Ahh, the overwhelming smell of Chanel perfume and the crisp sound of stilettos kissing the subway tiles one after the other. New York is always so welcoming to its visitors, especially during one of the most beloved weeks of the year by locals and tourists: New York Fashion Week.

Celebrities, designers, models and fashion lovers gather from all walks of life to come together on this celebratory week filled with style trends, glamorous runway shows and, everyone’s favorite, the after-parties. It’s the one-week of the year where the hustle and bustle of New York City spikes in Tribeca, Manhattan and the bar is set high for all fashion enthusiasts.

For a newcomer, New York Fashion Week is a whirlwind of excitement, color, and constant motion. But, there is a perpetual cycle of irony in the chaotic world of fashion week. After being herded backstage, yelled at by management and sitting so long that your butt falls asleep, about two hundred people gather closely to watch 50 models strut down the runway for approximately fifteen minutes. Once the show ends, those same two hundred people are bolting to get out the door and make it to the next show, only to wait another hour and a half for it to begin. The most ridiculous part of it all is I enjoyed absolutely every minute of it.

As a young student and fresh face to this exhilarating world, I was taking notes of every minor experience. And as the videographer and photographer, I had arguably the best view of it all.

The press process begins two hours before each show is set to begin. First things first, I’d collect a press pass and head backstage for interviews, pictures and my favorite, craft services. One of the biggest lessons I was taught during fashion week is an essential tool for surviving the week, and it’s something my boss likes to call “the see food, eat food diet.” Between running from show to show to show, there is hardly a second to pee, let alone eat a decent meal. The whole week I survived off backstage croissants and New York’s notorious $1 pizza. Although I’m definitely not complaining, being backstage is like being on the set of a movie production; models running around half-naked, hair extensions flying in the air and grown men cursing at the sight of a crooked winged eyeliner. It’s incredible.

When the doors open for front row access, photographers jump to see who they can spot. Celebrity fashion icons like Heidi Klum, Anna Wintour, Coco Rocha, and Gigi Hadid slyly sneak their way into their front row seats and pretend to ignore the blinding paparazzi lights and endless calls in the pit for their attention. For celebrities and influencers, Fashion Week is about being seen, not seeing the collection. It’s all about creating an appearance for themselves and maintaining a presence in the public eye. And although they may be fashion icons, the true fashion addicts are squished right beside me in the press pit. Most of the photographers and videographers have been covering fashion week for over a decade. They not only know all the tricks of the trade, but they also know a good runway look when they see one and I was lucky enough to get very close to some of the professionals during the week… literally.

The area sectioned off for the press pit can comfortably accommodate about fifteen photographers or videographers and their equipment. However, imagine those fifteen spots, but filled with over fifty people and their cameras all shoving towards the center of the pit to get the best angle for their shot. Elbows in your face, feet constantly tingling from falling asleep and guarding your saved spot like a hawk until the show begins; That is the real truth behind fashion week as press.

But despite the sore butts and tingly feet, it truly is all worth it for those fifteen minutes of pure magic as the models put on their game faces and present the new collections with grace and ease. From new designers like Fe Noel to fan favorites like Christian Siriano and The Blonds, I was fortunate enough to see it all from the absolute best seat it in the house and I wouldn’t trade the day-old croissants and cramped spaces for anything.