À la mode in Europe

Last year after graduating from university a few friends and I decided to check off 'Europe Backpacking Trip' from our list of "Things to Do Before We Have Real Responsibilities like Mortagages, Marriages, and Babies". I'd like to clarify that when I say backpacking, I mean luggag-ing. None of us could actually live out of a backpack for 2 weeks; we were going to the fashion capitals of the world so how could we afford to look like tourists?! Truth be told, my bare essentials would be 1) my Nikon  2) comfy clothes 3) flats. Those items alone would fill up a backpack.

Everyone had their own agenda when we arrived. The guys wanted to visit soccer stadiums, the girls wanted to go shopping, and I really wanted to take a lot of pictures. Of everything. I found the store display windows really neat so I captured mementos from Rome, Cannes, and Paris.

Here is my snap-happy collection of European fashion. After all, they are the Little-Bo-Peep of the fashionable world and we're the faithful sheep.

The View from the Nosebleed Section

One day I would like to be front row. Not way back in the bleachers where the general public sit. But alas, I'm publicly general. A couple of years ago I started attending shows when I discovered that such shows were available to my kind. Here are my highlights from the ELLE, LG, and F.A.T. fashion shows. I try not to blink too often in fear of missing something exciting. The attendees are all so beautiful and freakishly tall. Their statuesque stature isn't natural of course. I'd find myself scanning the floor for a pair of easily identifiable Christian Louboutins (with its signature red sole) and I'm greeted with a sea of sky-high stilettos. The incredible part is they carry themselves like they have Crocs on. That's true talent. I enjoy wearing heels too but you'll never find me in stilettos - that's asking for a guaranteed face-plant. The embarrassment simply isn't worth the effort.

There's something so feminine and empowering about the fashion industry. At these shows you feel an understated hum of energy. We collectively sit there politely whispering about the model sashaying down the runway, the clothes draped on her, or the famous face spotted in the front row but everyone is aware that they too are on display. Once the lights go on another show begins. Meticulous thought is put into hair, makeup, clothes, accessories, shoes, right down to the details of the nails but every woman acts like it came together effortlessly. That's the illusion of beauty. I wouldn't call myself a slave to fashion because that implies that it's against my own will. I am a devotee to the fashion world; it's frivolous, fanciful, and freeing. And on second thought...if I ever had the chance to go to a show in Paris or Milan you could classify me as general public any day.