I Think I Hate Fashion WeekSo, Fashion Week is on. And last night I went to my first Fashion Week party. And it was kind of the worst experience ever. I should say that I was not, as it happens, attending this function in a journalistic capacity: rather, because my boyfriend is friends with "the band" who was playing the event (which was sponsored by a car and had something to do with designers) we were on their list, which all sounded very awesome on paper. This being my first Fashion Week party, I planned my outfit with care. Attired in a silver sheath sweater dress, white patent pumps, an asymmetrical coiffure and, the piece de resistance, an extremely frumpy gold glasses chain (to show I was fashionable, you see), I felt ready to take on New York.The party was somewhere on the far West Side, a part of town known for clubs and velvet ropes. When we got there, it became clear that the allegedly "exclusive" event was, in fact, apparently open to everyone in the city plus tourists from a few dozen countries, all milling around and shouting about being on various lists while officious PAs and menacing bouncers screamed conflicting directions. Someone told us there were "fire code issues" and no one else could get in. Someone else said there was only one line and to get into it. Someone who was also "with the band" told us to stand on the sidewalk where a PA screamed at me to move. We ran into the bassist's girlfriend, who was carrying a pair of pants and looking befuddled. Someone took the pants from her and promised to deliver them backstage, but she couldn't come in. Some manager from the band tried to get us behind some other, apparently better rope but someone cut me off before they closed the rope and I was left standing on the sidewalk, where a very large bouncer shoved me very hard and I flew several feer and crashed into a group of blondes teetering in high heels. Someone talked to someone and I was let behind the rope with a few hundred people, including some bloggers, an elaborately-dressed group of Japanese fashionistas and a minor character from Gossip Girl. We stood behind the rope in our pen for an hour. Intermittently the bouncer let models or rich people in and laughed and flirted with them, then told us behind the rope that they were at capacity and they didn't care if we were on the band's list. When they finally decided to let people in, the band's set was over. So we left and got Thai food. A bag lady complimented my glasses chain.