So much of fashion week is waiting. Waiting for shows to start. Waiting for shows to end. Waiting for Rihanna to finally leave Alexander Wang after the crew at Pier 94 has assured us multiple times that no one else is coming out. "People, we are removing the doors. The only people you are going to see are crew men and teamsters." A likely story, we all thought.
And then, when the waiting is done, the mad rush begins. The rush to get photos of models exiting the shows while still in runway make up. The rush to get to the next show before the entrance starts. The rush to get to the front of the crowd as that black Range Rover pulls in front of the doors and get the best picture of (take your pick) Nicki Minaj, Die Antwoord, Anna Wintour. I think I was the only one to shoot Skrillex. Poor Skrillex. He seemed like a nice enough chap.
Shooting in a sea of photographers is no fun. Most of us get sub-par shots, and then they are the same shots as everyone else's. Feet get stepped on. Cameras, occasionally, get smashed (as happened to a certain name-brand photographer today). It's a regular prisoner's dilemma out there. All looking after our own interests, we make it unlikely that any of us will have our interests met. Probably better to pull a Scott Schuman or an Yvan Rodic and just walk away and look for your shots elsewhere. They may not include Giovanna Battaglia or Anya Ziourova, or anyone that anyone has ever heard of, but they will be your shots and yours alone. And how many shots of Anya Ziourova does the world even need? What does she even do again? It sure beats the hurry up and wait game.