The Itching Coochie Diaries: How I Snuck Into NYFW And Lived To Tell The Tale (pt. 1)
Now The Stage Has Been Set. Let’s Begin.
I’m a Tiktoker. I’m irrelevant, but hot, and I yell about things. Somehow, I’ve managed to capture the attention of 820k followers, but have failed to capture access to fashion events. Despite making my peace with this months ago, a problem remained: I wanted to go to NYFW Spring/Summer ‘23.
Since 2010 when my interest in fashion began, FOMO relentlessly ate my ass while I scrolled through tumblr and various blogs. In 2018, I’d decided that I was over butt stuff with FOMO. It was time for him and I to move onto the good shit.
___STEADY_PAYWALL___
SEPT 7th
11:42am - I broke up with my boyfriend of 3.8 years three days ago, but I can’t be sidelined by this. I’m going full Eat, Pray, Love in this bitch. I decided on four shows/presentations/showrooms to attend:
Bad Binch TONGTONG
Elena Velez
Black in Fashion Showrooms
Black Boy Knits
These, in addition to the two I’d been invited to, anOnlyChild & the Velvet Co showrooms for Verafied make six—which seems like a good enough number for my first FW run. Now I need to find the addresses.
12:33pm - Being a slightly lazy bitch, I procrastinated and I now need to run errands. Finding these addresses is a lot of work and the thought is making my butt clench. I shoot some texts to some writer and fashion friends. Writer friend no. 1 delivers and hooks me up with a friend of theirs who happens to be a buyer.
1:05pm - I know that as an unknown content creator/influencer, my best bet at successfully sneaking into shows is by posing as an overseas buyer or as a member of the press. I’m currently talking with this fucking godsend of a buyer and they’ve given me a few tips:
Going as a buyer could be easiest.
As a buyer, I might need a business card.
Business cards can be falsified, but false cards could be exposed if a boutique already has a buyer at the shows.
An accent could help me seem more legit.
I just tried imaging myself standing outside a show in my Margiela Tabi reps flashing a false business card, and wildly gesticulating while using a bad French accent. Fuck that. I’m going as press.
7:22 pm - Of my four shows, I’ve figured out the locations of the last two-- and they happen to be in the same building, but on different floors. Two more to find.
SEPT 8th
5:35 pm - I pull up some TikTok videos from @brennalip. She’s made videos of herself attempting to and even successfully sneaking into various fashion week and high profile events. I take away a main point from her videos:
If Google Search fails at getting you locations, head to Instagram. Someone always posts the location somewhere.
7:24 pm - Brenna was absolutely fucking right. Google searching didn’t yield much. Instagram however, was gold. I began by watching the stories of the designers, then I started watching the stories of those followed by the designers. It’s taken me about two hours, but I not only have the locations of my first two shows, but I have the locations of a few more. I add the addresses to my itinerary.
NYFW DAY 1
11:00 am - Idk what would possess me to sleep through my alarm, but I have played myself. I need to get up, get ready, shoot my morning tiktok, and leave.
1:34 pm - I leave the house and head to Buffalo Exchange. I find a dress and a feather boa in a box of Halloween shit. I’ve decided I’m heading to Canal St. for some fun.
1:48 pm - I’ve caught my train and I’m unnecessarily stoked. I remember going to Canal St. back in January with my boyfriend. It was such a rush. I remember watching Youtube videos on how to, “do Canal St.” I remember arriving, finding a person with a printout, joining forces with a British couple, and tailing the person for eight blocks only to see them pull a horrible Dior Saddle bag rep out of a trash bag. Wild fucking shit. Exciting fucking shit. This time, I’ll be doing it alone, but I’m game.
2 Something pm - I arrive and I’m approached by another person with a print out. I have no intention of buying anything. I’m just here to party and look at fake Prada 2005 Nylon Re-Editions.
2 Something pm - I’ve seen the fake Prada. The strap says, “Pra.” The Clochette says, “R-Edition,” and is missing the seams. I impulsively buy it and leave to go cry about it over a $10 cup of boba.
8:12 pm - Bedtime. First show’s tomorrow at 3:00pm.
NYFW DAY 2
1:14 pm - My first show, Bad Binch TONGTONG, is in less than two hours. I’m not sure if I’m actually going to go through with sneaking in. FOMO is no longer eating my ass, but anxiety is giving me a rim job--and it’s not a good one. I’m so scared I kinda just want to close my eyes and not exist.
2:12 pm - I’m ready and the show is in less than an hour. This train is taking forever to come and I’m not trying to chance lateness. I run up the subway stairs and grab a $31 uber for an 18 minute ride.
2:25 pm - I’m in the Uber and my tits are itching from anxiety. God, why am I doing this? I’m going to be publicly embarrassed, then my cooch will start itching. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. I’m already $31 deep now, so I feel like I have to keep going, but this feels like its about to be another case of sunken cost fallacy getting me into some crazy shit.
2:40 Something - I hop out of the Uber. There’s a group of hot ass people in gorgeous outfits. I assume this is the line. As I settle in line, a cool girl with a neon green bucket bag compliments my Marshall Columbia Moonflower bag. Considering how badly I lusted after this damn bag since Q2 of 2022, I happily thank her and oblige when she asks if she could put me on her TikTok. Another person in all black comments on my bag and shows me their Marshall Columbia bag. I notice that they’re wearing the same black Baggu sun hat that I have. I let them know and we bond over how kickass the hat is.
2:46 pm - I find out that the people outside are just standing and enjoying the air. The real shit is happening inside.
2:47 pm - I flare my nostrils, do a line of oxygen and head inside.
2:48 pm - There’s a table with two girls. I assume they’re security. Considering that I hadn’t figured out my entrance strategy, I avoid them. They spot me however and yell, “ Going to the fashion show?” I smile and say yes. They direct me to the elevator. That was fucking easy.
2:49 pm - I stand in line for the elevator and ride it up. Once the doors open, there’s a line. Wtf is going on??
At this point in the story, I wish I could say that I spotted the line, flipped my hair, and was, “boss bitch unbothered,” but that would be false. I won’t admit to anything, but--allegedly, the fourth quadrant of my left ass cheek began feeling like I twerked on a vine of poison ivy. Again, it’s all alleged.
From this point onward in the story, the title will only become more relevant as shit gets gnarly in part two of, “The Itching Coochie Diaries: How I snuck into NYFW and lived to tell the tale.”
Words and Artwork: Nimay Ndolo
