It's Amazing to Love Clothes: NYFW (pt. 2)

Since our last rendezvous, I've worn upwards of 256 outfits, had three different jobs, and really leaned into my newest obsession — online window shopping for heels that are about $3,000 outside of my very slim price range. Most importantly, I’ve fallen back in love with ballet flats.

I ripped my four-year-old orange Black Friday Repetto flats to shreds and decided a few months ago to get a new pair of Jeffrey Campbell slim, pale yellow ones. As a self-proclaimed 5’4 on a good day girl, the barely noticeable height these shoes have given me has changed the attitude with which I walk. Suddenly, when I go to the grocery store looking nothing but un-put-together in baggy denim and a pajama shirt, I get compliments on how “effortless” my outfit looks, rather than people looking at me with sorrowful eyes clearly feeling empathetic for the hard time my outfit says I’m going through. All of this to say is that shoes have become my new obsession. Not that they ever weren’t, but I had a brief moment with fall jackets and chunky necklaces.

The obsession was really invigorated this past winter, where I somehow found myself working NYFW for the second year in a row. Rather than being a brand intern, though, I was playing with the big dogs, so to speak. Call me a personality hire, a pro-networker, or simply a blonde with incredible luck, but I was swiftly on my way to being knee-deep in coffee runs, FedEx shipments, and fittings. I became boss Sofia Karvela’s project for the next few weeks.

I’ve sat down to write about NYFW as much as I’ve gone back and forth wondering if it’s excessive to buy my third pair of boots in the past month — about a million, trillion times. How can you describe the absolute fabulousness of being up close to creatives ruling the trends and scenes of NYC fashion? Let me try.

Flash forward to the last few days of January and I was back on the Metro-North, wearing baggy pleated trousers, my red pointy-toed boots from Spain, a faux-fur coat, and every piece of jewelry I have ever owned draped around my neck. I had packed my four outfits to carry me through the days of fittings that lay ahead of me with no formal dress instructions from my boss. That’s NYFW, baby! At around ten o’clock the night before Fashion Week prep started, I got a text from Sofia’s assistant telling me where to be and when. A casual penthouse filled with racks of clothes, accessories, and shoes that even my dreams couldn’t comprehend.

The first day was filled with nerves. I woke up abruptly at 7:30 AM and decided to play it safe with an all-black outfit. I probably looked like an usher, looking back at it. I wore my quintessential chunky jewelry and black tassel loafers, paired with my Eckhaus Latta scarf and DVF red hobo bag (two diamond finds on The RealReal). After my train ride to Midtown, I got off at 42nd Street and walked confidently into an anonymous penthouse, where I met Sofia’s assistant and the L’AGENCE creative team sitting around a marble table knee-deep in jewelry, shoes, and every style of clothing imaginable draped over an endless sea of garment racks. I was immediately given a tour of the office and shown the vast assortment of drinks, coffees, and snacks readily available to staff and stylists. Before Sofia arrived, I manically organized the five rows of shoes and table of jewelry — I felt like I was living the scene in The Devil Wears Prada right before Meryl Streep arrives and graces us with her presence for the first time, except everyone that morning was incredibly kind to me, and Sofia is nothing like the cruel EIC of Runway. So sue me, I created the ambiance to get into character as a lowly stylist assistant!

Thirty minutes and two shots of espresso later, I officially met the Sofia Karvela, who showed up with a baseball cap and a Celine bag, ready to start the fitting. After we ordered our sushi lunches, I watched as Sofia organized, remade, and restyled masterful looks on one model. As she called the fashion director for final approval, Sofia’s assistant and I scrambled to keep jewelry organized, help dress and undress the model, and steam the clothing. I took many trips to nearby Intimissimis to find the perfect nude underwear, tights, and bras for sheer looks, and tiptoed around the Diamond District in hopes of resizing jewelry. Even in the middle of the fast-paced life of Midtown, New York felt smaller than ever and began to morph into my playground. The Times Square train station became my hourly stomping ground, and going all the way down and up Manhattan turned into my internship rite of passage.

The next day was another fitting day in the L’AGENCE penthouse, where I organized and assisted with the look books, gloves, and all things steaming. I even got the chance to help dress the male models who were hired to be faux-train conductors for the upcoming presentation. Who knew Midtown could look so chic and muscular? I felt more comfortable adding color into my look of the day that morning, matching the energy of both the brand and Sofia herself. I wore a simple white tee and a straight-leg pair of vintage denim with brown loafers and a red cardigan draped diagonally across my body. The day raced by — as to be expected — and come time to say goodbye, I couldn’t help but feel sad about returning to Connecticut and my collegiate life, leaving behind a world that I had grown to adore. Although the days were tiring, I left feeling more alive than can be described. Rather than sitting behind a computer all day, I was running around the city with bags spilling off of my arms and talking to fashion’s most notable creatives. I poured my heart into steaming Eberjey PJs in a way I didn’t think possible. So I decided academia could wait and promised to show up for the shows and fittings the following week. Apologies, professors.

After one hefty speeding ticket and a brief 24 hours back in Connecticut, I was swiftly pulled back into my toxic relationship with NYC. I had goosebumps driving in seeing the cliché city skyline and was simultaneously sick to my stomach thinking about the 5:30 AM alarm I had set for the next day for the L’AGENCE show. My only instruction was to wear all black, which I happily paired with a geometric patterned trench and my trusty DVF bag, along with my red boots. I made my way to Grand Central in a blizzard and got escorted into the chaos with a backstage pass and a wristband.

The best part about fashion shows is the food. I don’t mean to downplay the fabulousness of the clothes, but when you’re hungry and are told to go wild standing next to the most elaborate assortment of coffees, juices, and freshly made breakfast spreads, quite literally nothing is better. After breakfast, I went into the dressing section and started to organize all accessories and make sure the looks printed and attached to each hanger were accurate and complete. Once done doing that, the sea of dressing interns flocked in (in all black) and found their assigned models and clothes to dress them in. I was swiftly sent out to pick up the four-shot, three stevia, almond milk, extra hot latte for Sofia’s arrival at 8:30.

Addicted to her.

A pang jolted through me as I saw the eager interns’ excitement and nerves bubble. A year ago, I was exactly in their shoes, patiently waiting for instruction and staying as anonymous and out-of-the-way as possible. Now, the head stylist was calling my name and asking me to hold back hair and tighten belts, ultimately inviting me to watch the presentation along with the rest of the L’AGENCE creative team in none other than Grand Central Station. Rather than being a lowly fashion intern, I was Lila, and I had somehow managed to work closely with Sofia Karvela during NYFW. All I could think was: I'm probably being pranked, right?

Eight hours after my initial arrival and two full rounds of hair and makeup, three distinct photoshoots, dressing, undressing, and redressing models, and a world-class seared tuna and steak lunch, the presentation started. I grabbed my 35mm film camera and headed to the Main Hall in Grand Central to watch the presentation, walking by the likes of Melissa Wood Health, Katie Holmes, Brooke Snader, Flaviana Matata, and the parents of TikTok’s favorite twins, Luca and Rue. I photographed my favorite looks, the standouts being the pearl-beaded dress and the tapestry coat, and took in the hard work of Sofia and her styling team — no detail was left unaccounted for, and it showed. The models winked at me as I passed them with my glass of white wine in one hand, camera in the other.

The two-hour presentation flew by, and in the blink of an eye I was undressing models and packing up jewelry to be shipped back to the penthouse. With five fresh blisters and finding myself yet again in Midtown amongst traffic and city slush, I still felt the happiest I had felt in a work setting in, well, forever. My subway ride back uptown on the 4/5/6 train felt just as alluring as the train rides I used to take in Madrid and London after a day of city exploring and museum-hopping. I was exhausted but addicted to the adrenaline racing through my body from the long day.

Rather than going back to CT, I stayed even longer and assisted Sofia with the Alice + Olivia show during the next few days. Just as fabulous, but maybe fewer snacks. I met incredible stylists, seamstresses, creative directors, and watched as stars and influencers alike looked at the intricacies of each look on display amorously. I brought my camera again and, rather than exclusively being asked to help with styling, I was also asked to take BTS photographs of the one and only Karvela. Once the presentation ended and the cleanup was done, it was time for me to morph back into a liberal arts senior, leaving behind another season of NYFW.

My life went back to normal, but my style and attitude changed forever. I started craving tailored blazers over Carhartt jackets, and skinny jeans tucked into boots, rather than the largest size pair of jeans that could sit on my waist. Of course, I didn’t lose my fundamental Lila style — I would just say that my appreciation for different modes of dressing drastically grew.

Aside from requests to help dress for SNL or even the Met, opportunities that would sacrifice me failing certain courses yet nonetheless broke my heart to turn down, time passed and rather than packing diamonds into bags I packed notebooks into backpacks.

So now what? Like any sane person, I took a month to recalibrate to New England and then decided that I wanted to work on a ranch in Montana. Call it a quarter-life crisis, but needless to say, my résumé filled with Fashion Week and corporate jobs at Calvin Klein and Milk Makeup did not suffice. I did, however, become obsessed with the idea of wearing Frye boots on a horse in Montana. I don’t think me and my massive suitcase full of Paloma Wool second hand skirts would have fit in, though. I’m not going to totally spoil the next chapter of my life for my dear readers, but I will say that my little stint in the glamorous world is far from over. Who knows? I might even be bicoastal…….