San Francisco Fashion Week Was A Flop
Last week in San Francisco I bumbled through the confusing process of “Fashion Week”. After attending ambiguously promoted events, then subsequently becoming appalled after stumbling upon the third, (you’ll see) I accepted the fact that perhaps San Francisco isn’t a “fashion town” anymore.
Some background: in 2004 when I was attending FiDM I worked the first “Fashion Week” SF ever had. Flash forward to 2022, (and post long/boring/sweatpants pandemic) it was so nice to be officially back on the fashion scene as a writer.
“How exciting!” I thought, contemplating the outfits I’d wear and who I might bump into.
Well…
First – I thought it very strange that the events seemed spread out over two consecutive weekends, and that’s because it ended up being two totally separate companies throwing two different events. It was very ambiguous deciphering that “San Francisco Community Fashion Week” and “San Francisco Fashion Festival” weren’t being thrown by the same organizers. In fact, it was difficult to notice they had different names at all.
Let me just put it to you this way: I’m a fashion and style writer who goes out to events roughly half the week, and if I couldn’t figure it out then most people couldn’t figure it out. My friend group also thought it was all being thrown by the same organizers, and after doing some very confused Googling around, I came to find out that there is still yet *another*, “official” San Francisco Fashion Week coming up.
After one look at their homepage, however, I was ready to slam my laptop shut.
“NEO FASHISM” – it read. I cringed.
Needless to say, when I pondered how many layers of approval that tagline needed I cared not to attend; especially as a visibly queer woman of color – journalist or not.
As for the rest, let’s just say… things were off from the very beginning. I trekked to the Embarcadero for the kickoff party to San Francisco Community Fashion Week located on a block near the water that smelled heavily of sewage, then it took fifteen minutes just to get buzzed in.
Due to a complicated registration process I waited in line while the patrons to my rear literally tried to shove their way in front of me. After a scolding from reception, it was mere moments before an iPhone grazed my earlobe and the woman behind me shoved her QR code into the face of the irritated staff yet again. Classy.
Thus began a very odd evening at a party filled with mostly folks in the 50-60 year age bracket, (with questionable manners) a postage stamp of “step and repeat” photo area about 3’ wide, a “refreshment table” offering… Fig Newtons? – still stuck together in a brick, and not a lot of personal space.
The party would have at least been better if there was a DJ/dance floor, of which there was plenty of room for, and although the bartenders were excellent and the cocktails were delicious, the open kitchen near the back bar reminded me of a bowling alley snack bar – and was dirty like one too. After scoping out the shape of the bathrooms, I was beyond surprised the venue was a private club.
After nearly a decade as a model, I know a Craigslist photographer when I see one. You can tell by the roaming crew all working independently of each other, no cohesive uniform or plan, and flirting with the women – in fact one “interviewer” followed my friend around all night, microphone (not plugged into anything) in hand, not getting the hint. It was…very strange. For the price of tickets, I opted to not attend the runway show the next day or Sunday vendor market – I had seen enough.
My 5:30PM arrival the following Saturday at the SF Fashion Festival was for their 5PM “tasting”, vendor pop up, dance performance, and runway show. After driving all the way out to Fort Mason, I was surprised to find out that the “tasting” was for Liquid Death – the canned water company, and otherwise a cash bar for the rest of the evening.
Not wanting to get tipsy before I shot the show anyways, I sat in my seat for an hour and a half before anything got started. The pop up consisted of only two vendors and the seating was not assigned so I had to hover near my chair all night. It was a very similar older, bridge and tunnel crowd to the one I saw the previous weekend, but this crowd had more labels on – woah boy, do I never want to see another designer logo belt again.
The same Craigslist- type photographers were also there, who didn’t seem to have an eye for who was wearing really good outfits and also not shooting much of the visibly queer folks who were some of the best dressed there that night. You can tell who aren’t “fashion” photographers by how they tend to veer towards (and flirt with) the conventionally attractive female guests.
Then there were the guests. I have never seen refreshment tables ransacked like that – some carrying stacks of cheese and crackers piled 5-6” high off their plates reminiscent of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Some were dressed like they were attending a formal wedding – it was very strange.
I do give them credit for a beautifully decorated event space but after 90 minutes of sitting around a couple came out and did an awkward tango dance to exactly one song, then another full hour went by until the show started.
The one runway show I did see was alright – there were some SS23 trends incorporated ie: denim, hats, pastels, urban cowboy etc, but mostly done in a very literal way with a certain craftiness to the aesthetic that harkens to the typical stereotype of regional designers.
Some of models were very VERY skinny which is not encouraged much nowadays; a couple girls were uncomfortably thin and the loose, drapey garments they wore just exaggerated it – not the best styling choices. There were no models of size represented.
The audience didn’t know to clap after the show was over and the designers didn’t walk immediately after the models as per tradition. Then after a seating kerfuffle I decided to leave because, not only would I have inconsistent shots, but another 30 minutes passed, and the next show still hadn’t started yet. I just couldn’t sit there anymore. It felt like I was at a 65th birthday party and I had to bail. Quite a few people did.
Whether these events are thrown by one company or three, and despite the effort displayed to notate who’s the “real” / “official” fashion week, who “is not affiliated” with whom, (and possibly what some organizations stand for? Or don’t mind themselves affiliated with? Ugh) it’s a shame they can’t all find a way to work together to present a more complete Fashion Month of October in San Francisco.
Over the years I have become like the ultimate covert operative within society and there’s one thing I can say for sure: money doesn’t buy class. “Classy” may be a subjective term, but an intentional lack of vulgarity is often the ultimate display of it, so is being cordial, patient, and kind. It doesn’t matter how many designer labels you’re wearing: being rude, ill mannered, or offensive is the height of vulgarity. And as a fashion writer in San Francisco, I hope for a better, “classier” FW2023.