I Went To Paris Fashion Week And All I Got Was Stunted On

Image via Complex Original

We Out Here

My girlfriend and I arrived at our AirBNB after a long ass flight. The Air France strike meant that our initial flight got cancelled, so we scrambled to rebook because she has a legitimate reason to be here (she works in fashion PR). I'm merely the +1 that slid in the club with her.

I will say that Parisian housing is bananas. The doors are huge and pretty unlike the worn-down, boring glass double doors that lead to the place we call home. Our spot is located in the Marais, which I guess is one of the cool neighborhoods of Paris? The last time I was here I didn't work in the industry at all.

We share the space with her friend, womenswear designer Suzanne Rae (Google her), who actually makes stuff that dudes can pull off, like this white viscose long bomber jacket. We have just enough time to put our stuff down and have to make ourselves scarce because she has an appointment with buyers and we don't want to intrude aka completely fuck her money up.

Rick Rolled

When I had the opportunity to see the Rick Owens show, you bet your ass I chomped at the bit. The Paris Metro is forgiving to tourists, although what really sucks is the fact that American banks don't have that chip technology in their cards, which makes life hard because you need coins to buy tickets, or try your luck speaking struggle French to an attendant.

Outside the show was a super eclectic mix of people, like the dudes in this photo. I call them (from left to right): Trill Cyclops, If Neo from The Matrix Was in Oasis, Guy at Odd Future Show and Japanese Tourist.

Trill Cunningham

Getting inside the show was a blur. There was a human sea flooding the door and I didn’t think I would make it in, but the fashion gods took pity on me and blessed me with a standing spot. Because LMAO do you really think I'd get a seat? Once I made it down to the show floor, I said meek hellos to some of the legit fashion editor types I knew from NY. I almost expected one of them to be all like, "He doesn't even go here!" But that didn't happen, thankfully. Bill Cunningham was also there, already doing his thing.

Honestly, Bill Cunningham is never not working. Every time I've seen him, he's been taking photos. He gives off the vibe that he is the sweetest man on the planet. Before Rick starts, he's walking down the rows taking photos of attendees in Rick dunks, Rick x Adidas and various other types of steez.

Kanye Sighting Of The Week

This is what happens when Kanye West walks into a show: You'll know exactly where he's sitting because you see the flashbulbs popping off and the photographers crowding around taking literal money shots because people will pay to use these photos, especially people like Jake Woolf.

And when you try to take your own struggle photos, you can't front like you're checking your e-mail or sending a text because Kanye sitting at a fashion show turns every other person in attendance into a complete fucking turbo stan. I even saw someone snapping a photo with a flip phone. A. FUCKING. FLIP. PHONE. Guys, the Yeezus thirst is real. I tried to take a good one for myself, but got too intimidated and just let the burst feature on my iPhone do its thing, which, as you can see, was not much.

Going Full-On Turbo Fanboy

This is as close as I've ever been to a big time fashion designer. If I were at Dior and this were Raf, I may have fainted. Though I don't particularly ascribe to Rick Owens' brutalist aesthetic, I appreciate his work and vision. He's probably one of the first designers I got super into (thank you, StyleZeitgeist and SuFu) from a conceptual perspective.

Learning how to love Rick for being Rick was like learning how to see fashion from beyond the POV of "wearability." Instead of fucking with the clothes themselves, I began to see them as a platform for commentary. The only difference is that in womenswear, people who matter are actually listening.

No Flex Zone

This is what it looks like when you leave a highly-anticipated women's fashion show, I guess. I've only witnessed this on the Internet, thanks to Style.com's drones and images of street style photographers running after the likes of Aimee Song and Chiara Ferragni, bloggers who probably make more money than I will ever see in my entire lifetime.

It's very different from leaving a menswear show and seeing guys like Liam Goslett, George Elder, Chris Fenimore and Tommy Ton taking their time to shoot. When one fashion editor/blogger type person breaks from the pack, there's a whole group of photogs that give chase, clicking away. This shit is really like paparazzi.

Ball So Hard

The next day I head to Pigalle to check out their 3-on-3 tournament and new store, which carries the brand's new basketball-themed collection. There was one in New York too, but it was an entirely different affair. For that, Nike brought out the big guns, with free food, bleachers and an open bar. A$AP Mob had a team, the dudes from Kinfolk (the bar, not the twee magazine) had a team, Complex even had a team. We lost though pretty fucking bad though.

The Paris tournament felt more close-knit: less corporate, more community. Instead of a big court and bleachers, an empty lot has been transformed into a half-court (it actually feels more exciting this way). Pigalle designer/founder Stephane Ashpool came through on a bicycle and you can kind of tell he sort of runs shit here. There are certified Cool Teens™ playing ball and having a blast. This was the loudest I heard rap music being played during my entire stay.

Shawl So Hard

Across the street is Pigalle's new store for the PPP collection. I go in because I'm probably going to cop something as a souvenir. There are all manner of hoodies, sweatshirts, snapbacks and tees adorned with the logos of Pigalle Basketball, as well as the Pigalle Air Raids, which they've set up a raffle. There are also some retros in stock, but the real cool stuff is part of the proper collection.

There are tweed suits, a checked shawl and an overcoat made of white mesh. On the other rack, colorblocked suede varsities and basketball shorts made of the same material steal the show. The best part is that, as I'm examining one of the sweatshirts, a French woman in a motorcycle jacket and dress takes it from me and says if I need a size she'll take care of it.

Low and behold. I find out it's Stephane Ashpool's mom and everything about her oozes with Eau de Certified G. She's literally here helping customers along with the shop guys, answering questions, talking about the collection and, in general, being a fucking boss ass bitch. I overhear her telling someone that what he thinks is a long T-shirt is actually a dress. She knows that because, of course, she designed it. As she puts my sweatshirt in the bag she even throws some stickers in there and tells me that I should wash it inside out in cold water. I leave dumbfounded and amazed.

It's Noten To Stunt

One of the touristy things my girl and I wanted to do while we were in town was see the Dries Van Noten exhibit at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs. Believe me when I say that this photo doesn't even begin to do it justice. The lighting is just enough to make out the details on the clothes in person, but dim enough that your hope of sneaking any fire 'grams is slim to none. The exhibit runs from Dries' early inspirations to his modern collections.

Coffe And Clothes

One of the cooler shops I got to check out was The Broken Arm. It's another one of those stores that has its own café, but it's the newest one and I guess that makes it important? One thing I'll say is that I missed good old American cold brew. Here, cold brew coffee is pretty much an iced Americano, which is NOT THE SAME.

But back to the store. There's a Y-3 installation in the window and they also carry Raf Simons x Sterling Ruby, Our Legacy, Marni and Christophe Lemaire. Can we talk about how fucking bananas Christophe Lemaire's gear is? I also peeped his standalone store and tried shit on and could have crumbled into the fetal position because it was so perfect. In my time on this planet, I've found there are two primary motivators for copping luxury items: 1. "This is so weird, I have to have it," and 2. "This is so perfect, I need it.”

Paris We Go Hard

David Obadia's new line, Harmony, is the embodiment of the types of clothes that are so perfectly executed you want to wear them for the rest of your life. We talked a bit for something else I'm working on and also what it's like to be a menswear designer (see: Brooklyn We Go Hard) who's now transitioning into womenswear. Dude is, like, 25 and a self-professed homebody. It me because my bedtime is 10:30.

His women's collection, similar to Virgil's, is a new way to express himself creatively. When you're not really constrained by questions like, "Would I wear this?" you can push yourself to express emotions and ideas in different ways via clothing. His taste barometer for Harmony's womenswear is his fiancé, whose family owns Sandro and Maje, so it's safe to say she knows what she's talking about too.

Get The GAT

One of the last things I wanted to do before leaving Paris was hit up a vintage store. Episode is a European chain that's sort of like Beacon's Closet back home. The last one I went to was in Amsterdam and I totally regretted not buying a pair of vintage German Army Trainers, which, at 25 Euros, are considerably cheaper than a pair of Margielas and arguably as durable. So, when I saw this rack of them, I grabbed a pair in my size and never let them go until they were good and paid for.

Parting Thoughts

So ended my first experience in the big leagues of fashion.main thing I took away from it all is that things that affect the womenswear industry will undoubtedly affect menswear. If this is the platform where ideas about what clothing are born, menswear is where they are made more palatable.

Thinking about Fashion proper is more than just talking about clothes on the Internet. It's more than the instantaneous judgment of whether something is "fye" or "butt." It's not about whether we can see ourselves in the clothes, but discerning what the clothes say about ourselves.