Fashion Story Time With the Brant Brothers: Sitting Front Row and Missing Marc Jacobs

We met Peter and Harry Brant, the sons of supermodel Stephanie Seymour, at the second Miu Miu Musing a couple weeks ago. While Peter Brant II might be better known at the moment for photos snapped of him and his supermodel mom being super-affectionate on the beach at St. Barth's that sent the internet into a frenzy (Brant subsequently eloquently defended the photos in a statement to Gawker)--after watching Peter and his little brother Harry essentially upstage larger-than-life Andre Leon Talley that night, we knew these boys were destined for fashion greatness. Like, they're gonna be huge. They also happen to know their stuff when it comes to fashion. Having family friends like Azzedine Alaïa and and Naomi Campbell around will do that do a person. "When we were little we used to spend hours sifting through our mother's dressing room and various designer's ateliers," Harry told us. So we asked them to send in dispatches from their experiences at New York Fashion Week. Peter, 17, reflects on what it's like to sit in the front row (and what happened when someone stole his seat at Alexander Wang). Harry, 15, hilariously recounts his failed efforts to make it to Marc Jacobs on time. Enjoy.
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We met Peter and Harry Brant, the sons of supermodel Stephanie Seymour, at the second Miu Miu Musing a couple weeks ago. While Peter Brant II might be better known at the moment for photos snapped of him and his supermodel mom being super-affectionate on the beach at St. Barth's that sent the internet into a frenzy (Brant subsequently eloquently defended the photos in a statement to Gawker)--after watching Peter and his little brother Harry essentially upstage larger-than-life Andre Leon Talley that night, we knew these boys were destined for fashion greatness. Like, they're gonna be huge. They also happen to know their stuff when it comes to fashion. Having family friends like Azzedine Alaïa and and Naomi Campbell around will do that do a person. "When we were little we used to spend hours sifting through our mother's dressing room and various designer's ateliers," Harry told us. So we asked them to send in dispatches from their experiences at New York Fashion Week. Peter, 17, reflects on what it's like to sit in the front row (and what happened when someone stole his seat at Alexander Wang). Harry, 15, hilariously recounts his failed efforts to make it to Marc Jacobs on time. Enjoy.
Photo: Brian Nordstrom for Vogue.com

Photo: Brian Nordstrom for Vogue.com

We met Peter and Harry Brant, the sons of supermodel Stephanie Seymour, at the second Miu Miu Musing a couple weeks ago. While Peter Brant II might be better known at the moment for photos snapped of him and his supermodel mom being super-affectionate on the beach at St. Barth's that sent the internet into a frenzy (Brant subsequently eloquently defended the photos in a statement to Gawker)--after watching Peter and his little brother Harry essentially upstage larger-than-life Andre Leon Talley that night, we knew these boys were destined for fashion greatness. Like, they're gonna be huge.

They also happen to know their stuff when it comes to fashion. Having family friends like Azzedine Alaïa and and Naomi Campbell around will do that do a person. "When we were little we used to spend hours sifting through our mother's dressing room and various designer's ateliers," Harry told us.

So we asked them to send in dispatches from their experiences at New York Fashion Week. Peter, 17, reflects on what it's like to sit in the front row (and what happened when someone stole his seat at Alexander Wang). Harry, 15, hilariously recounts his failed efforts to make it to Marc Jacobs on time.

Enjoy.

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Harry's fashion week story: At 7:40 I ran outside my building and tried to hail a cab on Broadway. With no cab in site, I managed to get one of those off-duty town cars and thus, had a difficult decision to make: risk missing front row at Marc Jacobs or get in the car with a slight chance of getting murdered. My decision was obvious. I slammed the door shut I told the driver “26th between Park and Lex.”

After what seemed like forever, we pulled up on the corner of Park and 26th and he gave me the total. So I pulled out my wallet, opened it up, and saw nothing but yuan inside my fabulous Prada happy Chinese New Year pouch. Naturally when I tried to pay the cab driver in yuan he looked at me like I was an utter idiot. Then he began to scream. We argued back and forth until I finally threw my 400 yuan (about $60) into the passenger’s seat and ran. I glanced at my phone and saw it was 7:59. I burst through the throng of photographers hoping to snap a shot of Fergie and ran to the bouncer but then I heard the music begin. I had just joined the famous ranks of those who have missed the Marc Jacobs show.

I found the head guard backstage (read: a bigger much scarier bouncer) we fought back and forth until Ivan Bart form IMG came and settled the problem. He was truly my fashion godmother that night. I began to mingle backstage with fashion's most elite, including Derek Blasberg, François Nars, Lorenzo Martone, and Marc Jacobs. I felt in awe at the amount of genius in one room.

Then the collection began to unfold before me: polka dot dresses flew by creating a blur of sequins skirts and fur trim collars, there were rubber shirts under peplum dresses, and stiff and shapely silhouettes ranging from early Balenciaga to Alaïa. The entire collection had a playful air and was as close as one gets to perfection.

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Peter's fashion week story:

To be front row at fashion week is truly unlike anything in the world--it is an experience within itself separate from the actual show. Amid the chaos that precedes the moment when the runway comes to life it seems a daunting enough task just to locate ones seat among the mob of press and media elite. Your assigned place, nestled among Gossip Girl guest stars and notable fashion editors does not only provide a better view of the new collection, it also validates your own self importance.

Around a half an hour after the show was scheduled to start the ocean of press on the runway subsides almost suddenly, and the runway’s protective shroud is pulled back to reveal the smooth and pristine path beneath. The lights dim, and the clicking of cameras is drowned out by a blaring techno beat. Despite being positioned physically below the rows behind, you are emotionally higher than the rest of the room. Time stands still everywhere but the runway, and as the show concludes the models march out onto the runway like a battalion of beauty queens, followed by their leader (a sweaty and most often a shabbily dressed designer) who darts off the stage with barely enough time to blow a kiss in Robbie Myers' direction. The tranquility you felt during the show is rather odd considering how much you had to drink at Bagatelle earlier but don’t worry--rushing to plow through the throngs of fashionistas blocking the entrance backstage leaves you appropriately nauseous.

I had always thought that the most difficult part of sitting in the front row was actually getting seated there in the first place, but this season I learned that even after you’ve secured that coveted spot, holding onto it can prove to be almost as much of a challenge. At Alexander Wang, my seat (a few down from Kanye’s I was pleased to note) was adjacent to a pair of Asian reporters wearing press passes from a magazine whose name I couldn’t quite make out. After settling in I went to mingle with a few friends, but when I turned back to my seat I found that it was now occupied by an abnormally tall Asian woman in a silver sequin bolero jacket and knee high Louboutins. A wall of photographers surrounded her, egged on by one particularly pushy publicist. I explained my dilemma to the least intimidating usher I could find, and she told me that the woman was apparently a popular Asian TV star of some sort who had been placed in the second row and sought to rectify the situation by sitting in an empty seat next to some reporters that she knew (that the seat she chose happened to be mine was just bad luck). The stressed usher offered me another spot further down the row, but instead I sat next to Derek Blasberg, who suggested that I simply share a seat with him and one of his editors in the second row.

Wang’s fashion forward fall collection achieved a simplistic yet glamorous look, synchronizing his love for monochromatic color palettes with a myriad of shimmering textures, all offset by mink accents. For me the most exemplary pieces were the metallic neon stilettos that accompanied each look--if only I had been able to see them better from the second row.