Would you like to know how Tim Blanks — fashion critic extraordinaire, editor-at-large at Style.com, pro of pros (and prose) — gets through Fashion Month? Of course you would! Read on…
They say Fashion Month is more civilized now, sans the hordes of wild peacocks and hyenas and whatever else. What say you, Tim?
The original Narcissus was infatuated with himself because he was so beautiful. I say, what happened to narcissism?
So narcissistic, but I think I’ll miss the funny critters.
I’m reminded of Kiki surprised by a choir — Wainwright, Ringwald, Mizrahi et al — while she was in the studio recording Those Were the Days. To my dying day, I’ll be haunted by her plaintive wail: “Who are all these people?”
You’ve told me you routinely stay up all night to get the job done over at Style.com. How do you do that? Don’t say meth.
Meth? You mean methylated spirits? It’s green tea for me. And the promise of a new day. That’s all I need to write through the dark night of the soul.
Has anything changed for you since winning the CFDA Media Award last June?
Not a smidgeon. Unfortunately, an impressively sculpted piece of metal can’t do my work for me.
If you were to put together a Fashion Week survival kit, what things would you put in it?
Berocca, a half-bottle of Chablis, a small jar of shucked oysters, a bar of 90 percent chocolate, some nuclear mints.
All very sensible. Thinking back, what’s one mishap you wish you could banish from your memory?
One morning I was sailing merrily towards Bryant Park for the Kors show when my legs went in opposite directions. I broke the fall with my face, and conducted the subsequent backstage interviews with seeping wounds all over my dial. Lauren Greenfield thought I was a special effect. Michael Douglas’s face was a picture when I stopped him.
The lengths you’ll go! Finally, because everyone always wants to know, what’s the most sensational diva meltdown you’ve witnessed?
My favorite diva meltdown was designer-induced model madness. When one high-strung supe spotted another in the dress she thought had been marked for her, she tore off the outfit she was wearing and stalked stark-naked out of the backstage wearing only heels. I could swear she rode away on her agency’s scooter, but that might just be wishful thinking.