Diary of a Lesbian Fashionista: Returning to New York City’s Fashion Week

When I pitched this story to Out Front, it had more to do with my crusade to get a handle on what fashion means from an LGBT perspective: I’m on the hunt for hot out lesbians in the fashion industry. I decided to go to New York for the Spring 2013 Mercedes Benz Fashion Week – which took place this September and previews next spring’s fashion – to see what insights I could find.

But as soon as I made the plan, I got anxious.

I used to be part of that life. Fashion Week is like the Oscars for fashion people – you spend days in advance planning your wardrobe. You make sure that you’ll attend every “important” show or party. I packed two bags of black clothing plus amazing scarves, jewelry and shoes. Then I worried endlessly about those clothes, jewelry and shoes. I worried people would think I was no longer relevant since I’m not part of this life anymore.

There were a few fits at the beginning of the week. I was challenged. I had to prove to some girl, who had been in elementary school when I was working with Oscar de la Renta, that I was worthy of being there.

My back story: I lived in New York City just short of 17 years, spending most of my time living in the fashion industry. Yes, “living;” when you work in fashion, fashion is your life. You spend all of your time with fashion people. You work with them, hang out with them, vacation with them. People in fashion in NYC don’t really “get away” on vacation. They leave the city and move their work somewhere else for a while. We create “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” of sorts, a photo shoot for a dress set in a field. We can create an amazing vacation scene. But our work travels with us.

When I left New York City – packed everything away and drove west – I was certain I would periodically be back: You can take the girl out of the city, but can’t take the city out of the girl. But after being away six months I hadn’t gone back, settling down back in Denver where I grew up, after swearing I never would. The city became a longed-for life I used to have.

That was almost ten years ago. It took me years, which felt like lifetimes, to discover who I was after “New Yorker” wasn’t my identity.

In the beginning of my life back in Denver I couldn’t afford the trip back if I wanted to. Later, I just stopped thinking about it.

When someone would ask me about my past in the fashion world, I wouldn’t have a lot to say. I can tell stories that sound glamorous, but they don’t mean much to me – just entertaining stories for parties.

I’ll recount how, in that world, you must always look the part. In fashion you have two choices: To be elegant, classic, timeless, impeccable; or quirky, funky, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-cooler-than-you. If you are not very sure of yourself, it’s safer to be classically elegant. It’s probably cheaper to be crazy, funky cool – but you have to own it and be your own original person.

Now back to New York: What a difference a decade makes. Seeing New York City’s Fashion Week in 2012 was a shock. Who are these people? It looked like a circus – Fashion Week has always been a circus – but back then it was an insider’s circus, where everyone looked amazing and we drank lots of free champagne. Now it looks like an actual circus, complete with gay boys doing really bad supposedly-drag as fashion. There were actual capes and feathers!

I couldn’t find many of my fashion people I remembered. I did overhear well-dressed people marveling at the bad fashion and blame it on bloggers. It was a ubiquitous lament: “It’s the bloggers that are killing fashion week!” And nobody liked the new venue. Oh people, I don’t know you, but you’re still my people.

Originally, only the fashion elite were invited to Fashion Week. It used to be called “Seventh on Sixth” since all of the designers’ permanent showrooms were on 7th Ave., but for Fashion Week they put up tents in the park along 6th Ave.

But these days it’s big business. I get my press pack and discover that the schedule is flooded with names I don’t know, the tent is filled with people I don’t know and it’s making me feel panicky. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Maybe this was a mistake.

Then I had brunch with my brilliant friend, Renaldo, and later another old friend, James Murray, drapes a necklace around my neck and everything is OK. This was not just any necklace – it’s coveted by Housewives of New York (New Jersey, wherever) – an instant custom piece. He’d made it for me on the spot as a “welcome home” gift and I wore it almost the entire time. It looked great with my jean jacket.

That jacket – I barely took it off all week. At first it was a security blanket – Ralph Lauren proved you can wear jeans with anything and my fiancé had given the jacket to me. But it became a kind of badge of honor, representing that I didn’t live there anymore. Representing home.

I was worried about fitting in. People would ask, “What are you doing these days?” I’d answer, “I write a lesbian Sex In the City column for the LGBT paper of record in Denver.” Or, “I do energy therapy with stones.” I gave editors stones and told them they’re perfect and beautiful. No one even noticed what I wore, saying only, “Wow you look exactly the same!” Or, “What is this beautiful stone? How did you know I needed this?” That’s because happiness shows on your face and I don’t live here anymore. This is a citrine – the stone of success and trust in yourself. I know, because I was you.

I reconnected with the family of women that had the greatest impact on my life in fashion, and I got to talk to the ultimate wedding gown designing couple, Mark Badgley and James Mischka.

I’m hoping to set up that interview. I was hoping I could interview Badgley and Mischka at a party they were throwing, but they got too pooped out and headed out. I shouted after them, “but I’m the gay one!” so their PR director agreed to get me my own interview later – hooray for gay!

I encountered lesbians who are closeted in fashion for the same reason that they are not out in finance, retail, construction, you name it – high-level personnel who fear they’ll no longer be respected, or worse, wouldn’t be employable in the field if they came out. This continues to be distressing, but meanwhile I’ll champion women like Jenna Lyons, Creative Director of J. Crew – a very hot out lesbian at the highest levels of fashion and I can’t wait to meet her, someday.

The lesson I learned is about authenticity. I used to think people would only see my value if I could show them I was like them; that the best way to acceptance was to stroke egos. This time around, I realized that the reason my editorial friends were thrilled to see me is because I’ve always managed to be me. Even when I dressed like them and vacationed like them, I was still myself. So now that my outside reflects my inside more accurately, I feel better in my skin that my fashion world friends are glad – I take it as a compliment – that I “haven’t changed a bit.”