Front row is a mindset

Fashion week is pure chaos

In a good kind of way. Lots of people, too many rules, way too many wristbands. For the past three years, I’ve been operating on a simple principle: if you sit front row with enough confidence, no one asks questions. Especially at Zenia. I don’t belong first row. I never have. I just take the seat and hope for the best.

Backstage access? Same strategy. Walk like you know where you’re going. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it works too well.

Fashion week, Early 26

This time, I’m sitting front row, mentally preparing my exit plan in case security suddenly remembers their job — when Giancarlo Esposito casually sits down next to me. No warning. No explanation. Just Breaking Bad energy to my right.

We end up talking through the entire show. Laughing, commenting, fully enjoying ourselves like this is a totally normal front row experience. At the end, he grabs me with both hands on my shoulders and says: “Pius, you are a good guy. I really want to visit you in Vienna — and bring my daughter.”

Where it all ended — Hermès After party

Later that night: the Hermès afterparty. Things get blurry fast. Music too loud, drinks too strong, sense of time completely gone. One moment I’m laughing, next moment I’m already somewhere else — no idea how I got there. Classic fashion week blackout energy. Everything feels unreal, slightly out of focus and way too fun to question. The photos? Evidence. That’s all.