Getting into the James Coviello show, which was held in a West Village townhouse, was like going on the flume ride at Disney World on a Saturday afternoon. We arrived and joined one of two lines growing down 9th Street. We checked in and were told to stand on the other line. After our hands turned numb, we made it inside the townhouse. And, just like Disney World, we encountered yet another thick line of
sardines showgoers once inside.
We eventually made it to the clothes, which were difficult to see behind the crush, but seemed colorful and flirty. Through the hallway, at the end of yet another line, a tiny room offered more models in fall clothes. Cute waiters handed us Champagne as we passed through, the glasses depressingly filled by only a third. The models were hidden behind the pack — again — so we gulped down our Champagne and got back in line to exit.
One of the benefits to staging presentations is that buyers and editors can pop in and out quickly. Coviello’s, sadly, made that impossible. West Village townhouses are great for, oh, sitting around and counting money, but not for fashion shows.