Lulu's Report From Chicago - Continued

Krueger and I spend some time looking at the fashions on the mannequins (very impressive for the most part), while Doug holds a place in line (smart-thinking hubby he is.) I won’t go much into detail about the clothes, since so many others have, but I found the level of craftsmanship to be far better than I would have thought possible with the short time constraints. And I wanted to steal Jeffrey’s yellow dress and immediately put it on (my fave from the whole season)! If only it was a size 8 or 10. I’m actually surprised at the lack of security surrounding the garments in light of the dog outfit getting stolen (wish I would have had a chance to see it too, since I love dog products, although our monster creatures—a
Newfoundland and a Rottweiler—are definitely not the doggie-coat-wearing types).

We take our seats. The crowd is quite diverse (just like Chicago) with people of every age, color, size, and background--the show has had a really broad reach in terms of audience for sure. Those in attendance are maybe 80 percent female, which makes me especially proud that I’m accompanied by two straight (gasp!) men. The Chicago Tribune’s tv critic and giant PR fan, Mo Ryan, arrives and takes her
reserved seat by the front of the stage. Tim appears and get whisked backstage to the oohs and aahs of the audience. And then the show starts. Tim begins with a short ode to Chicago and its (few) contributions to fashion, and waxes poetic about the importance of advertising and marketing to fashion as something that many designers
don’t pay attention to. Then he invites out Angela, and they both answer questions.

No surprises, but it sure is fun to see and hear Tim from outside the tv screen. They get a hearty round of applause, and on to the fashion show, which was fine, but all but one of the female models look depressed, sick, and far too emaciated. I always find this disturbing at fashion shows. I can’t even hardly see the clothes for worrying about how these girls need to eat a sandwich (or two or three…). And they walk terribly.

After the show, a Macy’s staff member explains that those with the red-star coupon on their program get to have autographs signed, but no photos with Tim or Angela, just of them—they need to keep the line moving (and my do they). When we initially checked in, I had announced I was reporting for BPR, and thus had secured a red star (thanks everyone for alerting about this beforehand!)

Doug and Krueger decide to go down to the bar to wait, and I go to get in line. Doug asks me if I can ask Tim one question for him: “Why do so many of the models walk like they have cinder blocks in their shoes?” The Macy’s folks keep the line moving swiftly, and are, in fact, collecting the red stars, so no handing mine off to someone else after my turn.

Let me just say it was beyond exhilarating to finally meet Tim and shake his hand. He is just so friendly and full of energy, even after chatting with so many people. I mentioned I was taking pictures for BPR and he and Angela both posed for my camera (although in my starstruck moment, I forgot to dig out my We *heart* BPR sign for them to hold). Oh well, good photos anyway! I was surprised at how nice Angela seemed in person, since I really did not like her on the show at all. Mission accomplished, or so I thought… Who would have known what was in store for me and my two companions just a little bit later?

I had noticed a nice INC dress while we were standing in the initial reservation line, so I decided to try it on. Navy with long sleeves and this white ring print—kind of retro looking, but classy. It fit like a glove and made me look fabulous…and the medium fit better instead of the large…so for sure I was going to buy it. So despite promising Doug I wouldn’t go shopping to get the goody bag, I ended up doing so (I had mentioned earlier, when they announced the promo, that if it was a PR tote bag, I surely would buy something, but since it just was just an INC bag, I wasn’t so interested).

I arrive at the bar to retrieve my two companions. Doug makes fun of me for going shopping, since I had expressed disdain at the INC bag that I now carried (but it’s a really cute dress!) He wonders if I asked Tim his question…no I forgot—too starstruck. I show them the autographed pic, and we’re off to dinner.

So we emerge from Macy’s onto Randolph Street, near the employee exit (since Krueger, as an employee, has to leave through that specific door and no other—note that there are easily eight or more exits onto four different Chicago streets from the downtown Macy’s). We’re just milling around, trying to figure out where to go for dinner while the boys smoke their cigarettes. All of a sudden, Doug points at a black Town Car waiting by the curb, and exclaims, “There’s a sign for Tim Gunn!” Immediately the limo driver hides the sign. We wonder if we should hang out for a while to catch another glimpse of Tim. Doug asserts he’d like the chance to ask the question I forgot to pose at the autograph-signing table. I think the wait will be lengthy, since the line was still considerable when I left to meet them in the bar.

Ever the curious one, Doug walks up to the limo and knocks on the window to ask how long before Tim emerges from the bowels of Macy’s. Of course the driver won’t tell, but not two minutes later, as we continue to debate the merits of various restaurant options, Tim and Angela emerge, accompanied by a well-dressed Macy’s employee.

Now mind you, my husband’s normally boisterous personality is amplified by the two double scotches he knocked back at the bar, so Doug saunters right up to Tim, arm outstretched for a handshake, and asks his burning question about why the models stomp down the runway like they have cinder blocks in their shoes. Tim, ever the diplomatic one, talks about how they’re imitating some Brazilian model, whose name I didn’t catch, but the Macy’s employee that was accompanying them fully agrees with my husband that they walk like horses. I forget Angela’s response (too busy snapping pics like a paparazzo—or would that be paparazza—to listen properly, sorry folks), but she chimed in on the subject as well. We would have loved to stay and chat with them more, but they obviously had things to do, people to see….as they quickly jumped into the limo for whereabouts unknown. Or maybe they were a bit intimidated by my hunky but tall and tough-looking husband. Or the fact that it may have seemed like we were stalking them. Although brief, our spontaneous encounter with Tim and
Angela one-on-one without the intervention of the Macy’s staff was truly a thrill! And we’re the only ones in Chicago to luck out the way we did—yes, that may be gloating, but…well…

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