How to Go to Fashion Week on the Internet

Be a sort-of-rich 20 year-old Manhattan girl who can’t really take care of herself. Live in Nolita; be from uptown. Maybe have a famous last name, or maybe just always be working on a fake accessories company. Avoid texts from a New York Observer writer who says he wants to profile you.

Do most of your Alexander Wang shopping with your mom’s credit card when she’s conked out on painkillers from plastic surgery. Go out every night. Have your picture on Guestofaguest.com at least once a week, change your Facebook profile with even more frequency.

Do a lot of blow with a young fashion designer at The Standard in December. When you decide to migrate to the Jane, he’ll insist on carrying you through the snow, refusing to let your feet touch the ground.

Get invited to his fashion show in February. Have no ideal he’s kind of a big deal. Sit front row. Wear a skort you stole from your friend’s older sister’s closet that morning. Get your photo snapped front row, and make friends with street style photographers outside the building.

Afterwards, spend the afternoon walking around and popping into bodegas, holding up kombuchas or cartons of chocolate Almond Breeze. Say, “I’m just going to take this,” and exit. Nobody makes you pay. Come home to look at your stock of beverages on your bed. Feel not sure how life is supposed to work.

Find out your pictures get picked up on blogs everywhere. Someone makes a “Fuck Yeah” tumblr about you. Be flattered but also overwhelmingly self-conscious. Get contacted for to model in lookbooks and DJ parties, but after fashion week you stick with your plan to study abroad in Australia. Be almost certain you will never come back.

Or…