So, here's the thing about Fashion Week — the fabulous people do not stick around after the runway shows end. The Wintours of the world climb into waiting town cars, Hanneli hops on a bike, Karlie struts away, smizing for a gaggle of street-style photogs, and they're gone in seconds. I, on the other hand, tend to linger: taking notes, figuring out where the hell my next show is, and wondering why hailing a taxi looks so easy in the movies. By the time I leave a show, it's usually just me and the wannabe street-style muses, pacing the sidewalk in search of a willing lens.
But, one beautiful day, my tendency to linger after the A-listers have cleared out led me to meet the most fabulous, A-listerest one of all.
On Friday, Rihanna's designer BFF Adam Selman, gave his first-ever runway show, just one year after his inaugural presentation, and several months after creating that damn-near-naked dress seen 'round the world. So, you could say Selman's had a pretty good year — and it showed in his vibrant, youthful collection full of '90s-inflected, cool-girl separates; sporty, thigh-grazing dresses; and pearl embellishments galore.
So, the show ends, the room clears of all the It fashion folks. And then, while I'm standing on the street trying to decide whether Uber is expensable as it begins to lightly rain, she arrives. You hear the papparazzi's cameras clicking before you see her. When they move aside, she is there: Luminously, skin-glowingly beautiful; smiling, wearing a nearly bum-exposing white babydoll dress from Selman's new collection, a strand of pearls, and strappy white Louboutin heels.
This writer MAY have involuntarily hollered, "Rihanna, you're my queen!" over the gaggle of paparazzi jostling for her photo, because one does stupid things in the presence of greatness. At which point, Rihanna graced me with a wink, reached out, took my hand, and led me through the crowd of photogs to introduce herself (as if). It was just like that moment in the "Dancing in the Dark" video, where Courtney Cox is chosen by the Boss. I felt sanctified, #blessed, and very, very sweaty.
"Ooh, this outfit is cute," she said in her Barbados-meets-Brooklyn accent, and she touched my shoulders, at which point I told her it was a Rachel Comey dress accessorized with an $8, Forever 21 tee. RihRih gave me a really gangster upward nod, and said, "Yes, I love that." You heard it here, y'all — Rihanna, for all her profligate spending, loves a bargain, a high-low mix, and would maybe willingly shop the same stores you do. You know, if designers weren't throwing free stuff at her every day.
After Rihanna gamely posed for the selfie shown here (which shall now become my profile pic on all social media, in perpetuity), and confirmed that she loved Selman's pearl-covered mesh tennis dress as much as I did, I stepped aside to let the paps have their way with my queen. Next, I proceeded to text my entire contacts list and shake for a solid hour. This is as close as I'll ever get to full disclosure on the Internet, but in the cab on the way to my next show, I considered licking the hand she shook. Is that weird? Is it weirder that I touched it gently to my cheek instead, and will now forever refer to it as my "Rihanna hand"?