I Braved a Blizzard to Find My Bohemian Chic Starter Pack

She said, "These things always start late."

I confessed that I was a front row virgin. Could they offer me any etiquette tips?

He said, "Sit up straight and always be picture ready because everyone's taking pictures of the models with their phones, so they're also taking pictures of you."

She said, "Keep your phone out of other people's shots."

When the lights went out, I saw what she meant: all along the front row, phones were propped on knees like Pomeranians.

There was an announcement, more etiquette, three words: "Uncross your feet."

She whispered, "So the models won't trip."

He whispered, "Take it all in."

Here's what I saw: fringe! Swaying off the backs, breasts, hips, and pelvises of models. Fringe on capes and gowns. Fringe at the ends of rope necklaces. Fringe at the ends of scarves. Fringe bangs. It was obvious that the models liked wearing it. I liked watching them wear it. Fringe is happy. Fringe is feminine. Fringe makes every woman well-endowed.

I want to be the kind of woman who wears fringe. I want to be bohemian chic. But my idea of bohemian is my grandmother's pearl circle pin. Erin Fetherston's bohemia is drawstring dresses and billowing sleeves, paisley prints, silks, and chiffons. Her clothes are ethereal. Earthy. I felt like I'd stumbled into a party of fairies, colored like an enchanted forest in moss green, falling leaf yellow and rose pink.

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Could I dare join them?

The D.J. blasted Warpaint, the chorus sang: "You're a new song! You're a new song, baby! You're a new song to me!" And I felt renewed. I felt brave. And then I saw it: a burgundy velvet jumpsuit with three-quarter sleeves—my bohemian chic starter piece. And it was paired with gold flats!

She said, "Follow me. I'll pretend I'm your handler."

The show ended and I noticed that clapping with iPhones mutes applause.

The man to my left asked, "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

The young woman to my right asked, "Do you want me to get you backstage?"

I didn't think, I just said: "Yes!"

She said, "Follow me. I'll pretend I'm your handler."

Turns out, everybody lies for fashion. But not in any sort of harmful way.

My real life fashion week fairy pushed through to the front of the crowd that was being held at the backstage entrance.

A gatekeeper said, "You all have to wait to see Erin, the models are changing."

A woman behind me shouted, "But I'm a woman too, I'm not a perv!"

This line of reasoning did not get her in. But I got in because my fashion week fairy took me by the sleeve and barreled past a 6' security guard.

She led me straight to Erin Fetherston, who I couldn't distinguish from the models, except for the fact that she was fully clothed. Erin is tall, lithe, with white blonde hair and the complexion of an angel on the top of a Christmas tree. The woman glows. And she is gracious.

I said, "Thank you so much for having me, your collection is gorgeous. What can you tell me about the velvet, burgundy jumpsuit?"

She smiled and said, "What woman doesn't need a velvet burgundy jumpsuit?"

After my morning on the front row, I am now the kind of woman who'd trade in her green Hunter boots for one.

Helen Ellis is the author of, most recently, American Housewife.

Source: I Braved a Blizzard to Find My Bohemian Chic Starter Pack