Hocus Pocus
28 hours at the Magic show in Las Vegas.

I don’t know how I’ve avoided it, but this week was my first time at Magic, that megalopolis of all things sartorial. Stepping outside the McCarren Terminal, I know something is up right away – the streets of Las Vegas are wet and the nearby concrete creeks are brimming over as a huge thunderstorm just rolled through, swamping cars and muddying the man-made resort lakes south of Sin City.

But nearing the Convention Center, it’s clear that the meteorological display wasn’t the only storm blowing through Vegas. On this week, fashion deluges The Strip as a variety of shows vie for the attention of buyers. Of course, there’s the monster, Magic. But there’s also Pool, Project, United, and more. It’s likely some creative types are in some bar somewhere right now, slicing a niche of a niche, planning the next rebel sub show. You can thank Magic’s acquisition of Pool for that.

A sweltering cab ride deposits me at Project, and after some subtle wrangling I get a badge and photo credential. The show is sleek. With low booth walls, a unified soundtrack, and scads of truly beautiful people to watch, it’s a fun show to walk. Oh, the selection of brands is impressive as well. I spot Mike West from 686 Clothing walking the aisles and ask what’s up. Just walking, he replies, checking things out. He’s not the last person I’ll bump into in the next 24 hours, trying to sort this all out.

Indeed, with so many shows, making the decision to exhibit seems the least of your worries. Where to exhibit seems like a much trickier issue. There is a ton of crossover among the shows. Some exhibitors split the difference and get booths at several shows, which seems like an issue to me.

It takes an hour of solid walking to see Project and my dogs are barking when I share a cab ride over to Magic with a dress buyer from Ross. “How was Project for you?” I ask, slightly perplexed at what a Ross buyer would find of interest there. “Oh, I was at the off-price show downstairs,” she replies.

I missed that one entirely. How do people negotiate this maze?

I’m about to enter a maze myself, although I don’t know it. Now, at the risk of sounding like a conceited jackass, I’m not used to registration hassles at trade shows. The ones I attend I’ve attended for years and in the past the badges just miraculously appear in the mail, often accompanied with a friendly letter, party planner, drink tickets. I thought that’s how all trade shows are, but not Magic.

Now to be fair, the registration setup at Magic is top-notch. Bar code scanners read your pre-registration form and spit out the badge quickly and painlessly.

I don’t have a pre-reg form.

Worse, I now occupy a no-man’s-land, caught between marketing and editorial. This sends me on a Habitrail journey across the massive Magic show as I’m shuttled from registration point to registration point, each complete with conflicting directions and pointing index fingers. The press room is the worse. “Sorry, you’re marketing,” says the cute girl with a fixed smile behind the counter after I spend ten minutes filling out forms. “You have to go downstairs.” I look down at my shoes, dogs barking, sweat rolling, dejected look on my face. “We’re so happy that you’re here,” she says by way of a send off.

Yeah, me too.

Finally, after shelling out $200, and being firmly humbled, I get my credentials. Mind you, this is only for Magic. If I want to attend Pool it will be another $200. Grumble. Grumble.

So what does that $200 investment buy you? I admit it, the show is impressive. The next day I walk the Juniors section and it rolls for infinity. Once again I feel sympathy for a buyer trying to negotiate it all. But it must work, because traffic is steady and most exhibitors content.

Paris Hilton’s presence clogs one booth and the aisles surrounding it, a haze of camera flashes, a traffic jam of craning necks. The scene is similar in the streetwear area where there’s actually a line and velvet rope to see LL Cool J’s new line. The entire streetwear area is packed to the gills. The Tapout cast is rolling around with camera crew in tow and a dozen beats compete for attention, creating a wall of noise. But the energy level is infectious. Downstairs Brooks Brothers suited exhibitors stand around in knots, waiting for visitors, flanked by sportscoat wearing mannequins. The rumble of air conditioning. It’s a typical juxtaposition at Magic.

The sun hits you like a hammer when you step outside. I’m going to barge the Pool show across the street, and I’ll be bummed if I made this sweaty walk only to be turned away by my unwillingness to part with another $200. But security is lax, and I weasel in.

Pool seems most familiar to my over-stimulated senses. There’s a good buzz, but it’s manageable. It seems more startup and earnest than Project, but more creative too. There’s all the typical accoutrement: a limited-edition sneakerhead display, skate mini ramp, DJ turning records. There’s also a large “green” area in the middle that’s creative and sits well in the mix. The groundswell is thankfully building, the term “carbon footprint” no longer greek to many. More people are getting off their asses and standing up for the environment. At the very least, it moves product.

But my watch is now a warning. My visit to Magic has come to an end. Time to battle the cab queue back to the airport and try to make sense of this mélange of shows. Are orders written? In most places, that seems doubtful. Like the rest of Vegas, Magic seems more flash and sizzle than a place to drop paper. But judging by the crowds, hype, and cavalcade of peripheral shows, it seems to work nonetheless.