The three young men standing at the bottom of the ramp are the exact type of beautiful you'd expect to see at Fashion Week: tall, rail thin, faces all cheekbones and lips and supercilious glint in the eye beneath perfectly coifs. I'm on a mission, though, so the usual nervousness with which I would tend to approach the rarified atmosphere that surrounds such luminaries (even the ones just working the door) escapes me as I ask them for directions.
They seem to genuinely think about it as one of them politely answers, "Um, really we're just here handing out free magazines?" as he offers me one.
I give them a big smile, "I'll pass this time, but thanks for offering!"