Kristin Cavallari Hosted Fashion Week's Worst Party

Earlier this week I received the following email from a friend of mine:

'Excited to see you and hear a bit about your fabulous Fashion Week life!'

Don't get me wrong, covering fashion week is both fascinating and intoxicating in its own individual way-but I went on to explain to my friend that not every part of fashion week can be described as fabulous. I'm sure every fashion editor can attest to this. The reality of it all is, at times, more or less colorful chaos and herds of amateur streetstyle photographers. After a week of crowded parties and highbrow events, my final night of New York Fashion Week was spent at Kristin Cavallari's Chinese Laundry shoe launch. It was a terrible experience, unlike any other of the past seven nights.

Kristin Cavallari creating a lucrative personal brand for herself like this-or attempting to-shouldn't come as a surprise. Lauren Conrad, fellow Laguna Beach star and Allure's Basic Bitch of 2014, has created her own incredibly successful fashion and beauty empire since leaving the hit television series The Hills and Laguna Beach. Kristin's legacy will be shoes and preaching her controversial anti-vaccination stance.

Before we go any further let me say that all fashion week events are not created equal. This is obvious. The day of, VICE receives the confirmed invitation along with the official press release.

'Kristin Cavallari has created a collection that combines the glamour and style of today's celebrity while nodding at the current economic climate. Styles range from classic ballet flats with modern studs to peek-a-boo mesh platform heels that work the red carpet as well as designer jeans!'

OK, typical PR talk, whatever-I continue reading. Confirmed talent includes Carol Minaj (Nicki Maraj's Mom), Noelle Reno (Fashion Correspondent/Bravo Ladies of London), Sean Lowe (The Bachelor), among a slew of other pseudo celebrities. In that moment I decide to make it my personal goal to take a selfie with Nicki Minaj's mother.

A few hours later, the time has come. Even though I'm beginning to feel the wear and tear of fashion week, as someone who watched Laguna Beach religiously growing up, I look forward to my promised 5-7 minute time slot with Kristin. I walk into the hotel and immediately check in with the events team organizing the event.

'Excuse me, where is the press check-in?'

'Um, I'm not sure...'

After a few minutes of uncertainty, I am shooed into the press corner, which consisted of me and three staffers from The Daily Quirk-'your daily dose of quirky goodness.' Sitting on the ground of a midtown hotel and painfully bored, I listen to their conversation where they gossip about beef they have with presumably a similar publication I've never heard of. As I put my head in my hands a woman comes up to me. She does not mess around. She informs me that my promised five minute time slot is cut to two minutes, if that. It becomes clear to me that I'm not worthy.

As the red carpet is about to start, the press area has tripled. There are now 12 or so photographers and videographers waiting for Kristin Cavallari to come down from her hotel room. In the meantime, two waify models step onto the carpet wearing Kristin's designs and over pose for the photographers. A few moments later, Kristin steps onto the red carpet. No one is taking pictures.

'WHO IS THAT? IS THAT KRISTIN? THAT'S NOT KRISTIN' shouts the obnoxious photographer to the right of me.

'That is Kristin,' I confirm, like some sort of Laguna Beach prophet.

After Kristin exits the red carpet, as do I. I head over to my not-so-trusty event coordinator who tells me what I had been suspecting all along: I will not be meeting Kristin Cavallari. As we continue talking it's unclear whether I'm even allowed in the party, which I tell her would defeat the purpose of this entire story. We make a deal that I will stay unless someone sees me and tells me to leave. This is clearly a recipe for excellent press, right? Right. Sure, why not.

I'm visibly annoyed and decide I need a drink-ASAP. I head to the open bar which offers an assortment of wine, beer, and fruity beverages. I feel overwhelmed by the options and awkwardly mumble that I want 'the coconut one' to the bartender. 'The coconut one' being Coconut and Peach Moscato by Myx Fusions/Nicki Minaj. I take a sip and it tastes like a shitty Fuzzy Navel Seagrams Wine Cooler that I drank during the Laguna Beach days, except it's disguised in a sleek blue bottle. I feel disgusted and nostalgic simultaneously, which feels strangely fitting for the evening ahead of me. I wastefully place the drink back on the bar.

I walk past empty reserved tables with bottle service and look around at the crowd surrounding me-which is made up of a sea of bodycon dresses, floral head pieces and fedoras. This is not your typical fashion crowd. As I begin to wonder if Kristin's team had just invited Twitter fans to the event, I unexpectedly run into a non-bodycon wearing friend of mine who is a reputable fashion editor. We both agree the ladies are are dressed as carbon copies of both The Hills and The City. 'WHERE AM I? What is going on' is the general consensus.

Truth be told, the shoes aren't that bad. They aren't that good either. Kristin offers an assortment of colorful prints to go along with her strappy stilettos. For the sake of the party, the shoes are put behind glass like a precious piece of irreplaceable art. I personally wouldn't wear them myself, but I can imagine there is a very clear customer in mind: everyone at this party. Attendees describe them as 'really versatile,' 'there's something for everybody,' 'really cool,' and 'they look comfortable.'

At this point, Kristin, who stands flanked by her shoe collection, is conducting interviews with The Daily Quirk and other outlets. I watch from afar. Out of the corner of my eye I see Perez Hilton talking to one of these outlets. I wait for the opportunity to ask for a photograph when a fedora wearing blogger interjects for a selfie. Afterwards Perez descents into the VIP area. As you might have guessed by now, I am most definitely not invited.

I decide to mingle. It's a party, after all. I strike up a conversation with a friendly man who earlier told me he basically had the same shirt as me, a drape-y floral blouse that looks like it should be a window curtain. My new friends, Mia Webber and Erik Bliss, are employees of New York Family Magazine. 'Kristin's a mom, that's of interest to us-interesting moms in show business doing stuff,' Mia explains. Both Mia and Erik approve of Kristin's shoe line. Though they both set the bar low for expectations, Mia describes them as 'actually pretty cute.' Erik chimes in, 'UM, why do they not make them in size 12 for mens? Because HELLO!' I decide to take the conversation to a dark place: Kristin's anti-vaccination stance. Considering their employers, they politely decline on commenting. I make a personal note to self: File vaccinations along with politics and religion as things you should absolutely not talk about at parties.

I part ways with my new friends and look into the crowd. A woman and her male companion tap me on the shoulder.

'Who is that? She's in the VIP and I have no idea who it is. Do you have any idea?'

I tell her I have literally no idea who anyone is here aside from Nicki Minaj's mom, who like some majestic unicorn I have yet to actually see. I take a photograph of this woman and ask her for her first and last name. She looks surprised that I'm asking her for her name, stays mute and points to what I'm assuming is her assistant. Her assistant hands me a card. 'Brandsway Cr#ative: Scarlett Stack, social media and creative strategist.'

I shake my head. A few hours into the party, this is my queue to make my exit. Walking down the hotel steps past a line of girls who are dressed like the rest of the crowd inside, I feel like I'm riding off into the sunset that is the end of my work week. Then, reality sinks in: I'm at Port Authority Bus Terminal, I did not get to meet Nicki Minaj's mom, and I spent the night being treated like the dirt Kristin Cavallari walks on in her snake-print stilettos-confirming that this was the worst fashion week event I had attended all week. Thanks for the terrible time.