This year’s Forces of Fashion, taking place on October 16, is dedicated to the art, drama, and influence of the runway. In honor of that, we asked their industry friends to share their favorite runway-crashing stories, some shared their own, others shared tales of legendary crashes they witnessed. It seems that almost every editor, stylist, photographer, and writer has a story to share; and the lesson here is that if you want to crash a show (which we are not condoning) the best way to do it is to quietly slip in and remain inconspicuous. Go to the standing section! Stand near the photo pit! But whatever you do, don’t sit in the front row—you’ll be a dead giveaway.
I weaseled my way into Marc Jacobs twice before I ever scored a seat the legitimate way, but my best crasher story is the time I witnessed Sacha Baron Cohen in full Brüno regalia in line at a Paris show with his camera crew. He approached the punk impresario Malcolm McLaren who didn’t quite recognize Brüno but gave him a “this is not my first rodeo” brush-off anyway. It was priceless. If you watch Brüno (not as famous as Borat but worth a watch for the way it skewers US Representative and onetime Republican presidential candidate, Ron Paul, who is cast in a sex tape in the movie), you can see Baron Cohen at that show. I think he was in the second or third row.—Nicole Phelps, Global Director, Vogue Runway
“I’m Mark Holgate,” said the guy in front of me at the check-in line for the Ralph Lauren show at Skylight Studios in SoHo one September morning some years ago. I’d been idly daydreaming up till that point—about lunch, probably, because during fashion week all I can usually think is When do we eat? Anyway, maybe I misheard him, because I’m Mark Holgate. No—there he goes again: “I’m Mark Holgate.” No, no, no—I am!
This was some truly bizarre blag to crash a runway show: To have the person whom you’re pretending to be (me) right behind you, I mean. Of course, people will do and say anything to get into a show. One of my favorites: When Edward Enninful and Pat McGrath chatted at a recent Forces of Fashion about how they used to sneak, uninvited, into shows in Paris back in the day, way before they were the industry icons they are now. When challenged about which outlet they were covering the show for, Edward would simply reply, without batting an eyelid, “Vogue Jamaica.”
But back to Ralph. Now, a third time: “I’m…” At that point, I had to step forward and say, “Actually, that’s me! I’m Mark Holgate!” The PR behind the desk coolly eyed him up, then eyed me up, then him again. Honestly, by this point I almost felt like saying, “Let him take my seat! I don’t even want to be Mark Holgate most days—let him be me! He’s welcome!” But we never quite reached that moment of existential angst. The other “Mark Holgate” simply walked away, I got my seat assignment, and then…well, I went back to thinking about lunch.—Mark Holgate, Vogue Global Network Lead US Fashion Features Director
I crashed a show at the Bryant Park Tents when I was 19. I wrote “Show Music” on a CD and told the security person I was an intern bringing the music to the show. They let me backstage and I just wandered out into the audience. Afterwards I called my mom and told her I wanted to be a fashion designer and she rolled her eyes and was like, “Ok… sure,” but I was hooked. Still am. —Hillary Taymour, Collina Strada Creative Director
In January, as I enjoyed fashion week mad libs watching Mumford Sons perform with Pharrell at the Louis Vuitton men’s afterparty, a guy tapped me on the shoulder. It was loud, so I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but it sounded like he was thanking me for something. I leaned closer. “I used to use your name to get into fashion shows,” he said. “Like, so many.” Now, nobody would mistake this dude for me. I have to say, I was impressed—and a little pissed off. There was apparently an imposter me running around Paris, except this Sam Hine was French and had a big head of curly hair and dark complexion. I guess I wasn’t as recognizable as I thought. I couldn’t really be mad, though. When I was a 22 year-old GQ Style assistant, I got into the Yeezy Season 4 show on Roosevelt Island by telling them—with a total straight face—that my name was Mobolaji Dawodu. (Mobolaji, our fashion director at the time, graciously told me to take his place when he couldn’t make it.)
Before the guy dapped me up and disappeared into the crowd, I asked him whose name he used to get into the LV show. “My own, bro,” he said. “Now, I actually get invited!”—Samuel Hine, Senior Fashion Writer GQ
I crashed the first fashion show I ever went to. February 5, 2008. My best friend Julia and I signed ourselves out of high school to do “research” for our senior thesis projects and took the bus to Manhattan to try to crash the Anna Sui show. We circled the tents at Bryant Park for two hours before we found a way to sneak in past the security guards. It was a total dream—we saw Agyness Deyn and Lily Cole and Karen Elson on the catwalk in gorgeous pre-Raphaelite dresses and hair accessories. And I have all the digital camera pics to prove it! Afterwards we snuck backstage and almost got away with it until Rachna from KCD saw us and asked us what we were doing. She was super nice about it, but kindly showed us the door—we all laugh about it now. It’s still absolutely wild to me that not only do I get invited to Anna’s shows now, but I used to review them for Vogue! Totally mental. I really believe in following your fashion dreams—obviously—and I pinch myself every day that this is my real life. That said, if anyone wants to crash a show—let me know. I helped my neighbor crash the Heron Preston show once and now they are working together. If you get to live your dreams you’ve also gotta pay it forward!—Steff Yotka, Head of Content SSENSE
I have a very annoying habit of not wanting to “get into trouble,” so I have never actually snuck into a fashion show. I’d be too embarrassed and worried about being yelled at. However, I have gone to great, technically above-board lengths to make things happen, including in October 2010 when I used a photographer’s pass to walk into the Céline Spring 2011 runway show at the Tennis Club de Paris. I even sat in the pit, on the floor. It was such an amazing vantage point—a better seat than I had in future seasons, when I was actually invited. Luckily, no one said anything, and I was able to swipe one of the inspiration books from the seats (a rare piece of fashion ephemera that I refuse to relinquish). All in all, this was a time when it was worth breaking the rules!—Lauren Sherman, Fashion Correspondent at Puck
Way back in the day, I used to pretend I was with NYLON Japan and the Euro PRs would be like “Ok, whatever, I don’t want to deal with this,” and let me in. But then once, the PR escorted me inside and then brought me over to the Japan PR.
Also a few years ago at Bottega, I was shooting by the check-in area—it was a very small show, some celebs, top editors, no influencers—when a sprinter van rolled up and out came five or six Chinese people: a couple handlers, a video dude, a photographer, but I wasn’t sure who the talent was. Mind you this was late, when most people were already seated, and they waltzed in and nobody stopped then. I suddenly thought about it like, hmm who could that have possibly been? I looked up at the PR who seemed to have had the same realization I did. We both looked at the list and she was like, ‘well, fuck it, if they went through all that trouble to crash the show, they deserve it.’—Phil Oh, Photographer
I was outside a Haider Ackermann show in Paris when I spotted an invitation on the ground, so I grabbed it and walked in. Realizing it was a standing room ticket, I walked to the photo pit, took out my camera and sat in the front row. Later I got Tilda Swinton to sign it. I still have it.—Hunter Abrams, Photographer
When I had just started out in the industry, as a young editor I was fortunate to have had bosses who knew how important it was for you to be exposed and to have the experience of being at the shows. It’s really the place where you meet the most people and one really major moment for me was when I was passed an invite to slip through the PRs (before id scanning and qr codes and NFC chips) and was able to watch Raf Simons’s fall 2013 Dior show from the standing section, tucked in the back with the worst view. But to hear the music — to feel it— to feel the emotion of the audience as models slinked past, was really unlike anything I’ve experienced since. The set with all the reflective balls, too. I was a huge Raf fan, and it was his second pret-a-porter show for the brand. It really cemented how going to a show should feel. —Blake Abbie, Editor-in-Chief, A MAGAZINE curated by
I snuck into the Balenciaga fall 2000 show. I walked in behind someone I knew and then just stood where other people were standing. It was no big deal, and no one cared. Such a different time.—Andreas Kokkino, fashion and design editor and stylist
It was my first time at the London shows. I had not gotten a seat assignment at Christopher Kane which I was gutted about because he was one of my favorite designers at the time. In the car to the show my editor said, “Oh just come with me! It’ll be fine.” Her plan was to give me her ticket, which I would wave at the door, and then she’d go up to the PR person at the door to get “checked in.” We huddled together in her allotted seat, the same way that everyone ends up squeezing together when the show seating is a long bench. As the show was about to start, a PR began her final walk, making sure that who needed to be there was there. Except this specific PR happened to be a friend. She saw me, her eyes widened, and she quietly shook her head and “tsk tsk”-ed me as she walked away. I made up my mind to never sneak into a show again, but when I saw the models in Kane’s super romantic lovers lace dresses I thought, well, I’m glad I did it just this once.—Laia Garcia-Furtado, Senior Fashion News Editor Vogue Runway
When I was a student in Milan, the school encouraged us to go to as many shows as possible. Our methods varied, but I remember once waiting for the PR person to get distracted and just running for the door. Another time we said we were “PR reps from New York,” which now that I understand the industry, doesn’t make much sense, but sometimes it worked!—Madeline Fass, Senior Market Editor Vogue
In younger years I never intended to be a stylist. I was studying philosophy, and thought for sure I’d be a curator or an academic. One warm day in September 1999, however, I was having lunch with a friend after school on the lawn in Bryant Park, when a cute guy in a white tee and painter’s pants walked over to me and started chatting. He asked me if I wanted to see a fashion show. I said, “sure,” and he handed me his backstage badge.
I never gave this handsome stranger my number, but I did try my hand at using the badge. I set off awkwardly, walking past security, head down, through the backstage dressing area, ultimately ending up in the central area of the tents. I didn’t know where this badge would get me, so I lined up with all the editors and such. I didn’t have a seating assignment, of course, so they sent me to the standby line.
From the standby line I eventually made it to the back row of a designer I knew nothing about. I think it may have been Anna Sui. I didn’t know what was going on, but it was intriguing: the music, the lights, the crowd-watching…the clothes!
I spent the rest of the week using this badge to go from fashion show to fashion show. The most memorable one for me was Stephen Sprouse’s NASA collection. Funnily enough, a couple of years later I would date a guy who walked that show.
I don’t know if this experience informed my eventual career as a stylist, or if it was the college roommate who told me I could never make it in fashion, but it surely sparked an interest in glamour.—Julie Ragolia, Stylist
