The Hottest Show at Fashion Week Was in Their Hotel Room

Anonymous tales of furtive passion amidst the parties and shows of fashion week.

Anything can happen when adults come together for marathon days of work and pleasure in some of the world’s swankiest capitals. At fashion week, buyers, editors, stylists, and others meet in Paris or Shanghai or New York to revel in new ideas about lifestyle and dress that can result in beautiful new harmonies. It can also result in a lot of sex.

Like a horny summer camp reunion, fashion week can bring together the best dressed, best looking, and most DTF players across the industry. Sure, there are late nights spent writing front-page reviews and social media posts…but there are also early mornings waking up in someone else’s hotel. Below, some anonymous insiders share their stories.

“There were some boring fashion week parties, then a Wolfgang Tillmans rave at Chinese Tuxedo, I think? Then a bunch of us ended up at Boiler Room and vibes were escalating with a certain photographer/director—so we took the vibes to my office and fucked on my desk. We must have been the horniest magazine staff in history because we weren’t the only pair to do so in that office that week.” —A 30-something photo director with no inhibitions in New York

“It was London Fashion Week February 2022. I shagged someone between the Ahluwalia and Molly Goddard shows. We had been on a date a few months before and then were texting that day. He said come over—he was hungover—and I had a small break in my schedule. You have never seen someone leave a show as quickly as I did. I told my editor I was going to charge my phone. Told him I had a ‘hard out at ten til two;’ when I turned up it was around 1 PM. I made the Molly show and positively bounced my way in. Anyway, it was a fun way to break up the day, certainly beats killing time in Pret!” —A London-based reporter who claims to be “old enough to know better!”

“Back during PFW in 2014 there was a guy who was easily the hottest man in fashion. Very popular with extreme sex appeal. He seduced me at a fashion party that we were wasted at. I took him back to my room at The Ritz and we fucked til dawn. I recall lots of intense and passionate fucking, spanking, rimming. Rough and very very hot. I was the top. Few people have ever been as beautiful as he was then. Everything was perfect. I had a boyfriend and we were not open. That spring we met up again for dinner and later that night we flipped. I invited him to meet me in LA that summer and it was on but then I got cold feet.” —A 55 year old who doesn’t want to reveal any more about themself, thank you very much

“I made out with a model I matched with on Tinder or Hinge or one of those next to the bubble bath cauldron at Le Bain around 2017. We never saw each other again—and he’s since gotten a girl pregnant, but I remember in the moment feeling like: This is everything.” —The only 32-year-old writer in Brooklyn to have a positive story about Le Bain

“It was NYFW, in 2020, I think. A lighting assistant who I had met at a show earlier that day—I seem to remember it being Prabal Gurung?—came up to me backstage at another show later that night and starts outrageously flirting. We were up on the thirtieth floor of some skyscraper, and as the backstage starts emptying with models and production and HMU running downstairs and jumping into elevators for the show on the ground floor, she hops on a desk against a window, grabs me, yanks her skirt up and asks me to ‘please fuck her.’ Only in NYC! I obviously have to oblige! At some point a production person reenters the backstage, looks at us, and swiftly turns around and leaves. No harm done.” —A 31-year-old photographer who’s up for anything

“A couple of seasons back, a womenswear brand did their afterparty at the Pompidou in Paris. It got pretty rowdy and there was hardly any security, so the bathrooms were busy in every sense. I saw a buyer leaving a stall with a group of people, but as I was going in, he did a 180, and we went into the stall together and hooked up. Mind you, I had met the buyer for the first time in a run-through that same day, and the doors of the stalls at the Pompidou are kind of see-through. It was pretty hot. In the end, the store where the buyer worked placed an order with my brand after skipping a few seasons.” —A 34-year-old PR in Paris trading kisses for orders

“It’s not exactly salacious, but I met one of the great loves of my life at Fashion Week. I saw him across the room at a party in London for some shoe designer—Nicholas Kirkwood, maybe?—and a publicist asked if I needed to meet anyone for the story I was writing. I pointed, ‘Yeah, I need to meet him.’ Four hours later, he moved into my hotel room. And that was basically it, my early twenties were sorted.” —A “not in my early twenties anymore” writer in New York

“A new writer on the scene arrives for his first Milan Fashion Week. It’s September 2019. At this point I am a regular at fashion week, and as we’re getting to know each other, I suggest I show him a night on the town. I arrive at The Parigi, where all the Gucci guests are staying, feeling cocky, like I own this town despite only speaking at best remedial Italian. The naif I expected is instead hosting court before Sienna Miller and Beck. He got up to speed quick! Anyway, we drink, gossip, do blow. All I remember of my outfit is that I was wearing a funky-looking Gucci watch. I have a show in the morning so eventually I step out and he follows me to the door. Oblivious as per usual to any designs he may have had, I’m stunned, if pleasantly surprised, when he kisses me. We make out as we head to his room and I discover that, far from the aggressive lay I imagined, he was quite tender, sweet. I spend the night and head to my Airbnb, only later I learn from his text that I’d left my watch behind. ‘Don’t worry,’ he writes, ‘I’ll hand it to you at the show.’” —A 37-year-old American editor with time on his hands