We all know San Francisco rejects style codes and formalwear. Fashion for us means navigating a sea of denim and hoodies on a daily basis, and in that way, it’s valid to question whether SF even needs an official fashion week. But yes there is one and it just happened.
I should be clear though that a week is seven days and this event was not. Among the four days I counted here, only two advertised runway shows. The worldwide garment industry at one point needed fashion weeks in order to maintain production schedules; buyers snatched up entire collections from the runway and ran huge orders in their department stores. Journalists would go and relay to the public what trends to expect soon on nearby clothing racks.
But who even cares how legit SF Fashion Week is because as I said, I live in the land of denim and hoodies. If you gave me a runway filled with trash bag couture I’d probably attend front row. Thankfully for me, the show I went to Saturday had literally only a front row — it was on the second floor of the James Bong building downtown, and it lacked a lot in planning and execution. The mic system in particular sounded like adults speaking on Charlie Brown, but we did see some capable designers.
The standout talent was Innayat’s Label, whose Indian pieces showed significant technical detail in jeweling, hems, printed fabrics, and gown construction. My friend and designer Paul Gallo loved a draped and jeweled ombre evening look in black, white, and gold — pictured above. I had several favorites, but just the silhouette on a beautiful mustard-colored finale wedding gown I found pretty extraordinary.
Lots of gems appeared elsewhere. What Tracey Benedict lacked in discipline she often made up in charm, with LED headpieces and a couple garments immediately ready for Burning Man. I dubbed her womenswear collection the “Project Runway unconventional materials challenge” — lots of looks felt like they came from a drunken shopping spree at Party City.
The spirit was there even though I agree with Paul when he imitates Heidi Klum in a thick accent: “I question your taste.” I gave Paul a flask of pre-mixed rum and Coke that I stuffed in my ballgown earlier to lubricate his sassy feedback.
Tracey I mean it nicely but some of the unfinished hems and cheap fabrics I wouldn’t take home from a thrift store much less buy off a runway. Still, I wanted that plaid jacket, and the beaded wide-brim hat at the end was hilarious in the best way.
The lows were honestly that bad sometimes, ranging from one show where we saw the same basic silhouette many times on apparel that didn’t look handmade, just altered? Another presentation with many sheer blacks and sparkles also looked store-bought and styled. The male models generally were quite beautiful, but looked uncomfortable and hurried down the runway in sheers, crop tops and garments with cutouts.
I feel a little monstrous being so honest about a runway show that ironically was one of the best I’ve seen in San Francisco. The boppy music kept things rolling right along for hours, there was a lovely variation in aesthetics, and the models were generally very pretty and good walkers. This one either needs to win America’s Next Top Model or call me, queen of the runway:
But the vibe just off and tense from the moment I walked in. Rumors flew about the SF Fashion Week director, who quickly told me after “hello” that I ignored an Instagram message he never sent last year about doing a show together. The night capped off with 10 minutes — or more, who knows — of this unhinged flashmob where the entire model corps was dressed in Forever21-looking club-wear, ready for a night of vodka Redbulls and dancing at a downtown LA rave.
They walked up and down the runway, posed, and then didn’t move. Then the director would come in and motion for them to go stand here, walk here, etc., and this just went on and on until he finally turned to the audience and thanked us for coming. Listen this is the TikTok generation; tweets are 280 characters; Instagram reels are what, 90 seconds max? There isn’t a conceivable universe that has an attention span for how the night wrapped up.
Many participants should ignore my criticism here and keep creating. Designers like The Ninth Fashion and Cierra Palmeri showed skill and a point of view, alongside Tracey and Inayaat, who I also liked.
Far be it for me to drone on and also sap your attention, so I’ll quickly note two other regular “fashion week”-flavored presentations to keep an eye on in San Francisco: Fashion Community Week and Fashion Festival.
I’d honestly go back to SF Fashion Week but I can’t recommend it to readers unless Dumpster fire is your style of event planning. Top brass here put together a winning team of creatives and decent soundtrack, and even the harsh industrial aesthetic of James Bong could easily have worked with a little more lighting design — or any.
The foundation is there, organizers! Just maybe find a mentor and a therapist to help you make this event really sing.
Saul Sugarman is editor in chief of The Bold Italic.
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More photos from SF Fashion Week 2024 — Emerging Designers’ show
Photos by Emily Trinh and Kevin Kelleher for The Bold Italic — with the top one from Saul Sugarman.
