Actually, they were the same runway photographers I see everyday, but now they were acting like red-carpet photographers. Another handler sort of took me by the back of my shoulders and put me in position and gave me a little shove.īefore I knew it I was standing in front of the photographers. “Sure,” I said with the innocence of a lamb going to slaughter. When I arrived at the “carpet,” which was covered by a long red canopy (and surrounded by a mob of rain-drenched spectators,) a publicist from Karla Otto’s firm pulled me past the security and asked if I wanted to go on the carpet. This quite literally happened at Balenciaga, at the elegant Théâtre du Châtelet, which was billed as a screening, with a red carpet. Instead, we’re here as red-carpet celebrities, members of a community, even as adventurers. Photo-Illustration: by The Cut Photos: Courtesy of Balenciagaįor much of Paris Fashion Week, I’ve had the feeling that no one is here for the clothes, that they really and truly are no longer the point.
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