The Daily

We sent an unsuspecting average dude from Brooklyn who had never been to a runway show before to 2 of them at New York Fashion Week. The results are … well, you’d better read for yourself. 

8:16 p.m. They don’t have a seat assignment for me, so a nice lady named Haley with an iPad and a headset puts me in G-2-29. I’m in the second row! Is that good or bad? I feel like it could be worse. There is a serious-looking fashion person next to me when I sit down. She says “Bonjour,” and I laugh, which is rude.

8:18 p.m. Waiting, trying to look normal. I take notes in a notepad so people assume that I am an important and unsuspecting street-style blogger. I have not warmed up from the Moncler show yet. My legs are that type of cold where maybe I peed myself but there’s no way to be sure.

8:24 p.m. There is a beautiful and stylish mom across the runway. Her 6-year-old is a vision. He’s got messy blond hair and is wearing an ascot, blazer and striped socks. He’s eating a mozzarella stick, and he offers some to his mom. Where did he get those? Is he taunting me? He’s barely out of diapers, better dressed than me and in possession of mozzarella sticks. I’m a grown man and I should have those whenever I want. I hate him.

8:27 p.m. The show starts. It is a genuinely thrilling live event! I try to nod and really pay attention to the clothes. “Hmm, yes, shoes.”