Wednesday, 8 September 2010

to front row, or not to front row, that is the question...

hands up who of you has a group of friends who have a tendency to fall out, refriend, sleep with each other, not sleep with each other, steal each others' clothes, boyfriends and hearts, all the while air-kissing like they have nary a care in the world.

yes, me too.

so you all know the nightmare of, say, having a party, and knowing that there are going to be myriad tensions constantly bubbling under the surface, waiting to spew forth like lava from an icelandic volcano we can't spell the name of, and that certain people need to be kept apart with a metaphorical barricade that would put the great wall of china to shame (sometimes egos can be seen from space too).

so spare a thought, and a moment of sympathy, for the publicists who are, at this very moment, trying to put together the various fashion week
placements, with undercurrents so complicated they make israel-palestine look like spot goes to the zoo: front row, second row, backrow; editors, buyers, bloggers; mingers, clingers and blingers (thank you ben elton, you utter genius) - it's a tactical nightmare.

eric wilson at the new york times sheds some empathy-inducing light on the subject; have a look (and maybe hate your job a little less) at:

just as a final aside, i'd never noticed before, but i adore the fact that good old w.s doesn't split the infinitive in hamlet's famous soliloquy. all is right in the world.


[jessica aureli]

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