The lights go dim, there is silence through out the tent and in an instant and music bursts from the speakers. In four counts, the lights shine brightly and the first model steps out. The pit of photographers are adjusting their cameras to the lighting and are hoping they have it set by the time she makes it to the end of the runway. New York Fashion Week has finally begun, and an adrenaline rush is what gets everyone through this week.
In October, I received an internship with Jay Gambino, a fashion photographer in Indianapolis. At the very beginning, Gambino told me if I worked hard I could go with him to New York Fashion Week. That is when it all began, I quit one of my three jobs and talked to my sorority, Sigma Kappa, to let them know about my absences.
And absent I was. I worked day and night editing old shows, learning new techniques and calling people everyday.
Feb. 1 came and went, and at this point I had only been getting a maximum four hours of sleep and spending over $100 on gas driving to and from Indianapolis every week. I had been preparing for months for New York and I was ready to give it a shot. I told Gambino that even if I completely mess up, I was still going to have fun.
On Feb. 7, I landed in New York City a few days before my boss to network with other photographers and agents. I discovered a Ball State University alumnus who did celebrity photography who gave me some advice.
"If Ball State wants to really prepare you for your future, they should have you wear a cinder brick on your back while making 20 calls a day," he said.
Sadly, the rest of the people I talked to said the same thing.
The day my boss arrived, he sent me out in the blizzard at 10 a.m. to get my credentials. The doors didn't open until noon and other people didn't show up until 11:30 a.m., but I got to sit outside in line the whole time.
I started first in line and somehow became 15 in line by noon. Once I had my credential in hand, I was supposed to go over to the Ed Sullivan Theater to see David Letterman, but my boss hinted he wanted me to get practice taking photos of the runway. So I took photos instead.
The second show I went to was a presentation with another photographer in our group. Since New York City was covered in snow and it was absolutely miserable outside, we were one of the few photographers at the event. For the first hour I shot like crazy, but by the second hour I got a little restless and started talking to the models. They were the closest people in the room to my age after all.
On the second day of shooting, I came to discover the models that I had been joking around with the night before were in practically every show. I also realized that photographers don't dress up, they rarely wear deodorant and there is somehow a constant smell of rotting carcass at the end of the runway.
I was told by one of the photographers that to be successful in this industry it goes by three rules: who you know, how you look, and how talented you are. Most of the shows I went to were at Bryant Park, which became my second home, I even made a little family there that I am missing dearly, but what I miss the most are the booths.
At Fashion Week, you are treated like a celebrity, most likely because there are celebrities there. I got the most random free gifts, from a rubber duck to dry shampoo. There also was a salon to get your hair styled, an open bar and free massages available.
I was a very lucky, but tired girl. Sleep no longer came at night or even in hour increments. I slept when I could and ate when I had time to think about it.
When you finally become a part of something so big that you can't believe you are there, you have to take a step back and realize something. Everyone in that tent is a person like me. No one is so beyond me that if I fall they wouldn't help me up. I went in to the tent thinking this, and I feel I networked better because of it. I also realized that the fashion industry isn't as obsessed with looks as I had previously thought.
Now I'm back in Indiana (even worse, Muncie), and I am back to my normal life. Within 48 hours, I went from standing in a tent with Tommy Hilfiger being broadcast to the world to standing in an American Eagle store being yelled at for not moving the size sticker on a shirt while refolding them.
After my internship and New York Fashion week I have learned that dreaming big is better than not dreaming at all. I hope to stay connected to the people I met during Fashion Week. The trip didn't just help my portfolio, but helped me grow as a photographer and a person. With any luck I will be back at the runway before I graduate.
Robin Marchant is a junior photojournalism major and writes for the Daily News. Her views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper. Write to Robin at rlmarchant@bsu.edu.
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