My first fashion show. My core belief is that everyone is weird. But you need to get to know someone to find out how. With fashion shows, their weirdness is right there on their sleeve.
Looking around, I realize this is "a scene" just like when I was salsa dancing, or swing dancing in Toronto. People do this as their life hobby. And some of them do their life hobby as their work. You can tell who they are. Even the girls handing out discounts and show guides have this look. They're living their dream in the modelling world. Even if they aren't a model or designer, they're a part of something, and industry they love.
I'm there as a spectator. I don't know or care about fashion. I'm participating like I would as a photographer at a cycling race or a Hindu colour festival. I'm a tourist. I stick out because I'm not unique. My clothes, standard uniform for a business casual bank, have no fashion sense or creativity attached.
Ignore me. I am normal.
I scan through my photos in Lightroom. They're not really pretty, my wife says. No, these are the people who were made fun of in high school. There are no cheerleaders or beauty pageant winners. But every model has a "look", that looks great from the front. From the side, not so much. Reality ruins perfection.
The fashion Show rages into the night. Me, I go home easily catching the 610 train. The universe of fashion is not mine, the vacation is over.
