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WWD photographer Steve Eichner sees it all and shares his unique perspective from the front lines of New York Fashion Week — from the runways in the morning to the after parties and after-after parties at night.

Self-Portrait Presentation

10:28 a.m.: It’s a beautiful tableau format. I walk around the installation photographing the looks one by one then count the looks I have shot — 21. But the line sheet says 22 looks. I ask someone. Yes, there are 22 looks. Takes me about 10 minutes to figure out that I missed the model way up top. Note to self: Never shoot a presentation pre-coffee.

Hervé Léger

12:38 p.m.: Scream Queens! Four girls in front of the venue with bloody knives in their backs. “We are promoting a new TV show on Fox. It’s a horror comedy from the creators of ‘Glee’ about a series of murders in a sorority and we are giving away free juice in exchange for a selfie,” one said.  “How long did it take you to memorize that?” I say before doing the selfie with them. I am thirsty, after all…

12:41 p.m.: A few steps away, “Upload a pic and get a free perfume sample.” OK! I’m a sucker for free stuff.

12:43 p.m.: “Tomboy is the new black” is written on the T-shirt of one of the models walking the rehearsal.

12:46 p.m.: “I was hanging with your father and sister last night at the Givenchy after party,” I boast to Chelsea Tyler. “I was there too,” she replies. “Oh yeah,” I say. “I got a shot of all of you! How could I forget those three big, broad smiles?”

Mara Hoffman

2:56 p.m.: “Any celebs expected?” I ask the girl with the clipboard. “No, but section J is where the cool people are,” she claims.


4:49 p.m.: Hanging with my people. I capture a few images of the photographers all waiting in line to take their places on the riser. The glamorous job of runway photography…NOT.

5:08 p.m.: “Who’s that? Who’s that?” another shooter bugs me. “It’s the new “Bond” girl, Stephanie Sigman,” I tell her. Hmmm, now I’ll have to see it.

5:49 p.m.: Honk, beep, honk, beep. A wall of street-style paparazzi bring Canal Street to a standstill.

Alexander Wang

9:22 p.m.: “What the f–k, guys?” Lady Gaga says as photogs swarm her entering the show. She sits front row and lights up, turning her back to us, trying to hide whatever she is smoking.

9:33 p.m.: “Hood by Kanye,” I mutter.

9:37 p.m.: Tyga and Kylie plop down in their seats in front of me. The glare from his grill makes it hard to focus.

9:50 p.m.: The runway show ends and ALEXANDER WANG is projected on a giant screen as the designer does his trademark post-show run. Then a curtain opens and the party begins! The room is filled with dancers on stripper poles and the music starts pumping. My kind of scene.

9:52 p.m.: “Nicki, Nicki! Over here!” But as much as I try, I can’t get Ms. Minaj to look up from her phone, so I just snap.

10:00 p.m.: I follow Lady Gaga to the VIP. She goes in but I can still see her. With one foot up on the sofa, she fumbles for something in her purse. I fire a flash to get her attention. It works! She looks dircetly at my camera. POW! And I get an amazing shot!

11:20 p.m.: Brilliant! Hooters girls passing around boneless buffalo wings. #Ilovelowbrow.

1:11 a.m.: As I’m making my way out, I see a booth selling clothing emblazoned with “Do something.” Fantastic idea! The cynical side of me thinks, “Rampant consumerism,” so I scream, “Exit through the gift shop!” “No, it’s for charity,” a salesperson informs me. “Good on you, Alex Wang, good on you.”

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