Last night my husband and I went to the annual MODA fashion show put on the by the university's... fashion department... textiles people... businesses? I'm still really not sure. The point is that the two of us trudged in to the strange world of name brands, high-cut pencil skirts, and men in very tailored pants (Is it still tailored if I can see their ass crack through the back? Or are they just pants that don't fit? These are questions that cement the fact that I will never understand fashion.).
Other photographers seemed to be gathering around the end of the runway, so I shuffled up there with my cute little Pentax (with a zoom lens!). I can't name most of the other equipment that everyone had, but I noticed that not only were there a variety of flash modifications, but that everyone seemed to be checking to see how large each other's lenses were. Then it hit me. I had stumbled into a contest of my-camera-penis-is-bigger-than-yours, and I was the print model in a sea of porn stars. I was ready to bolt back to my seat in shame, until I made eye contact with another woman holding a small Cannon. Whatever moment we had, it was welcomed on both sides because each of us made a firm adjusting of the legs to claim our territories in prime photography zones.
And I learned a valuable lesson here: A good place to be at fashion shows is right smack dab behind the camera designated for use by the group putting on the show. Because no one is allowed to sit in front of it, and will be asked to move otherwise. It was like getting my own private force field! And while I used up most of my memory card and wore out my wrist snapping away, the husband helped by taking notes.
These were our top 5:
Not as cool, but still cool:
And the bottom 5 (one of them literally so):
|Up, up, and away! To the year 3014, when we will all where superheroes will all be equipped with onseies!|
|Okay, no hiker looks like that. (The backpack he's holding caused a debate: hiker or kid on his first day of school?)|
Where is this meant to be WORN!?
And coming in as honorable mentions in the categories of:
1). Yes. Yes. I don't care what you're wearing. You've got muscles, look awesome and I want to be you.
2). I'm looking at a walking corpse. I'm almost positive. Um...should I remove the head, or destroy the brain?
3). Again with the walking undead! Get some Midwestern moms in here stat to make them eat something!
4). Best paparazzi face scrunch of the night.