Krista Lewis

While the cast of "Pyramus and Thisbe" may have been amateurs, Columbia's newest theater group, The Mechanicals, strives to be anything but.

Everyone loves a good auction, especially when the items up for the bidding are donated by some of the best-known celebrities and fashion figures. The one item that seems to be on everyone's lips (pun intended) is Kate Moss's new retrospective photo book, signed and kissed, in the Re/Create New York auction benefitting Hurricane Sandy relief. While the bidding is still open for a few days on this particular item, it is already up to a few thousand dollars, the highest-priced item so far. The book retails for only $85, so it seems the highest bidder wants to feel closer to Kate Moss's lipsticked pout. more Accompanying almost every item is a playlist curated by the donator. Though Moss's includes her own playlist to accompany the book, it isn't quite as long as the others and includes some revealing choices. Every song is one that she either contributed to or starred in the music video. It seems this is self-preservation as well as a charitable cause for this heroin-chic model. But Kate Moss isn't the only one with something covetable. Anne Hathaway donated a bejeweled and autographed strapless dress, Kanye West a signed pair of Air Yeezy II sneakers, "superblogger" Leandra Medina a Marchesa clutch, and designer Alexander Wang a custom leather tote bag.  My personal favorite is a sixty-second grab-and-dash through Net-a-Porter's New Jersey headquarters. Who knows how much you can grab? There's also some artwork by big name artists, which, for anyone interested in art, is completely and utterly swoon-worthy. Unfortunately, none of these items are in the college-student budget, but luckily for those of us dedicated to higher learning, the playlists are free on Spotify. So we can listen to Kate Moss's dedication to herself, Burberry designer Christopher Bailey's favorite indie rock songs, and Alexander Wang's taste in electronica. These are only a fraction of the more than fifty items to dream about. Lucky for us, the auction's founder, digital agency Createthe Group, plans on making this a yearly event. So there just might be another chance to snag something once we're employed for real.

I didn't know what to expect. I had heard so many ghost stories—they were almost seared into my memory—but I couldn't wait to form my own and to obtain the actual thrill and rush that attending "Sleep No More" gives you. It was so much more. It premiered in early March 2011, and has been extended multiple times (its original end date was May 14, 2011 and it is still going on), so I had ample time to hear every story I could.

I entered the building, gave my name to the desk and received the playing card: an ace of diamonds that would allow me to enter with the first group of attendees. I instantly separated from my friends, a strategy we had decided upon on the train ride there. The elevator was having technical difficulties, so we were lead through a back entrance with our white masks on—our group resembled observant ghosts, which we soon would be in human form. I raced ahead of the others and ended up alone on a floor with no actors. It felt like a haunted house. I found myself in a room with baby dolls dangling from the ceiling. I still don't know what happens on this floor. I never made it back.

Eventually more people trickled in, and I found myself observing a well-choreographed fight. I followed the bald woman who appeared to have run into a room with strobe lights and some form of orgy going on. I was shocked and doing everything I could to not get in the way while trying not to make a weird face, only remembering at the end that no one could see my reaction under my white, billed mask. I followed the same woman into an apothecary-like room with dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. We were alone and eventually locked eyes as she washed the blood off of her hands. She stood up. My heart was beating like never before. She walked up to me, stared into my eyes, and eventually grabbed my head so that we touched foreheads. She then silently walked away.

Punchdrunk, the theater company that produces "Sleep No More," focuses on immersive experiences, and that's exactly what this is. But a distinction needs to be made between this and a haunted house (especially this time of year). These are actors and professionals who know how to tell the story of Macbeth without words. They are acrobats. The way this is performed, closely and dramatically and quickly, makes you feel what the actors are feeling and provides a constant adrenaline rush.

I watched Macbeth kill his father and wash away the blood with his mother while nude in a bathtub, and the detective who figures out who done it. I then sprinted after every character I saw running away (be warned, they are all in amazing shape and run as fast as they can up and down too many flights of stairs). No one speaks—all of the action and plot is told through movement and costume change and whatever else the amazing actors give you while you try to find the best angle to see it all. I still feel like I missed so much of the play. It runs three times throughout the night, so you have a chance to see what you missed before, but there is still no way to see everything. Sharing the details on the walk home, I was told of the experiences that my friends had, and they were so different. There were scenes that I didn't know existed, and personal experiences with actors while locked in a room together.

This is more than just a play and more than a haunted house. It's an experience that you can't get anywhere else—that of being an anonymous observer in silent action. It's well worth the $80 ticket and, frankly, I'm surprised they don't try to charge more. After all, you get a workout thrown in for free. Keep in mind that tickets still sell out a few weeks in advance and you only have until Feb. 5 (at least for this run) to catch "Sleep No More." But there's always a chance that demand will bring it back.

Want to learn more about the people and production behind "Sleep No More?" Olivia Aylmer talks to one of the producers and takes a behind the scenes look at the unique performance.

I walk in and feel the rush of the cool air emanating from the cold, white marble. The Cage is always filled with something new. This time it's an operating table with a mannequin covered in a black rubber sheet and accessories splayed around her. This is one of my regular pilgrimages to the Alexander Wang store in SoHo, and I can't help but allow a small sigh of relief as I escape for a few hours from the midterm madness that has taken over my life. I feel like Holly Golightly, but my Tiffany's equivalent holds a bit more sentimental value than the jewelry mecca. The first big purchase I made without the help of a parent was after my first summer job, when I found a pair of sky-high structural black pumps on sale there. Mr. Wang will always hold a special place in my fashion-loving heart. Every time I arrive, I am calmer. I can breathe for once. My mind moves to wondering about the innovation of fabrics, then to the faraway factories and workrooms where Mr. Wang and his team dream up these new techniques. I'm not really sure I understand how they make each garment—every piece has something I've never seen before. There's leather woven into a sweater with wool, leather bonded to silk (my mind is completely boggled as to how this is done, please enlighten me if you have any inkling), and plastic-covered leather jackets. I am speechless, and I float through the store ignoring the hefty price tags that accompany these remarkable innovations. That's the thing with stores and collections like this: They are stunning, but so expensive. The more reasonably priced line is still extreme for a college student on a budget (let me admit, I barely buy anything not vintage anymore—if I do, I have to need it). There are normal T-shirts in an array of new, on-trend colors every season, but they're still just plain old T-shirts, right? Next time you're in a "luxury" store, try one on. They fit better and the fabric is ridiculously expensive because of the composition of the fibers and the weight in which it's weaved. The price might still seem ridiculous—after all, you can go somewhere else to buy a comparable, perfectly good shirt­—but you are buying into the brand. That's a factor in any major label purchase. For me at least, it's a conscious decision that this is part of the image I want to project onto the world. (I'd also like to clarify that I only buy these shirts when they're on super sale, which does happen eventually.) I did pick up a few things to try on while refusing to look at the price tag. I just knew that it would be outside of my reach (I prefer eating to buying a new dress, but pick your poison). I always find something that I love and feel like I can't live without, but I have a hard time dropping serious cash on one thing (I guess I live by not putting all of my eggs in the same basket). This isn't an experience that only I can appreciate. Go, fondle the clothing, and try some on for fun. It's not like anyone knows you won't buy it as long as you walk in with confidence, or at least that's what I tell myself. Trying on new clothes that you normally wouldn't is a great way to try on a different identity, make yourself extra stunning or fancy, and escape from a stressful reality for an hour or two. I leave, consoling myself that the perfect red dress will be there later if I decide I want to bankrupt myself on it, or that I can find it on sale at the end of the season. Knowing that there are clothes that make me look and feel great will have to last me through these next few midterms. Krista Lewis is a sophomore at Barnard College who loves soy cappuccinos and French Vogue. Uptown/Downtown runs alternate Fridays.

Columbian fashion can be cliquey, or at least easily identified and categorized. There are the preppies, the jocks, the cool kids, and the hipsters, among many others, usually divided into Uptown and Downtown. Speedwalking down College Walk, I usually play a little game between classes in which I try to categorize someone into each group as quickly as possible. Admit it, you do it too. There's a go-to uniform that everyone has, even if it's the Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khakis or skinny jeans and Chelsea boots, it's usually something we feel good, and therefore look good, in. What we wear says a lot about us, reflecting that diversity that admissions aimed for. So with New York Fashion Week starting this week, I've been wondering how much the process of taking clothes from the runway to consumers (hey, that's us!) actually affects what we wear. Some of us may make it to a show or two, or at least stalk our favorite editors and models outside with a camera, hoping to grab a street style shot for our blogs, but the rest will have to settle for waiting for the photos to go up on style.com with baited breath. It wasn't always like this. Our elders didn't have this newfangled thing called the Internet and were forced to wait until the clothes landed at Bergdorf's or Barneys. Fashion's Night Out, started four years ago by Vogue Editor in Chief Anna Wintour, also showed the non-fashion-obsessed folks out there that Fashion Week exists (as well as boost sales for cash-strapped designers) by throwing a worldwide party to commemorate its start every September. Our location just a few blocks uptown from both events has made it easy to feel a part of this commotion. Even with our easy access to the shows and the clothes once they arrive in stores, there are very few of us who are willing to wear a Rodarte or Oscar de la Renta dress to class. So many clothes that designers are showing these days just aren't relevant to our lifestyle of living in libraries and laying around in lecture. That said, brands like Rag & Bone and Alexander Wang are casual enough that we'll, or at least I'll, wear them, but these still aren't items that I throw on every day. There aren't many of us who are willing to spend serious cash on the clothes that are shown by the designers we obsess over during this special week. But what isn't necessarily obvious is that everything we buy, whether it's from Madewell, Topshop, or a smaller boutique label, is directly influenced by what will go down the runway this week. Some items are direct copies, which usually infuriates me enough that I have to leave the store, but other times it's more discreet, such as having more pants in stock, or adding a preppier spin to the basics. Usually when I'm fuming that those pants look just like the ones that Proenza Schouler showed last Fall, I remember that scene in "The Devil Wears Prada" where Meryl Streep humbles know-it-all Anne Hathaway by telling her exactly why she was able to buy her cerulean sweater in exactly that shade of blue (for those that don't remember or haven't seen the movie, it's because Oscar de la Renta showed gowns in that color a few seasons earlier). And that's why we should care about Fashion Week. What the designers will be showing this week will end up popping into our closets no matter where we shop, or whether we categorize our style as Uptown or Downtown. Krista Lewis is a sophomore at Barnard College who loves soy cappuccinos and French Vogue. Uptown/Downtown runs alternate Fridays.

I always feel like I have nothing to wear. I buy something at Zara and then see someone else wearing it the next day, and bemoan the conformity that buying items at fast fashion retailers brings into my closet. So, when I get up in the morning I tend to reach for the items I've scored from the many thrift stores downtown. My favorites include a wonderful sherbert-colored skirt and my extra-large cardigans with elbow patches. These are the clothes that get the biggest reactions from friends and coworkers. Whenever I realize I'm missing some specific pieces from my wardrobe, I head down to my favorite stores in the East Village with the hopes that I can score again. The anticipation always kills me. I imagine over and over again the clothes I might find and let my imagination run wild. Each item has a history, which I imagine while trying them on. Those penny loafers I bought the other day probably belonged to a teenager who never wore them, that skirt to a confident editor who had to let it go when she moved to Paris. These stories are almost as good as being absorbed in an engrossing novel. It's more of an escape than regular shopping when I imagine who I could become if I bought those clothes. While I sift through the junk, searching for the treasures, my mind begins to wander and my senses heighten. My fingers are hyper-aware of the texture of everything, searching for that fabric that will feel wonderful against my skin. My eyes scan for the right color and cut in reflex mode. I become unaware of time and become enthralled in the hunt. I feel like an art collector searching for the perfect painting that fits with the rest of the collection. When finals week hits, I find myself reaching for my favorite pair of boyfriend jeans all too often. On the other hand, putting together outfits is the only way I can be creative in the midst of papers and exams. I don't have time for my photography or sketching, but I have to put clothes on—I might as well channel my creative energy by sporting the most unique pieces from my wardrobe. While prices for designer vintage can get steep, I always find a few incredible deals during my thrift store jaunts. Still, it's easy to forget the positive environmental impact that purchasing pre-worn clothes has. When I put on my favorite thrifted loafers I feel a little less guilty than when I pick up something from fast fashion stores like Zara or H&M—some of the biggest industrial polluters. Alternatively, thrifted clothes don't require any new resources to be used in their making. According to a recent article in Refinery29, China, which produces 50 percent of the clothes in the world, produced 2.5 million tons of sewage in 2010. And the dyes and chemicals used on clothes are some of the worst pollutants around. Some of these companies are cleaning up their act (pun intended). Zara has pledged to stop using all hazardous chemicals in their production by 2020. But that's a long ways away. And we don't need any more clothes rotting away in landfills. We need all of the land we can get. I've been wearing my thrifted pieces for a long time now, and they don't seem to be falling apart yet, unlike that trendy dress I splurged on a few months ago. These clothes have lasted, and will continue to last. In them, I will express my unique sense of style and live my own story. Krista Lewis is a sopohomore at Barnard College who loves soy cappuccinos and French Vogue. Uptown/Downtown runs alternate Fridays.

During New York Fashion Week I became a street style photographer for a few days. As an aspiring photographer, it was thrilling, and while editing the photos I took, my heart started to beat faster as I remembered the rush of trying to get the perfect shot of a well-dressed man or woman passing by. Not to mention the fact that I was able to shoot next to some of my idols: the legendary New York Times photographer Bill Cunningham, Scott Schuman of The Sartorialist, Tommy Ton of Jak and Jil, and Phil Oh of Street Peeper. Still, caught up in this whirlwind of lenses and fancy frocks, I was disgusted with myself for taking part in this extreme invasion of personal space and privacy, even though at this point, it's expected. The scene outside of Lincoln Center and Pier 94 was a mob of every industry insider and style icon and blogger and celebrity and aspiring fashion student, whether invited or not. Everyone was in constant threat of being knocked to the ground by aggressive photographers with extra large cameras and lenses. But, I also noticed a lot of people like me: young, fashion-obsessed amateurs toting a cheaper Canon and eagerly eyeing their idols. On more than one occasion, a confused tourist approached me and asked what all the commotion was about: My response, "It's Fashion Week," was met with blank stares. Had they cared, they could have joined the mob with their cameras. which were otherwise occupied with shooting tall buildings. And that's just it. Street style is now a 21st century medium for making it in the industry, a way to shoot to instant fame, or at least, the street style equivalent. It's easy: All you need is a camera, a website, and a willing subject or a flashy outfit to catch someone's eye. The shows have lost their mystery because of consumers' increased ability to access them instantaneously online. It's the street style photos that have become the coveted documentation of fashion week, and have democratized fashion. While there's still immense competition, if your blog is noticed everyone in the industry wants to work with you. Photographing people entering and exiting shows has become one of the must-try ways to make a name for yourself in the business. No one wants to work hard for 20 years before reaching their dreams—myself included—if they can do it in a week. Street style itself has changed, too. It has morphed into a new way for designers and the average man or woman to start trends. Designers draw inspiration from how their customers wear the runway looks. Even ad campaigns have jumped on the bandwagon, featuring models hopping across the street as if rushing to an imagined show. In a recent article, The New York Times discussed how designers are now using street style stars as walking, talking advertisements. The streets outside of fashion shows are scrutinized as much as the red carpet before the Oscars. This phenomenon has moved past being merely a fad—it's here to stay in some form or another. So where does this leave aspiring fashion photographers and style stars in the future? Eventually, someone will invent something more cutting-edge than the current online platforms, and people will inevitably scramble to become its new stars. Whether we like where it's headed or not, 21st century street style still celebrates what people are wearing on the street and in their everyday lives, especially those that aren't afraid to express themselves. We have to remember that dressing for ourselves, not for our favorite photographers, is the best way to ensure that true style endures. Krista Lewis is a spohomore at Barnard College who loves soy cappuccinos and French Vogue. Uptown/Downtown runs alternate Fridays.

I always feel at home in the rows and rows of books at Book Culture. But that feeling is amplified when I walk into my favorite shop, Casa Magazines, in Greenwich Village. Hundreds are stacked from floor to ceiling, waiting patiently for me to flip through my favorites until I finally break down and hand over a twenty for just one unbearably thick title. This obsession only started recently. I didn't have access to any international or indie magazines at home, so I always devoured Vogue within hours after receiving it. My only view into the different aesthetics of the fashion world was through the Internet. Tumblr was a godsend for me in high school. I also relied on looking at different magazines' websites and blogs for my daily dose of unique content. Still, none of these compare to immersing myself in print magazines cover to cover. Once I moved to New York and found myself in stores that sold titles I'd only dreamt of holding in my hands, my love affair with print flourished. Now, when I have the rare free hour to peruse a purchase, I start at the very first page and slowly make my way through, marking my spot when schoolwork calls. I must admit, I get a little obsessive. Call it magazine OCD. It's just that I want to consume the content in the way the editors intended—they did curate the magazine in a specific way, after all. Consuming fashion in print form is far from the online experience, which usually consists of clicking on whatever suits my fancy. It's the same with newspapers. When I have a free morning to pick up a copy of the New York Times from Lerner, I actually sit down and read through each section, even making time to skim those that don't exactly interest me (read: Business). Of course, my schedule typically only allows for a few clicks around the website, where I tend to read the main page headlines, the style section, and a few opinion pieces. Blame it on the Internet, but I just feel less informed when I get my news the modern way. When I read Style.com, it's a completely different experience from reading Style in print, the website's year-old publication. I take my time as I look at the editorial photographs, as opposed to quickly scrolling through them via Tumblr. Sometimes I even caress the page. Paper, after all, has a major impact on how we perceive an image. Matte versus glossy, or thin versus thick—these distinctions affect the quality of the photo staring back at me from the magazine on my lap. Once I could finally visit my favorite charming, hole-in-the-wall mag store on a frequent basis, I started to make a few new friends: I met Self Service, with its stripped down photos, and LOVE, the biannual British tome to the the avant-garde, and Lula, full of dreamy photos of teen girls in Prada, and The Gentlewoman, which I can always count on for profiles of fabulous women. And I felt like I had finally found the magazines that shared my point of view on fashion journalism: While a dash of glamour is all right, it should serve up dynamic content that tells me why I should care about fashion and reminds me why I do. When I take a title off the shelf at Casa Magazines, I see the images that I once merely glanced at on my laptop. Everything might not always appear as perfectly glamorous as it used to seem on my computer screen. In print, there are smudges and stray marks and the occasional typo, but I'm holding months' worth of work from the world's greatest fashion journalists, photographers, and designers in my hands. And that's what makes me sit down for an hour to read, starting with page one. Krista Lewis is a sopohomore at Barnard College who loves soy cappuccinos and French Vogue. Uptown/Downtown runs alternate Fridays.