It was 12 to 16 ºF degrees some days of the last Fashion Week in New York. Most people in the street walked around clumsily wearing several woolen layers and a mask of pain and disbelief on their faces. Looking at the photos you’d never guess. The colorful jackets of editors, bloggers and designers heading to the shows are open, the snow boots replaced by high heels and bare skin. 19-year-old models looking like nymphs walk above the crowd without showing the slightest sign of discomfort, carrying a magnetic aura that makes it impossible to stop staring at them.
Shopping makes me nervous, I can’t remember the name of a single celebrity and I’m just a spectator, a child who doesn’t completely get what’s going on. What I find fascinating is the performance aspect of fashion, the theater of it, where every part of the organism behind the scenes spins at an exhausting speed, hiding tension and sacrifice, in order to cast the nonchalant, slow-motion spell that penetrates into people’s dreams.http://www.vogue.it/fotografia/photostories/2016/02/23/nyfw-diary-by-gaia-squarci/