photographer takes pictures and you transcribe it? Didn’t bring your notebook because you thought you would be on-camera? Here’s one sheet of paper. Write down everything you both say but stay pretty for the photographer. Smile! And, hey, do it standing. Yeah, write everything down on one piece of paper on a floppy folder that keeps collapsing while you’re asking your questions (standing so said floppy folder keeps a-floppin’) during the show. Ignore the dozens of photographers who are also taking your picture (because you are the only one who is with the designer), most likely with your eyes looking closed because at this point you have to keep looking down not to scrawl entirely off of the page and into thin air. Hey isn’t that that chick from ‘Fraiser’? Over there! No, don’t look at her! What were you asking again?
Today’s mission: think that the show is under the tents when it’s really been moved to Gramercy for some reason no one on this Godforsaken earth knows. And wear your most expensive dress in a monsoon on the way there. Then, as soon as you arrive, looking like a drenched rat, have a PR girl tell you your interview starts NOW. Sure, you have time to change into your Jimmy Choos, but not to look into a mirror. And…go! Then later interview a male model who, even though you told him three different times your questions (one was—what is your name?) and what his answers should be, still purses his lips together and looks confused before your prodding, which finally leads him to answer.
Complain, complain, is it really so hard to see fantastic fashion shows, have up close access to the designers, score goodie bags of NARS blush and expensive face serums, free drinks, great clips for your resume? No, not it is not so hard at all. Now if only I weren’t such an over-gesturer on camera…
First assignment: interview a Japanese designer with no direction whatsoever. Camera on? Okay, don’t screw up, because fifteen people are watching you. Oh and did we mention this designer doesn’t speak English? No? Oh, well now that we’re rolling, I mean, you should know that. So nod like you know what she’s saying and then reach really awkwardly and far over to the translator to nod again while she talks. Also stand so that you’re blocking some of the designs because they don’t debut for another five days and if they leak, it’s your fault. Go!
Excuse me cameraman? Can I have a do-over?
Next up, high design on the west side, where celebrities flit by and I’m on my second cocktail by the time we’re told the cameraman isn’t coming. So, hey how ‘bout you do the interview while the photographer takes pictures and you transcribe it? Didn’t bring your notebook because you thought you would be on-camera? Here’s one sheet of paper. Write down everything you both say but stay pretty for the photographer. Smile! And, hey, do it standing. Yeah, write everything down on one piece of paper on a floppy folder that keeps collapsing while you’re asking your questions (standing so said floppy folder keeps a-floppin’) during the show. Ignore the dozens of photographers who are also taking your picture (because you are the only one who is with the designer), most likely with your eyes looking closed because at this point you have to keep looking down not to scrawl entirely off of the page and into thin air. Hey isn’t that that chick from ‘Fraiser’? Over there! No, don’t look at her! What were you asking again?
Today’s mission: think that the show is under the tents when it’s really been moved to Gramercy for some reason no one on this Godforsaken earth knows. And wear your most expensive dress in a monsoon on the way there. Then, as soon as you arrive, looking like a drenched rat, have a PR girl tell you your interview starts NOW. Sure, you have time to change into your Jimmy Choos, but not to look into a mirror. And…go! Then later interview a male model who, even though you told him three different times your questions (one was—what is your name?) and what his answers should be, still purses his lips together and looks confused before your prodding, which finally leads him to answer.
Complain, complain, is it really so hard to see fantastic fashion shows, have up close access to the designers, score goodie bags of NARS blush and expensive face serums, free drinks, great clips for your resume? No, not it is not so hard at all. Now if only I weren’t such an over-gesturer on camera…
3 comments:
EXCITING!!!
I'm an over-gesturer in life.
Yeah, but you love it. ;)
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