By Mark La Monica
Those who taught me my craft said the best way to be a good beat reporter is to absorb everything about the topic you are covering. Know the ins and outs, who drives which car and what it's like to walk in their shoes.
When I landed this outrageous assignment in a world I'm unaccustomed to, I knew exactly what had to be done. I had to live the life of a model. That is an explosively humorous statement seeing how I'm a bit, uh, thicker than typical runway people and my preferred "couture" is track pants, a sleeveless t-shirt and a bandanna.
The first step in this one-week mindset makeover was to secure lodging in New York City because to be a player, you can't say things like "Let me check the train schedule." There is no nobility in riding the LIRR.
So I set up camp at Party promoter friend Jann's Greenwich Village apartment. An aerobed with a slow leak will suffice for a few days. After all, I'm only subway-setting, not jet-setting.
The second step was to put together some clothing ensembles that were quirky enough to appear cool. Hello, tan sportcoat, white Wo Hop t-shirt and black GT bandanna. Will it work on this Tuesday morning? If I were famous, yes. If I looked like Brad Pitt, yes. I'm not famous. I don't look like Brad Pitt. But, hey, I've got a great personality.
Step three: Starve myself. On Monday, Day 2 as fashion journalist and Day 1 as a 212 resident, I woke up around 6 a.m. I had a peppermint pattie around 9:30 when I arrived at Bryant Park, and another around noon or so as I chatted with the cute pattie pusher. Three bottles of Aquafina were mixed in during the day, along with a 3:30 mimosa and a 6 p.m. bottle of Coke Zero. I lost four pounds keeping track of all the food I didn't eat.
Step four: Binge. Purge. After work ended around midnight, Party promoter friends Jann and Briana and I traveled to 17 Mott St., a New York landmark. Wo Hop. It's an old dirty Chinese restaurant open 24/7. I splurged: small wonton soup, two ribs, 10 tablespoons of chicken fried rice. One can of Sunkist. I was quite excited to consume real food. I was really excited to make myself throw up Tuesday morning at the tents before the shows started. It seemed the appropriate thing to do.
Step five: Cocktails. A nice 2 a.m. Grey Goose and tonic to cap off Night 1 of Model Madness.
Which brings us to right now, 9:37 a.m. Tuesday inside the tents on three-plus hours of sleep. Today's free stuff includes more bags but a quick glance into my Razr camera phone tells me I already have two -- one under each eye. This will be a rough day. The only things missing from Monday were four packs of cigarettes, a superficial attitude and four grams of smack.
It is now 9:42 and I'm wondering how I'll make it to 9:44 before my stomach tells my brain that I'm an idiot. Must pull trigger. Must pull trigger. The transformation will be complete.