Patrick McMullan photographed Oliver Hammond, Fabian Basabe, and Nick Raynes in Frederick’s for the invitation for the presentation of Douglas Hannant’s menswear line, where models lounged around the club at the party itself.
Silly me. I thought two hours was plenty of notice to reserve a car to take myself and a friend to Lincoln Center. It wasn’t raining. It was a Monday. Finally, I told some lady who was just doing her job, “No, thank you, I will not just wait a few minutes more. What is taking so long to make a simple reservation?”
“It is Fashion Week, you know, sir,” she explained.
“Well, if you are all booked up, then just tell me. You can’t keep people waiting on hold forever,” I snapped, although reluctant to take my chances with another company having already invested 20 minutes to book what would eventually amount to a 15-minute ride.
“It’s not that, sir,” she shot back, her voice pinched and quickened in fear. (Poor dear, I can be a real bitch.) “It’s just that during Fashion Week, every booking requires five times as many calls. They cancel and rebook like crazy. They all want to be picked up right on Sixth Avenue in front of the tents, despite the fact that if they walked one block in any direction it would be so much easier. Then when they can’t find their drivers because there are a hundred cars out front they call again, and they’re very upset. Really sir, it is quite difficult, so I’m sorry for the delay…”
Of course I found this deliriously funny, which just made things worse for the young hyperventilating dispatcher. But we got through it.
Anyway, my Fashion Week report is short and sweet, probably because the week isn’t over yet, and because I only went to two events, and only one was worth mentioning.
Douglas Hannant had a presentation for his new menswear line. It was at Frederick’s, the new “private” club on 58th Street that neither I nor anyone I know is a member of, but for some strange reason I’ve been to five times. This was not a “big” fashion event, but it seemed just perfect.
Publicist James La Force (of La Force & Stevens) braved the cold with a knit cap and greeted people, and was on hand to insure that the admittedly lazy greeters handed out gift bags, too, on the way out. Style stager Kevin Krier was also on hand to make sure everything looked right.
The models were lounging around the club, some having a drink, others talking amongst themselves. (Models always talk to other models, I find—perhaps it’s best that way.) If you were a fashion editor or a photographer, you could saunter right up, touch the fabric, see the stitching, or whatever it is that fashion editors claim to do.
People like me, who are just being friendly and acknowledging the invitation, could have a drink and take it all in without getting in the way.
It seemed so much more effective than sitting 10 rows back and trying to make out if the fabric is jacquard (apparently this year it all is, although despite really squinting at the pictures in all the papers I couldn’t really tell, and honestly I doubt neither can the “journalists.” They just see it on the line sheet and then dutifully slob it into their text.
Meanwhile, I read in The New York Post that Anna Wintour put her foot down at the Marc Jacobs show when not one frock had made it down the runway 90 minutes past the call time. And he was always her pet. Oh dear. Love to see the flower bill on that one.
Got to go. Got to go get some of that jacquard.
Posted 02.09.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].
“It is Fashion Week, you know, sir,” she explained.
“Well, if you are all booked up, then just tell me. You can’t keep people waiting on hold forever,” I snapped, although reluctant to take my chances with another company having already invested 20 minutes to book what would eventually amount to a 15-minute ride.
“It’s not that, sir,” she shot back, her voice pinched and quickened in fear. (Poor dear, I can be a real bitch.) “It’s just that during Fashion Week, every booking requires five times as many calls. They cancel and rebook like crazy. They all want to be picked up right on Sixth Avenue in front of the tents, despite the fact that if they walked one block in any direction it would be so much easier. Then when they can’t find their drivers because there are a hundred cars out front they call again, and they’re very upset. Really sir, it is quite difficult, so I’m sorry for the delay…”
Of course I found this deliriously funny, which just made things worse for the young hyperventilating dispatcher. But we got through it.
Anyway, my Fashion Week report is short and sweet, probably because the week isn’t over yet, and because I only went to two events, and only one was worth mentioning.
Douglas Hannant had a presentation for his new menswear line. It was at Frederick’s, the new “private” club on 58th Street that neither I nor anyone I know is a member of, but for some strange reason I’ve been to five times. This was not a “big” fashion event, but it seemed just perfect.
Publicist James La Force (of La Force & Stevens) braved the cold with a knit cap and greeted people, and was on hand to insure that the admittedly lazy greeters handed out gift bags, too, on the way out. Style stager Kevin Krier was also on hand to make sure everything looked right.
The models were lounging around the club, some having a drink, others talking amongst themselves. (Models always talk to other models, I find—perhaps it’s best that way.) If you were a fashion editor or a photographer, you could saunter right up, touch the fabric, see the stitching, or whatever it is that fashion editors claim to do.
People like me, who are just being friendly and acknowledging the invitation, could have a drink and take it all in without getting in the way.
It seemed so much more effective than sitting 10 rows back and trying to make out if the fabric is jacquard (apparently this year it all is, although despite really squinting at the pictures in all the papers I couldn’t really tell, and honestly I doubt neither can the “journalists.” They just see it on the line sheet and then dutifully slob it into their text.
Meanwhile, I read in The New York Post that Anna Wintour put her foot down at the Marc Jacobs show when not one frock had made it down the runway 90 minutes past the call time. And he was always her pet. Oh dear. Love to see the flower bill on that one.
Got to go. Got to go get some of that jacquard.
Posted 02.09.05
Columnist Ted Kruckel is an experienced and opinionated former event and PR pro who ran events for 20 years for high-profile clients like Vanity Fair, Elle Decor, Christian Dior and Carolina Herrera. He shuttered his firm, Ted Inc., in 2003. You can email him at [email protected].
