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.
9:49 a.m.: “May I see?” Hanneli Mustaparta asks to see my shot of her, as she always does. “I need to fluff my hair,” she decides. “Do you have a mirror?” I whip out my iPhone and reverse the screen so she can see herself as she fixes her hair. “Let’s do a selfie while we’re at it,” she says.
9:58 a.m.: “Is that a drone?” I look out the giant windows of Spring Studios. “Yeah, it is!” I run and get a shot. A Peeping Tom drone, scoping out the show. That’s a new one!
10:02 a.m.: Six of the usual front-row gals line up for a photo op. It’s like a chorus line — just kick up your legs!
10:22 a.m.: “I’m just going to pretend you guys aren’t here,” Kate Hudson says, grabbing her run of show and pretending to read it. Allison Williams, sitting next to her, plays along.
11:04 a.m.: Outside after the show, Karlie Kloss is swarmed by street shooters. “Please don’t get hit! Please don’t get hit!” she pleads with them as they shoot from the middle of the street. I make a social media video as they follow her for blocks.
12:43 p.m.: Backstage I observe the hair team painting black wigs with fluorescent acrylic paint then using a blow dryer — as it melts the color comes alive!
12:45 p.m.: “Jeremy Scott, get him while he’s hot, right before the show,” Kelly Cutrone announces.
1:03 p.m.: Still backstage and I hear, “Kanye’s coming.” He arrives and makes a beeline for the men’s room. I’m not following him into there…
1:20 p.m.: This show always brings the loonies: A young girl in a pink nightie sits front row. There’s Cobra Snake across the way. He’s dressed in pajamas. “You guys should meet,” I tell her.
5:22 p.m.: I’m clicking away at Blake Lively. There’s a random-looking guy photo-bombing in the background of my shots. I wave him away.
5:24 p.m.: Someone says, “Let’s get a shot of Harvey [Weinstein] and Blake’s parents.” The photo-bomber gets in — it’s Blake’s Dad! Oops!
Michael Kors Eyewear Party
6:20 p.m.: Victor Demarchelier (Patrick’s son) has a portrait studio set up. Once photographed, the images show up on a giant screen at the back of the store. “Michael loves a giant screen,” I overhear.
6:21 p.m.: “That’s me on the big screen” says Hanneli Mustaparta. “I was supposed to approve that. They owe me a million dollars.”
6:24 p.m.: “Never pass up the free caviar.” Yum!
6:25 p.m.: Another one on my nicest list: Ms. Allison Williams.
6:52 p.m.: Michael and Kate Hudson go in for their portrait. He sees me and others set up to shoot. He calls his pr and they whisper between each other. She turns, waving her hands. I agree and move away respectfully. I mean, if it was my set I would feel the same way.
7:57 p.m.: “Let me get a shot of your shoes for Footwear News,” I ask Natasha Lyonne. “Yeah, I believe you,” she cracks with her extra-on-point brand of sarcasm.
8:33 p.m.: The loudest end-of-show cheer I have heard so far this fashion week.
Miu Miu Screening and Party
9:05 p.m.: “Wait till you see the pool, and the ice rink. Oh, and the tennis courts,” someone says. “What is this place?” “It’s the River Club. It’s very exclusive.”
9:23 p.m.: “Who’s that blonde model over there?” someone asks. I don’t know, but I wish facial recognition was built into my camera. She’s wearing a T-shirt that says, “Never.”
9:55 p.m.: Beautiful photograph of a dress hanging in the spiral staircase.
10:13 p.m.: Dane DeHaan and Anna Wood stretch their arms in the air as they find an uncrowded area of the party.
10:47 p.m.: A group of “It” girls lounge on a bed in the middle of the party holding roses. Spectacular moment!
11:04 p.m.: Henry Kissinger lives upstairs, Uma Thurman, too. “How much does it cost to be a member here?” I ask one of the club’s maids as I’m shooting with Lily Kwong. A guy that looks like a manager answers: “More than you’ll ever have. The poorest member is worth $560 million. We have 37 billionaires as members.”
11:16 p.m.: Pointing to my camera, a random woman asks, “Is your battery dead?” “No. Why?” I reply. “Well, that was the moral of the story in the film,” she continues. “Oh, I only caught a glimpse,” I say. “They fished the dresses out of water and the maids dried them and they put them on models but one dress only a maid could wear, and when the paparazzi tried to photograph the maid in the dress, all their batteries went dead,” she says, laughing. “The best times happen when your batteries are dead.” Amen.