Afterglow and Keeping it Real in Fashionland

I'm still recovering from Fashion Week, but I'm having a simply wonderful time - and a lot of laughs - as I peruse some of the blogs of the fashion hoi polloi.
I will be the first to admit that I am not one of them.
I do not get front row seats - except for Gottex, thank you Atelier PR !!!, which recognizes that a writer from the Jersey Shore might gain some benefit from getting a good glimpse at the latest in swimwear.
And I do not go to parties. Who has the energy for that? Honey, I have stories to file. And I don't have much patience for drunks and fools anyway.
I didn't have a fight with Marc Jacobs. Never met the man. Hell, I was just happy to be on the invite list. It was only my second time. That's the way things work.
Not that I kissed his butt in my commentary, but again, it's amusing to see the squabbling going on between the have's.
(By the way, the way I see it, they, meaning the fashion hoi polloi, put Jacobs on a pedestal and looked the other way for years. Welcome to the monster you've created.)
I don't hang out at the restaurants and bars where the hoi polloi congregate. Cathy Horyn of the New York Times shared that she was at some chi chi restaurant where others of the hoi polloi found out about the Marc Jacbos. I went to Popeye's. Best damn meal of my week.
Oh yes. I don't do the fashionable clothing either. My wardrobe for Fashion Week went something like this - dashiki or wild batik print top (which anyone who knows me will confirm is my "look" on a regular basis), plus travel pants plus Aerosoles. In the winter, I substitute Reeboks for the Aerosles, jeans for the travel pants and some wild sweaters for the dashikis. That's it. Not a stiletto in the plan. I"m not crazy.
Last Feb. at Fashion Week I made a fashion statement uniquely my own; I wore a Chicago Bears sweatshirt. It was Super Bowl Sunday and the rest of the world was, gasp, celebrating the Super Bowl, albeit cheering for the Colts (boo!). Honey, you would have thought I'd come from the moon the way people were looking at me.
I did get a "look" from Vogue editor Andre Leon Talley. And not a good look, if you know what I mean. Did I care?
So now I get to read about all the splashy parties and perks and such from the folks that sit in the front row.
Poor things. They were troubled by the taxi strike. I only had to go through that foolishness twice before I got real. It's called walking a lot (see how my Aerosoles seem smart now?), the subway and the bus, y'all.
So now that I"m back in the real world, people say, "wow, that must have been fun."
Was it?
It was work, that's for sure.
It was a trip and a half, that's also for sure. Take a look at the photos in earlier posts if you don't understand what I'm saying.
And yeah, in it's own, strange, exhausting way, it was fun.