It’s New York Fashion Week. The fashionable people turn out in force, to see and be seen, and to be photographed. They all look good. … No. They all look amazing, smashing, stunning! Fashion Week is the time for them to don their best looks and get some great photos.
The Zimmerman show on the first day was at some obscure gallery in Chelsea, not one of the primary venues. Around noon a long line of fashionistas had queued, but not many photographers showed up. No Scott Schuman, no Bill Cunningham. I was the only game in town. But I didn’t know anything or anyone. Maybe, if Beyonce had been there, I would have recognized her.
Nonetheless the shoe was on the other foot. These gals wanted to be photographed, and now I could pick and choose. Feeling quite chuffed, I strode up and down the line, eyeing them all. They put on a good show of nonchalance: studying their shoes, their phones, or distant specks in the sky. When I spotted someone who, in my ignorance, seemed to be a worthy subject, I’d deign to take her photo.
A striking, stylishly attired Asian girl stood toward the back of the line. I rattled off my usual spiel, “Excuse me, miss, mind if I get your photo? I’m a street photographer.” The young woman dutifully stepped out of line and posed for several shots. “Look this way. … Now stand over there, please. … etc.” Following my routine, I pressed my card into her hand, “Thanks very much, you can email me if you’d like the pictures.” I went on my way, thinking I had just made some unknown fashionista’s day.
Oh my. … It was Aimee Song.
And I blithely gave the same treatment to her sister Dani, Margaret Zhang, Carrie C., NotJessFashion, and Zanita Whittington.