Fashion blogger Isaac Hindin Miller files from Berlin Fashion Week...
I was walking off the catwalk through to the backstage area when a young IMG employee asked me in German for my credentials.
My first reaction here is always to just keep walking - I can't understand the language, can't be bothered explaining myself and just want to get
on and do my job slash have fun with Steve backstage.
If we were in Paris or Milan it'd be a different story, but Berlin Fashion Week is so small and there are so few international media here that I feel a rare sense of entitlement.
Usually the keep-on-walking tactic works a charm - they either keep talking in German then give up, or follow me until I begrudgingly show them my pass.
About a minute after ignoring the IMG guy, a higher-up IMG guy came backstage to talk to me and Steve. He told us we had to leave the backstage area due to not having an appropriate pass for the next show.
We chose to politely decline to react. He got on his radio. The backstage manager came along. She'd been getting a bit testy with us yesterday due to our not following instruction. She too asked us to leave. Once again we chose to politely decline to react. They both got on their radios.
The Vice President of IMG worldwide walked in.
With a security guard.
She explained the situation to us. We explained the situation to her. The other two kept on radioing frantically. It was like being at high school all over again.
After ten minutes it became clear that we weren't getting anywhere. Steve was rather annoyed at this point and told them exactly what he thought of their behaviour.
He did an admirable job of staying calm. He packed up his things and walked out, his head held high. I walked behind him shaking mine.
I just don't get it. The organisers here are so obsessed with the rules that they're willing to sacrifice the international exposure that a photographer like Steve can get for them over something as insignificant as a backstage pass for one show. Where on earth is the sense in that?
Thirty minutes later Steve and I drove to Berlin Fashion Week's headline act - Boss Orange by Hugo Boss.
After getting nowhere with European PR agents for the Hugo Boss show in Paris, I went back to my trusty Australian contact Amy. Within five hours she'd emailed me confirming a front row seat for the Berlin show, but no backstage access.
You never know until you try though, so as soon as we got there, Steve began making inquiries with the giant blonde security guard out front.
"No pass, no entry," came the reply.
We waited around for a bit then decided to take matters into our own hands.
We'd seen a group of thirty or so young people walking around the back of the building and decided that they must be the catering staff.
We walked in the same direction and straight into a security guard. He said hello, we said hello and kept walking. Twenty metres later we came to a second security guard. He said hello, we said hello and kept walking. We slipped in through the kitchen and found ourselves backstage.
You win some, you lose some.
Backstage was like a who's who of big money girls - Siri Tollerod, Margarita Senchylo, Vlada, Kasia Struss, Lakshimi, Eniko Hihalik and Cato all sat idly.
We set to work snapping the lot. Two minutes before the show was to start I ran out onto the catwalk in search of my seat.
Along the way I spied Adrien Brody with Sienna Miller and snapped a few quick shots. That girl sure knows how to work it for the camera.
After the show Hugo Boss put on the biggest barbecue the world has ever seen. Tables lined with food (including better lamb chops than I've ever eaten in New Zealand) stretched as far as the eye could see. We enjoyed the festivities for quite some time then headed home.
It's now 3:51am. Something tells me that's not going to make for a very enjoyable 8am wake up call tomorrow. Only time will tell.
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