spruced by marlene

pecking order

By Marlene | Published: 13. April 2011

(I’m about three months late with this post about fashion week. What can I say? I procrastinate. A lot.)

So I’ve always wondered what it’s like to sit in the front row.

I still don’t know. What I do know is that when an old colleague graciously offers you her seat in the second row, you should practise your ducking technique in advance. Chances are that Boris Becker will be seated in front of you and he will bring a dozen crazed photographers with him. And you will be in the background of the shot of him and his wife. Inevitably mid-duck. Looking stupid. Also, you’re not going to see many of the clothes on the runway, because Lily Becker will be so busy showing the rows behind her chicken egg-sized diamond ring that you won’t notice much else.

See what I mean?

Even more entertaining than being up front was standing in the last row at Kaviar Gauche, overhearing three noticeably excited women talk about the front row.

Woman No. 1: “Hey! Isn’t that the guy from Germany’s Next Topmodel?”
Woman No. 2: “It is! Peyman something. I didn’t know he was still important?”
Woman No. 3: “He must be to sit in the front row. Although he’s not on Topmodel anymore.”
No. 2: “There! Heike Makatsch!”
No. 1: “My God she’s thin. You think she’s too thin?”
No. 3: “Disgustingly thin.”
All three women sigh audibly.
No. 2 (pointing at actress Nora von Waldstätten): “Who’s that next to her? Wasn’t she a contestant on Topmodel?”
No. 1: “No. She’s an actress. Or something.”
No. 2: “Are your sure?”
No. 1: “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she was on Topmodel. But if she was, she definitely went out early!”
No. 2 and 3 giggle.
No. 1: “I wish they would let us drink back here.”
No. 2 and 3: “I know!”
No. 1: “So when is this thing going to start? We’ll go drinking afterwards, yes, girls?”
No. 3: “Depending on the show, we might HAVE to get drunk afterwards.”
All three women giggle.

Lights go down, the thing starts.

And here are a few more of my shots from last Berlin Fashion Week that don’t have anything at all to do with the clothes.

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