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I am Antoinette Childs, author of The Fancy Friend, your go to millennial source for all things fashion + beauty. If you like what you see, share a post with a friend and follow on social media!

A #NYFW Story

A #NYFW Story

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It’s 4:30 am Wednesday morning and I’m forcing myself out of bed. I mean, my alarm *has* been going off for 30 minutes now. I am not a morning person. Plus, I didn't even get home until 10 last night. With my eyes still closed and my lights still off, I walk to the bathroom and quickly run through my routine. I’m in the shower and my mind starts racing. I think I feel asleep crying - I mean -  talking to my mom. I really need to wash my hair. I don’t think I ate last night. What shows did I work yesterday? What day of fashion week is it? How cold is it outside? I look down and roll my eyes. Aunt Flo! You're not supposed to arrive until Monday!

I put on three pairs of thermals, two pairs of socks, a dress, a fur vest and spray on some Chanel perfume. I look at my phone. I’m going to be late. I throw my make-up and some hand warmers in my bag and grab my ugly down jacket. Even the most fashionable of my friends warned me that I'd need an ugly, yet warm, down jacket to survive my first New York winter. They were right. I can hear the wind on my basement apartment window and there is about three inches of snow still on the bars. I sprint the entire three minutes to the train station, just to find out my train isn’t running.

It’s Friday though!, I say to myself. Why aren’t the trains running?! I open my phone to call an Uber. It’s surge priced. 1.5 times the normal rate. The closest one is 15 minutes away. This would never happen if I lived anywhere else but Harlem! , I think as I walk to the further away express stop.

For a Thursday, the streets are surprisingly empty. I get on the train, probably late for work and zone out for my 100+ block ride. As soon as I get off this train, I’m headed to Starbucks. Venti caramel macchiato.

As I emerge from underground, I check my phone. The wind chill is -8. I walk the two blocks from the station to Starbucks. ‘Closed. Will open at 7am.’ I know it’s Saturday but why isn't Starbucks open yet?! I somehow power through my 10 minute walk to the office without eating and without having coffee. This is the worst Sunday ever.

We get backstage at show venue around 7am. Well - a few minutes after 7. I know this because my boss is upset. “We can’t be late again. We’re leaving 15 minutes earlier than scheduled for every show from now on,” she booms as we filed into the show venue. As soon as I put my coat down, she turns around tells me and another intern to go to the front because there are too many people backstage.

We get to the front and there is nothing going on. The heat’s not even on. One of the front of the house workers is laughing at me in my cute, yet not warm at all dress. I get the other intern to take a few pictures of my outfit and I post my backstage pass to Instagram. The likes and the “OMG you're so lucky!” comments start rolling in. Then I get a text telling me to get backstage “NOW!” Apparently, we were taking too long.

The next few hours are a flurry of editors, models, PR girls and photographers running around every which way. Thirty minutes before show time, I realized I still haven’t eaten. I walk over to an already picked over catering table and grab the only thing left, a raisin bagel. I hate raisins but this tastes amazing. Halfway through my second bite someone yells for me to go find this particular model. *sigh* All these models look the same to me. Tall, thin and gorgeous. Down goes my bagel and off I go to find this girl.

The models are going out on the runway for rehearsal and I’m not allowed in the dressing area. I plead with the security guard to let me in for ‘like a second’. I just need to find this girl. Please. She’s not amused. (However, after a wink and a smile at the casting assistant and he promises me that he will send the model to me when the rehearsal is over.  *wink*)

Back to my bagel I go... Great. Catering has thrown it out and is cleaning up the entire table. Guess this bottle of Smart Water will have to do. I turn my head and see a tall gorgeous woman is staring at me, “Were you looking for me?”

Once all the models are prepped, I head to the front of the house to see the show. Standing room only, but I don’t care. I love this designer. The show is a flurry of 1 percenter goodness. A flood of breathtakingly gorgeous $10,000 gowns I will never own. I gotta post a video of the finale on Instagram. After the show, I see Anna Wintour leaping out of her seat a few rows in front of me. I see Linda Fargo, president of Bergdorf Goodman across the runway, snapping pictures. I step on fashion critic Robin Givhan’s foot in all of the chaos. *sigh* My still have another show today.

Hours later, my Tuesday is over and I’m in an Uber, headed back to the office. This one is surge priced as well. The driver explains, “Because it’s really cold. And a holiday.”

Confused, I grabbed my phone and pulled up my calendar. For the first time all day I realize… Today is Monday.

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