Tons of Ticket-Holders Were Turned Away From Jeremy Scott, and It's All the Kardashians' Fault, Probably

It’s a truism as old as time that the more important you are, the later you show up. So it was that I arrived at the Jeremy Scott show at New York Fashion Week on Friday night, ticket in hand, feeling quite dorky because I’d arrived 10 minutes early. Who shows up early for a fashion show, I thought? Same kind of person who has a lame third-row seat, I answered myself, rudely.

But as I entered, I saw the entire lobby was already quite full of the typical Jeremy Scott-show crowd of fashion editors, demi-celebs, and art-damaged freaks. Of course, there were actual celebs there, too — major ones like Kylie Jenner and Debbie Harry and dear God the fact that I just named those two in the same breath hurts my heart. But they had already gone inside. The rest of us were left to mill about in the very-packed lobby as the show’s 7 p.m. start time came and went, and another 30 minutes ticked by.

“It’s fine, if you have a ticket, you’ll get in,” I was reassured. “I heard they’re filming an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians in there,” one editor ventured. “Ugh, those people ruin everything,” another replied.

Finally, we were all barked at to proceed into the venue. Hooray! So we, as a crowd, penguin-walked for another 30 minutes, barely inching forward, corralled into a narrow hallway by Tensabarriers in an overheated horde of faux fur and winter accessories. Meanwhile, a steady stream of people skipped to the other side of the barriers and barreled past the baby-stepping crowd, shoving, impervious to the shouts of security. These people invariably looked like either John Vartavos shoppers (perma-stubble, $300 beanies), or the club kids that are Jeremy Scott’s bread and butter.

Back in the fashion editor cattle chute, the smell of wet wool was in the air. Turning a corner was accomplished with the kind of effortful incrementalism that only a seasoned Congressperson could appreciate. “It’s like being at the Women’s March,” I said to my friend from Nylon. One positive side to the extreme wait times: I got to catch up with, and meet, fellow editors at all my favorite fashion publications. Seeing people from big-deal magazines and websites also not able to get in was a sweet, ego-healing balm. Where competition and outfit-appraising looks might normally reign, we were united by a resigned collectivism, like when you get stuck on the subway.

Finally, an hour into our tip-toeing journey, we were loudly shouted at by security that the venue was full. And closed. And that no one else would be allowed in. “Even with tickets?” I asked like a damned, hopeful fool. “We all have tickets!” was the half-crazed reply from the crowd.

And so, a stream of quite a few rather-important fashion editors (I do not count myself among them) and other assorted cool kids were turned loose in the night, cursing the Scott and Kardashian names. Inside, I later found out via the internet, Gigi Hadid modeled Jesus pants, girls with fashion mullets took selfies with the everyone’s favorite mid-2000s DJ crew the Misshapes, and Kylie Jenner sat front row in a brown beaded dress that matched her lipstick and foundation.

Despite Jeremy Scott’s NPR interview earlier this week, which indicated that this would be a heavily political collection, we didn’t see any of the T-shirts he promised, which featured members of Congress’ phone numbers. But like, maybe we just couldn’t see those on social media and Getty, where we watched the show. We did, however see T-shirts that said “Boy Trap” and “Sex Is Cute.” Not quite the anti-Trump scorcher we were expecting, but beggars, choosers, etc.

We did see a winsome mix of ’60s, ’70s, and ’90s influences (Twiggy eyelashes, acid-trip prints, patchwork flares, neon furs, lunchbox purses). It was bright and colorful and fun and cheeky. A Marie Antoinette-printed dress maybe had something to say about this late-decadent period of American life, overrun as it is with oligarchs, glutted with greedy billionaires, ripe for a revolution.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. After all, when Kylie Jenner is your (highly paid) guest of honor, you’ve clearly shown you’re down with the idle rich.

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