I WENT TO MY FIRST NYFW SHOW
I recently moved to the city (“where we used to ride a Yukon” — hopefully you’re not as chronically online as I am). Since getting here, I’ve had one main goal: to throw myself into as many creative activities as I can and to surround myself with as many creative people as possible. NY has always been a culture hub in my head, and now that I’ve been here a little over a month, I can say that’s exactly how it feels.
One of the biggest shifts for me has been with my clothing. The way I dress, the way I present myself—it feels like its own form of creative expression. You can tell a story of who you are by what you wear. And if there’s one place that proves this ten times over, it’s New York City. Every corner, every block, there’s someone in a fit so fresh it stops you mid-step. But twice a year, the city goes into overdrive. Twice a year, New York is host to Fashion Week.
Think of New York Fashion Week as fashion’s Super Bowl—except it happens two times a year and instead of touchdowns, it’s designers, models, and entire creative teams unveiling what the next season could look like. Every February and September, the city transforms into a stage: runways pop up in warehouses, art galleries, rooftops, or some random corner of Brooklyn you’d never expect. The point? To debut collections before they ever hit stores, to set trends, and to give editors, buyers, and tastemakers the first glimpse of what’s next. But it’s more than clothes—it’s art, performance, and sometimes activism. The heavy hitters (Ralph Lauren, Michael Kors, Carolina Herrera) share the spotlight with fresh designers trying to break through. It’s part trade show, part cultural spectacle, and the city hums differently while it’s happening.
On September 12th I got the chance to attend one of these shows, well—I got the chance to be outside the venue of one of these shows. Through an experience from Airbnb in partnership with fashion photographer Tyler Joe, a group of strangers got the chance to go feel the energy, street style, and rush of NYFW first hand at the venue for the Off-White Spring/Summer 2025 runway show. Yup, THE Off-White show. I geeked when I heard that. The Off-White brand and, more importantly, Virgil Abloh have been huge inspirations for me, and although we didn’t get to step foot inside the venue, to merely be in the presence and space where the show was being held was a thrill of its own.
And honestly, that’s the beauty of it—standing outside with photographers, fashion fans, and everyday New Yorkers in their wildest fits felt just as Off-White as what was happening inside. Virgil once said, “My goal was to tell a dialogue between high fashion and streetwear. So, the name Off-White, in my mind, is between black and white. So, that middle ground is a mixture between both genres of fashion.” That middle ground? That’s exactly where I was standing—on the street, watching fashion unfold in real time. It wasn’t about an invite-only seat; it was about seeing the dialogue alive and breathing right in front of me.
Demystifying the Myth
Here’s where the curtain gets pulled back: most of the people you see “attending” NYFW aren’t actually at the shows. They’re outside—just a few feet from the door—waiting for the moment that counts. And that moment isn’t the runway. It’s the flash of a camera.
The influencers, the fashion-obsessed, the wannabe style icons—they’re all hustling to get snapped by a street-style photographer. Why? Because a photo landing in an online magazine or publication means instant clout: “as seen in Vogue” (even if it’s just in a street style roundup). From there, they can slap it on Instagram and claim a little piece of Fashion Week as their own. And honestly, it works. That outer orbit—the sidewalk, the barriers, the chaos—is its own damn show.
I expected it to feel snobby, fake, self-absorbed, and honestly annoying as shit. But it wasn’t. At all.
Instead, it felt communal. Like a real-deal gathering of fashion fans geeking out over clothes and culture. People hyped each other up, complimented strangers, and celebrated style just for the sake of it. Sure, the pesky white girl influencers were out there begging photographers for shots (you can’t escape them), but even with that circus, the vibe was welcoming. It felt like everyone was there because they love fashion, not just for the gram.
The Photographers: The Real Storytellers
And this is where the photographers come in—the unsung heroes of the whole damn thing. They’re not just pointing and shooting. They’re curating a living archive. They capture the energy of streetwear, the way fits evolve year to year, and the culture that’s bubbling up outside the velvet ropes. Without them, the illusion of Fashion Week wouldn’t exist. They’re the reason you even know what NYFW “looks” like.
Following Tyler Joe that day made me realize this even more. Tyler’s a Brooklyn-based street style photographer who’s shot for Vogue, GQ, Harper’s Bazaar, Elle—basically all the heavy hitters. But what stood out wasn’t the resume, it was the vibe. He made the chaos approachable. Watching him work felt less like trailing a pro at the top of his game and more like hanging with someone who genuinely loves documenting culture. He pointed out details I’d never notice—angles, textures, moods.
Being around him reminded me why I came to New York in the first place: to be in the mix with creatives who make big, overwhelming spaces feel possible. Tyler made the street outside an Off-White show feel like a classroom, a hangout, and a cultural archive all at once.
Final Take
So yeah—NYFW isn’t just the runway. It’s also the sidewalk outside, the people angling for photos, the clout chasers, the fans, the random kid in the hardest fit you’ve ever seen, and the photographers making sense of it all. The shows are the headline, but the streets are the story. And for me, being out there was less about who got inside and more about feeling part of that wider, messy, creative machine that is New York City.
