For the first installment of her Milan Fashion Week diary, our senior editor Taylore Scarabelli documents the good, the bad, and the gaudy.
———
3:00AM
Maybe it’s the full moon, or the jet lag, or just general fashion week anxiety, but I’m wide awake. I doom scroll for a bit and then check my schedule. Prada has denied my ticket request. I wonder if it was bad juju to wear the 2007 Prada skirt and jacket set I’d been saving for the occasion to the Burberry show last Sunday. I take a melatonin and fall back asleep.
10:35AM
I’m late to meet my boss for the Boss show. We drive across town and enter a courtyard adorned with foliage, a mirrored runway, and lots of handsome men. They’re passing out cocktails which seems crazy but then I remember that half of the people attending are micro-celebrities. Mel introduces me to Michel Gaubert and Ryan Aguilar and pries them for Chanel gossip but they’re withholding. We all agree that [REDACTED] would be a terrible fit.
1:05PM
Lyas and I finish our napoletana pizza and walk over to the Moschino showroom. The staff are big fans of his but Lyas has fans everywhere we go. I wonder if this is how my mom felt when we went to Italy and all of the men were catcalling me instead of her. I was only 13. I help Lyas decide on shoes to wear with his outfit for tomorrow’s show and he talks the PR into loaning me a pizza purse that looks just like our lunch. I love Italy.
2:55PM
It’s impossible to get an Uber outside of the Jil Sander show but an editor at DUST offers us a ride in their shuttle. The fashion bus is cozy, and even though I don’t know the people next to me it feels like we’re all colleagues. Lyas spends the ride editing a video of Marina Abramovic saying she doesn’t go to fashion shows if the clothes are bad. “So simple,” she says. If only we were all so lucky.
7:15PM
The VIPs at the Roberto Cavalli show are dressed exactly how rich people should be. I take a video of a woman wearing a catsuit and a gold chainmail mask. Heaven. The show finishes with a projection of Cavalli’s face—a tribute to the late designer, and the notorious billionaire James Goldstein stands up, blocking my view. I wonder if this is a sign of respect or if he’s looking for accolades, too.
11:15PM
I get back to my hotel and call my husband before opening up my laptop. I’m feeling emo for no good reason, but it’s common for fashion people to have unprovoked meltdowns once or twice per season. In fact, I’ve listened to some of the successful people I know cry over PR snubs. At fashion week, everyone’s famous but there’s always someone more important than you. I take a long hot shower, pour a cup of tea, and pop a melatonin. I think I’ll sleep better tonight.
