“Does Printemps Accept Klarna?”: A New York Fashion Week Diary

 

Our senior editor Taylore Scarabelli documents the good, the bad, and the cutie patootie at New York Fashion Week.

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THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 11th, 2025 6:12PM

I’m kicking off NYFW with Colina Strada’s SS26 show at the Downtown Skyport. There are a couple of dresses I would wear (Colina Strada is extremely Cutie Patootie), but the main gags are the hair hats and shadow people (trailing behind every brightly-dressed model is another one wearing the same look in black). It’s all very “I hope you’re holding up okay during these dark times.” 

6:42PM

A battalion of jet skiers swarm the pier (not a brand activation); their ringleader is a man wearing an American flag around his neck. The vibe is kind of aggro for 9/11 but the helipad we’re on is government domain. “This is where they dropped off Luigi,” my seat mate, i-D editor in chief Thom Bettridge, tells me. Did someone say iconic?

7:12PM

I’m Citi Biking to Dimes Square so I can catch the most outrageous event of the season, the presentation of LoveShackFancy’s Prairie-themed Spring ’26 collection. There’s a line outside of 9 Orchard but it’s made up of beautifully botoxed women in cupcake dresses, so I don’t mind waiting. I snag a copy of The Daily Front Row. Print is still alive.

7:27PM

There’s lace and flowers everywhere and a bunch of skinny smiley teenagers are swaying to country songs as if they’re part of a Taylor Swift-curated fashion army. I haven’t felt this overwhelmed since I visited my first Victoria’s Secret store in 2006. They even have male models! This is fashion with a capital F a la Christian Siriano, and by that I mean it’s legible, at least to the little girls I saw freaking out over bracelets at the candy-scented Sag Harbor store last month. The brand’s founder Rebecca Hessel Cohen is really good at selling a cracked-out concept of femininity to white women with summer homes in the Hamptons because she is one. Put that trust fund to use, honey!  

10:45PM

I swore I wouldn’t go out but a friend I’m having dinner with is desperate to check out the L.A. Apparel party at Soho Grand hotel. We arrive with a promise to leave within 20 minutes. We last 15. “Not enough lame,” he complains. I watch a rumored creep in his 40s slide up to the bar. Two girls who look about 17 stroll past me. Suddenly it’s 2008 all over again. Steve Aoki, bad molly, and my fucked up younger self dressed in a slutty American Apparel look that doesn’t fit properly. I hope the kids are alright. 

11:15PM

I forgot my fucking phone and there’s swarm of 50 kids who look too young to be clubbing crowding the entrance. Thank god the bouncer remembers me. It’s only been 10 minutes since we left but the party is suddenly popping. I grab my phone from the booth and snap a pic of two girls with hair higher than Sabrina Carpenter’s. “Now THIS is the kind of look I was hoping to see,” I text my coworker. “Isn’t that the Remy Bond girl?” she replies. 

FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 12, 2025 9:02AM

I cancel my ticket to the Area show because I have shit to do. We’re closing the fall issue at Interview. 

3:15PM

I walk two blocks from my house to the Alexis Bittar presentation. I’m wearing purple Gil Rodriguez capri leggings and an American Apparel wrap sweater I bought on Posh. Maybe I’m the problem? I slouch in the cool theater and narrow my eyes to catch a glimpse of Vivian Jenna Wilson. The show is a pseudo-pageant with a nod to the late David Lynch but I wish there were more theatrics. 

4:11PM

I run into my favorite old-school New Yorker Eric Johnson outside of the Off-White show. As we make our way to the rooftop gymnasium, students cheer us on as if we are famous. I try not to smile and wonder why. Fashion doesn’t need to be so serious. On the roof, I spy fictional celebrity Ellie the Elephant rocking an Off-White bag—on the runway, a silk hoodie printed with a colorful rendition of the Manhattan skyline. Big “I Heart NY” energy. 

5:02PM

Back to my home office (sofa) to edit the mag until it’s time for the Alexander Wang show.

9:22PM

I gave myself too much time to get ready so now I’m running late. I hop on a Citi Bike and blast towards the Bowery. I’m wearing a turquoise leather jacket and Mel jeans and a bullet bra and even though I’m sweaty I absolutely cannot remove my jacket. To make matters worse, Martha Stewart is here and I’m extremely intimidated. I ask if I can take her photo and she responds nonchalantly in her signature baritone. I snap the most awkward picture ever (my fault, not hers) and send it to my mom and brother. 

10:17PM

Cardi B and her seven-year-old daughter Kulture arrive in matching faux fur outfits. I’m supposed to get a video of them after the show. Logistically, I know this is never going to happen, but I can’t get up now. There’s a swarm of standing ticket holders waiting to pounce on what was once a front row seat. Only now, people are sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of me. I’m trapped. 

10:28PM

Wang is big business in China and doesn’t need the NYFW hype to secure his bag but that didn’t stop him from buying a defunct bank on the Bowery to help cement his status in the city. The space is beautiful (only $9.5 million!) but the after party music is too loud. I exit the building behind Cardi and her daughter, who is extremely unfazed by the flashing cameras and epic crowd. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. 

11:20PM

My friends and I bop around to a couple parties. Our Legacy brought someone from the Wu-Tang Clan to Time Again and LỰU ĐẠN brought my friend Crush to spin at Wu’s Wonton King. Wu’s has a major line but we finesse our way past it. Inside, partygoers are playing dice under red lights and lining up (again!) for vodka Red Bulls. We debate hitting the Raga Malak party but I’ve got eight people with me and I’m too tired to risk rejection. We head to Parkside for a nightcap instead. 

12:00AM

My friend Evie and I are smoking outside when a girl with money stuffed in her latex bra introduces herself. Would we like to check out her dolls-only strip show in the back room? Absolutely. If only all of the other fashion week rejects knew about Tai’s party. It’s the best show I’ve seen all day. 

SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 13, 2025 2:10PM

I rock up to the Chelsea Hotel in an iridescent Anna Sui skirt and a lace shirt that makes my breasts look pointy. I almost feel insecure but then remember it’s all about how you wear your clothes. Next season, I’d like to try on the awkward purple plaid babydoll top and blue jeans breezing past me. Extremely cutie patootie. After the show, I grab the gorgeous new The Nineties x Anna Sui Rizzoli book the brand gifted us and Dara and I make a beeline for the subway. Next stop: Printemps, the outrageously appointed department store.

 3:04PM

We’re here for a very exclusive Willy Chavarria womenswear show in what model agent Dean Rogers calls “the shoe forest” section of the building. I catch up with Brenda Hashtag, who tells me she’s modeling for Audi and scolds me for not writing on my Substack more often. I ask if she’ll be my blog boss. Imagine how much more successful I’d be if I had a domineering German woman as my manager.

3:37PM

There’s a small catalogue of illustrations and a pencil to mark the pieces one would like to pre-order. I’m trying to figure out which guests are the VICs (Very Important Clients) here to shop but as soon as the show starts I realize we’re all the same. Is there any way I can afford this butter yellow leather dress? Does Printemps accept Klarna?

4:14PM

A quick Subway ride to the Eckhaus Latta show in Tribeca. It’s at the least ventilated loft in the city and when I walk in it STINKS. On the chairs, fans to cool off, or to circulate the scent of sweat? A bottle of water would have been nice. On the runway, bags in new shapes and colorways. Sexy dresses. Natasha Stagg wearing white. In the front row, several babies (with tickets) and mothers who are wondering why they let a model light up a joint on the runway. 

5:17PM

I run into Liana Satenstein and her sleeping baby for a second time outside of the Substack x Tory Burch x Derek Blasberg cocktail hour at Raf’s (yes, it’s really that convoluted). I’m here to network but I’m immediately intimidated by all the tall women and realize it’s easier to shadow Liana and her child. “What a great way to manage small talk,” I tell her as some blondes gather around. As it turns out, I was the baby all along.

6:02PM

I meet my husband for food and we make our way over to Quentin Belt’s book launch at Time Again. I flip through the pages ferociously, searching for my photo. Have the fashion week paparazzi’s gone to my head? Absolutely. Near the back of the book, a group shot of me, my husband, and three of our friends. My body looks awkward, like maybe I have a hernia? I might get one if I go to another event, which I do, but that’s none of your business.