9 p.m. We've made it inside the venue for the show, which is running behind. Here's the thing about sitting front row at a fashion show: you're subject to any and all photos taken of you, almost as a gift back to the designer. If they dress you and seat you front and center, you hold up your part of the deal and let yourself be photographed. Benson doesn't mind, even when a woman in a rainbow getup approaches her for not one but four different personal photos. Although, when asked if she does this often, she says it's not her scene. "I hate waiting around," she replies happily.
Witnessing this, I think about how this must feel so transactional for Benson. People rarely speak to her during these encounters, at least during the several exchanges I've seen; they want the money shot to post online. It's sad and empty. Benson is unfazed.
During the exchange, she's also getting filmed and photographed by photographers, at times with reckless abandon. I now understand why those front-row photos often feature celebrities with a deer-in-headlights gaze in what looks like a Renaissance painting.
