A very good journalist who can take an acerbic stab at fashion that is tired or derivative, can become rhapsodic about spending time in Azzedine's kitchen (been there, en famille and it is a nice respite from the business of fashion) and can make language dance in staccato phrasing is emphatically tired of the emails from fashion designers. Bitingly criticizing some "designer froth" as being aging and noting that it takes a great pair of legs to pull off hot pants while bemoaning the flood of emails and photos from Cannes, perhaps not aware of the irony in the statement that "because of the duration of Cannes, and the number of events — not just the premieres and the AmfAR AIDS gala on Thursday, but also daily photo calls and parties — the festival has outpaced the Oscars in style." Perhaps a reason for a crowded inbox.
The work of sorting invitations to runway shows, scheduling a showroom visit, viewing videos and lookbooks in the fashion capitals of the world is, umm, the job. It's work. It's damn nice work, I think.
Maybe it is all too much every now and then. Take a nap, get a facial, go to a yoga class.
Kindly refrain from bemoaning the process and get interested again. Show don't tell and remember that there's always someone new that would slap their manicured fist down and ask you to scoot over because she wants to see every single photo. Every email. Everything.
Your readers do want to see the photos, read your delicious agnostic critiques and sigh over a slim foot in a hot red stiletto or black hot pants or chuckle at an overdone starlet.
Sleep is restorative and if that doesn't work, well .. someone else will.