How a young Conn. man earned his fashion stripes
Written by 60 Minutes associate producer Jonathan Schienberg.
The rush was exhilarating. Massimo Mariani, a veteran 60 Minutes cameraman who has shot in some of the most dangerous war zones in Iraq and Afghanistan, told me to stick close. We elbowed and pushed our way through the crowds racing for the exit.
Massimo was unapologetic, ignoring the Frenchmen who were cursing at him as he barreled towards the door. A security guard tried to push us back, and Massimo literally ran him over. When I tried the same, the large man grabbed me by my forearm and held on, screaming at me in French. I pulled with all my might and broke free escaping into the hordes of people ahead.
Sweating profusely, we made it out just in time to catch Anna Wintour sprinting from the Christian Dior show and into her limousine.
Growing up in a sleepy Connecticut suburb, the only education I had in high fashion happened at the T.J. Maxx around the corner from home, where name brands like Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein could be purchased for "basement bottom bargains." Wearing button downs and collared tees emblazoned with the Polo player emblems in high school was one way to ensure your spot in the cool clique.
Fourteen years later, this was the first thought that came to mind when I found myself on a frigid day this past February backstage at the Ralph Lauren fashion show amongst a gaggle of celebrities waiting to meet the iconic American designer.
I couldn't think of anything to say to him beyond, "Hi Mr. Lauren, it's such an honor to meet you, your rugbys made me cool in high school."
But this was the least of my worries - as we headed off to Europe to follow Anna Wintour to this season's ready-to-wear fashion shows, there was the daunting prospect of mastering "fashion" in a short span of time (I am admittedly not a regular reader of Vogue).
Even the pronunciations struck a chord of terror: Haute Couture, Givenchy, and Nicolas Ghesquiere (That's (guess-kee-year for all of you fashion illiterates. I once was blind too).
And so it was on the runway and in the backstage trenches of the Milan and Paris fashion shows where I earned my fashion stripes. There I came to understand that this is where the trends are set for the rest of the world. That this netherworld of towering stick figures, shimmering makeup, and flashing bulbs is part of the foundation for a multi-billion dollar industry that comes down to needle and thread.
The great irony of the adventure occurred one bright sunny morning in Paris at the Hotel de Crillion.
Very few video cameras were permitted inside the highly coveted Balenciaga show. As we crammed together to get the shot of our correspondent Morley Safer sitting next to Anna, a staffer from the show came by and in a slightly rude manner told me we had too many people in our crew and that I would have to leave the room.
Mon Dieu - quel dommage!
I had spent the last month researching the highly anticipated shows in Paris; Balenciaga being one of the hottest. The day before, I made the rounds at the hotel asking the bellmen and front desk attendants to ensure I had the absolute correct pronunciation of Balenciaga's designer, Nicolas Ghesquiere.
As I argued profusely with the woman trying to throw me out that I needed to stay with my crew, I recalled that I had been given a seat by Vogue for this particular show. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled ticket and handed it to the woman. She looked at the ticket and then quizzically looked me up and down.
"Where did you get this um... ticket," she said in thickly accented English.
"Anna Wintour," I said nervously pointing in the direction of the first row where she sat. "You can ask her if you don't believe me."
Her face went blank. She looked very embarrassed and a bit frightened and quickly pointed me to my seat in the second row, right behind Anna, Morley and Salma Hayek.
Written by Jonathan Schienberg