The pictures are crucial intelligence, since many high-profile attendees won't deign to show an invitation. "For these people, their face is their invitation," Mr. Yorio says. Scanning the RSVP lists for certain names is a no-no, too, since the fashion crowd is easily offended.
Once the staid domain of buyers and fashion editors, today's shows, with a melée of stars and television crews from around the world, have become red-carpet events. Giant searchlights flood the tents, which house three separate runways. Paparazzi snap guests at the front entrance well before the models hit their stride. Crowds huddle outside on Sixth Avenue, hoping to glimpse the action. Some of them try to crash.
Publicist Gwen Wunderlich says she typically gets invited to six or seven shows. She also often slips into an additional four or five. Boldly, she even tries to snag a few empty front-row seats -- the kind reserved for fashion VIPS like Vogue editor in chief Anna Wintour -- for herself and a few friends. "I am the queen of sneaking in," she boasts. Glamorous clothes and flashy jewelry make the best runway-side camouflage, she says.
Ms. Wunderlich says infiltrating the hottest shows is essential to building her client list. "You have to be seen at this. If you're not seen, you're forgotten."
While Mr. Yorio concedes that some sneaks do get by his staff, he says his team's strategies tend to work. A smooth-talking Brooklyn native, he encourages his roughly 150 show guards -- mostly retired military and law-enforcement personnel -- to use a sense of humor rather than force when doing their jobs. "Most fashion people are very sensitive," he says. "Sometimes they cry."
To get crashers out of front-row seats, security guard Maurice O'Connell, who worked at the shows for six years, describes a technique he says is foolproof. "First you say 'hello,' then you quickly ask them to stand up and take three steps forward." Amid the preshow commotion, he says, the crasher usually complies quickly. "But that's when I hand the chair over to its rightful owner."
Guards contend with all sorts of tactics from poseurs, who present fake passes or pretend to be someone else. "We call them 'lobby fleas,' " Mr. Yorio says. Some are easily spotted because they flock to the freebies -- such as tote bags and samples of beauty products -- offered by show sponsors. The real fashion elite typically don't touch the stuff.
Nabbing imposters is a favorite sport among the guards, especially when the fashion wannabes attempt to pose as someone as recognizable as Vogue editor at large André Leon Talley. Mr. Talley is a towering black man known for his exuberant fashion statements. Mr. Yorio recalls how, about five years ago, a diminutive thirtysomething white woman tried to pass herself off as Andrea Leon Talley. "This is not happening," Mr. Yorio says he responded.
While crowd control and safety are paramount concerns, 'profiling' for dangerous characters doesn't always work. That is because the industry's avant-garde can look a tad suspect: Their clothes may be tattered, eyeliner smeared and hair mussed and dirty. "Someone could come in with one shoe and half a hat and is supposed to be in the front row," Mr. Yorio says.
A retired New York Police Department detective, Mr. Yorio says his 20-year post in the 19th Precinct on Manhattan's Upper East Side was good preparation for the job. He became acquainted with many designers because their boutiques were on his beat, or they lived in the area's penthouses. He also professes an appreciation for their work: Oscar de la Renta, Carolina Herrera and Ralph Rucci are among his favorites. "Their shows are so elegant, and such a pleasure to watch -- it's pure theater," Mr. Yorio says.
Since working Fashion Week, Mr. Yorio says he has become much more conscious of his own style. Yesterday, he donned a black leather jacket and blue shirt by Ralph Lauren, and Italian wool dress slacks. When on the job, "You have to look good," he says.
One physical hazard for the guards is getting stepped on by hundreds of pairs of fast-moving high heels. They also sometimes fend off amorous advances from wannabe attendees. "It's the whole guy-in-a-uniform thing, plus they think you can get them into the show," Mr. Yorio says. "It doesn't work."
-by Ellen Byron (WSJ)
*I think Balenciaga got both.)
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