Here, I should take a moment to explain that, logistically, attending fashion shows can be a very different experience, depending on one's seniority and/or social-media clout. So for a junior editor with neither the connections nor the disposable income (nor the foresight) to hire private cars, the only option was to take public transportation, then make the trek a few arduous avenues west, while my more fortunate counterparts only had to travel as far as car to curb. As I trudged through the near-deserted streets, the few other pedestrians I passed were kitted out in gear that would've been overkill for an expedition to the North Pole, while I jammed my ungloved hands as far as they would go into my worthless coat's unlined pockets. With arctic gusts blowing off the river — seemingly always in the opposing direction, no matter which way I turned — I finally arrived windblown and faintly blue.