Monday, February 26, 2007

The End of Oscar Night, and Off To Party!

(Note - I am transcribing this from Miss DeCarlo's notes. It's late and I want to go home, but if this isn't fresh and crisp and published tomorrow, I will be put through the tortures of the damned. The Devil doesn't wear Prada, she wears wisps of chiffon. You didn't hear it from me.)

Oh, dear, that naughty Chris Noth! My gown is all mussed, my glorious blonde hair flattened, but it was worth it! I snap my fingers at George Clooney! He doesn't know what he's missing.

Speaking of missing, we seem to have missed quite a few categories, since they're just finishing up the Dead People segment. Oh, well, I don't think anyone important died or I would have heard of it. Chris, dahling, would you be a dear boy and get me another mojito? Thank you!

Hmmmm..Helen Mirren won Best Actress. That scrumptious Christian Lacroix dress...the woman is agelessly hot. Lovely breasts. Oh, dear, I sound like Oprah Winfrey.

Look at that ridiculous getup she wore to the Oscars. Not quite in the Sally Kirkland league, but heading in that general direction.

Oh, my, Forrest Whittaker won Best Actor. Everybody knew he would, but poor Peter O' Toole. He was so wonderful in "Venus", if rather hard to look at in close-up. And what is with Mr. Whittaker's eye? For all of his career I have been wondering when he is going to have that strange eyelid of his fixed. But perhaps it's like that huge mole on that Creole singer's has mystical powers or some such.

Darling Marty Scorsese! He is such a divine man, so small and yet so wonderfully talented. I grip Chris's hand hard and squeeze, for I am feeling quite happy and a bit tipsy. I should have eaten something besides one piece of rumaki, but this dress is very tight and Oscar (the designer, not the statue) didn't have time to let it out.

And now "The Departed" won. My God, is that actually Diane Keaton? In that lovely black ensemble? Someone must have mugged her backstage and forcibly changed her clothes, she never looks decent on awards shows. My, what a tiny waist! It almost makes up for having to look at Jack Nicholson and his huge cueball head.

The only nominee I saw was "Little Miss Sunshine," which I adored, although between you and moi, Eddie Murphy should have gotten Best Supporting Actor. The Norbit curse and all that, you know.

Chris is beckoning that it is time to move on to the next shindig...Good night, dahlings!

Oscar Night Marches On!

(Note - this is being transcribed by me, Miss DeCarlo's personal assistant...she threw her Blackberry into the office early this afternoon when she got in, and went straight to bed. If I knock on the door I could get severely hurt. I need a new job...)


Next stop, the Entertainment Weekly magazine party at Elaine's! Now THIS is a soiree! I fit right in. My favorite film critic, Lisa Schwarzbaum, is sitting in the last remnant of lap Harvey Weinstein still has. Can you say 'conflict of interest'?"

Half the casts of all of the various permutations of "Law and Order" are here...of course, I forgot that they film in our dear city. And there is Liev Schrieber, whose Hamlet I am still trying to forget...wasn't he supposed to be at the New York magazine party?

Dear God, I look up at the television monitor to see Randy Newman and James Taylor. Sweet Geezer James always sounds exactly the same, whether he's singing 'Fire and Rain' or Randy's latest piece of Oscar dreck...time for another cocktail, pronto.

There's Chris still, my heart (and other parts of my anatomy). He's sitting with one of the hundreds of cast members of "Law and Order."

But our eyes lock, and we move across the crowded room toward each other. It is almost as good as meeting George Clooney. A girl can't have everything, but this is pretty darn close. We watch the monitor as Emily Blunt and Anne Hathaway present Best Costume Design. I think it's rather silly to have extras in the clothes rather than mannequins, and, looking at the corgi onstage, reflect on just how badly Bucky would behave under the circumstances. (Peeing on the Queen would be so low class.)

"Marie Antoinette"?? Is the Academy mad? They will always go for the foo-foo and ruffles over the more sophisticated and realistic designs. My personal choice was 'Dreamgirls,' it brought back so many childhood memories. Not that anyone I knew dressed like that, but I did see them from the limousine window.

I am sorry, but I like Anne Hathaway's dress. I realize that I am in a distinct minority.

Chris Noth smells's quite distracting... (leave that part out, you idiot!)

Every time Ellen Degeneres comes on, she's got one another ugly outfit (she needs Melissa Etheridge's stylist, if not Melissa's make-up person, who made her look like a plastic punk rocker), and somehow seems to leave a hole in the screen. Yes, she's being all shucks-folks-I'm-just-happy-to-be-here. But that is how Rosie O'Donnell used to behave at the Tony Awards, and look how that turned out!

Thank goodness for Jerry Seinfeld...he's funnier in eight minutes than poor Ellen has been all evening. Part of it is that he could not care less. He doesn't need the money or the exposure--wait, I think we have our perfect next Oscar host! Just please, please don't bring back Whoopi Goldberg, or I might have to get a restraining order against the Academy.

Oh, it's time for the "Dreamgirls" song montage! And doesn't Jennifer Hudson look PERFECTLY MAGNIFICENT in that sparkling red dress? You go, girlfriend, as the young people say! Beyonce' has abandoned that mint green monstrosity for some sort of flowing thing, but unfortunately she still has the stage presence of an apple. She can howl like she was on "American Idol" as much as she wants to, but it doesn't make her any less of a Mocha Diva Barbie. Ah, and there's that third girl they made look so goofy in the movie...she obviously laid down the law to the costumer, because she is working some serious bling in that dress. But it's Jennifer all the way. She and Queen Latifah...women with actual BREASTS on the Oscars...oh, and of course Helen Mirren.

Excuse me...Chris wants to have a word in my shell-pink ear...

Oscar Night, continued...

(Note: this is being transcribed by me, Miss DeCarlo's personal assistant, from the notes she's sending me, so please forgive any discontinuity. Please, or she'll be so mad, and I need this job.)

Dahlings -

I have arrived at the Spotted Pig for the New York magazine party, and there is not much doing. There's Mark Green in the corner, chatting up the ever-hilarious Andy Borowitz. This is a very dressed-down crowd. Hmmph. Off to find the television monitor and a cocktail...I can make my own fun.

Oh, my darling friend Andre Leon Talley is on! But WHAT is that thing he has got Jennifer Hudson wearing? That--that reptilian jacket thing! The dress is a lovely draped Oscar de la Renta brown dress on a lovely brown woman, but off with that jacket! Andre, dahling, what were you THINKING? We have to have a serious chat before you come to "Haute Cou-Poor" to give your lecture on "How Much Is Too Much: The Aesthetics of Bling."

Finally, the show is beginning...I was in fear that Mark Green would want to talk to me about the environment.

What is that Ellen DeGeneres is wearing? My guess she still wishes Johnny Carson were hosting the show, because she is wearing one of his old outfits, right down to the white shoes.

Oh, dear, she is dull. Get off, dear.

What was that musical interlude about? A gospel choir marches offstage and nothing happens? Conan, where are you when we need you?

Oh good Lord, there's Nicole in that hideous red Balenciaga thing, even worse from a distance. She simply cannot move her face! This is beyond Botox, dahlings, a surgeon must have cut a nerve. I need another cocktail. Perhaps a mojito this time.

JACK NICHOLSON -- the man has shaved his head! It looks like a huge pale basketball! It's as big as Ted Kennedy's, without the hair! I can't help but think of Daddy Warbucks. Jack, Jack, has your famous cool finally deserted you?

PILOBULOUS? Weren't they something you inflicted on your children back in the 1960s in the name of arts and education? Wonderful. Shadow puppets. Something tells me Ellen thought of them. Happy childhood memories and all that. Cheery people annoy me. At least the rest of the crowd in the restaurant is hooting derisively as well.

I need to be with other fabulous people. Back to the limousine...

Sunday, February 25, 2007

It's Oscar Night, Dear God In Heaven...

(Note...this is being transcribed by me, Elisa's assistant, from notes she is messaging over, so please forgive any discontinuity. She is going to a variety of parties in Manhattan tonight, but I have to stay here and work...I hate my life...)


I am on my way to the first of MANY fabulous parties in Manhattan, and my limo has a computer in the back, so I have it turned to the TV Guide channel for the moment...

My GOD, what has happened to Joan Rivers? She looks like the Bride of Wildenstein! Please, somebody chloroform the woman! Didn't she once have a face? And that fur shrug...what sort of rasberry polyester animal was killed for that? Must change channel...must...

Ah, Ryan Seacrest, the hardest working drone in show business. There's Cameron Diaz, in a dress made entirely of paper dinner napkins. From the neck up, she looks like Burt Lancaster playing an Native American in an old Western...those light eyes and that strange tan and that hair...poor dear can never get it right...


This CANNOT be the woman who designed those glorious costumes for "The Devil Wears Prada"! Not this ancient Rita Hayworth wanna-be with dyed purple red hair, too-tight strapless red spangled dress, and those baggy old arms and neck! I am all for aging gracefully, but two words...matching wrap! Also, do not stand next to two stunning young actresses when being interviewed. She should have made sure to stand next to Forrest Whittaker. I love Emily Blunt's sparkling blue strapless gown. Young women today have no idea how to wear strapless gowns, or for that matter, how they should be fitted. The usual trend is for the dress to cut straight across the top, too tightly, so that what little flesh they have above the breasts bulges out when they walk. What would Rita have said?

No one notices Sascha Baron Cohen's fiancee, but let me inform you that she is wearing a green satin dress that way a strapless dress is MEANT to be worn! Heart-shaped front, lots of decolletage, and firm upper support. Now I know why I loved "Borat."

Oh my GOD...Nicole, what are you THINKING? I've always thought redheads look good in red, but that pale coloring, black mascara, blonde straightened hair, do not work with that hideous dress. She looks like a tube of red lipstick with a goiter!

George Clooney...sigh...need one say more? He makes me want to fly out to Los Angeles this minute and smother him in my properly fitted bosom. I am wearing that spectacular Oscar de la Renta you saw in my earlier blog, my mahogany mink and high-heeled matching fabric pumps, the same as the dress. Because of the unfortunate size of my feet (the only thing about myself I regret) they had to be custom made, but what's money, if not to be spent?

Penelope Cruz may have a face like a foot, but her Atelier Versace blush pink gown is simply smashing. Now, if only they could transplant her head... I'm firmly in the minority on this one, but I like Kelly Preston's leopard print gown. As least someone isn't killing themselves to look piss-elegant, as the saying goes. Pardon my language. Besides, she's married to that human cream bun John Travolta, so she should get her kicks where she can.

I'm at my first be continued...

(tape clicks off)

Thursday, February 22, 2007

More On Haute Cou-Poor! Plus Today's Fashion Tip!


I have barely a moment, but I thought I'd dash into the office, where my idiot of an assistant has been making transatlantic phone calls for me (thank GOD for this Internet thing!).


As if I didn't know...ahem.

Even though I have been terribly, terribly busy with Mercedez-Benz Fashion Week, the Westminster Dog Show, "Haute Cou-Poor," my program at FIT, has begun, and we had a simply SPLENDID opening party at the Beatrice Inn! Until you have seen Andre Leon Talley with a champagne bucket upside down on his head, you cannot say you have lived. Again, more later. I did want to let you all know that I haven't forgotten you, even though I do for long periods for long time. After all, I am a very busy, fabulous woman and one must parcel out one's mental energy.

An aside: I have received news that that terrible woman who shares my name is opening a show of some kind, called "Pointless Rebellion," down on the Lower East Side (shudder) in some firetrap. You can go to if you feel so inclined. The nerve of some people. I have asked her to consider changing her name, but she simply refuses.

Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Today's Fashion Tip:
Clip Earrings Make A Comeback
The New York Times wrote in January about the return of button clip earrings, a style last popular in the late 1960s. Lucky's March issue also mentioned them. This trend is a boon to people like my grandma, who never pierced her ears and who's been increasingly frustrated with the limited options for the non-pierced.
From "She's A Betty" (link at right)

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Happy Valentine's Day, Dahlings!! And VBO!

Ah, the world is filled with love today! An absolute overabundance of love, and chocolate, and roses...starting one's day with some champagne certainly puts one in an amiable mood, I must say. My guest for the night surprised me with breakfast in bed (and surprised the maid, too, I'm afraid--she didn't realize he had stayed).

In any event, I had a wonderful time at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. So many people I know there, and dog people are simply not as...well, what's the word...insane as people in the fashion industry. Few are. They have their strange quirks (I still don't understand backcombing a shitzu) but all in all, quite soignee.

Before I change for dinner, I simply have to let you know that over on Ebay, the great leveler of the populace, there is a Vintage Blowout Sale--a rather common name for a special event. For one week, vintage sellers (including moi) offer their wares at a mere pittance. So if you have any sense at all, you'll get yourself over there and snatch up some marvelous vintage bargains. Thank goodness I don't do this for the money! Here are some of the lovely things I'm offering:

1950s Black Satin Beaded Clutch Bag

1970s Genuine Lynx and Cashmere Hat

1960s Zip-Front Polka Dot Dress, XL

1970s Black Sequined Disco Cap


Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Monday, February 12, 2007

Back To My Fabulous Life...

Dahlings –

To recover from Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, I spent yesterday lounging in the tub, and had a deep tissue massage, manicure and pedicure. Bucky also got a manicure, although on black nails it’s hard to find the right color, and he simply hates red. So I chose a dark glowing purple. I refused to answer the constantly ringing phone and without my assistant there, I locked the office. Let them all wait, say I.

The next two days will be spent at the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Unfortunately Bucky cannot go with me, poor dear. I would carry him in my Gucci custom-made dog carrier. But once he got a sniff of the other dogs, well, let’s just say some purebred show dog muzzle confirmation would be irreparably damaged.

It will be such a pleasure to watch animals who are well-fed, even if they cannot eat chocolate either. Off I go!

Ciao until next time,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Friday, February 09, 2007

Fashion Week Goes On, and On, and On...


I've been thumbing through my notes (or rather, listening to them), and wanted to mention a few shows I forgot to Blackberry to my assistant until today. Pardon my unforgivable laxness.

The Michael Kors show on Tuesday was THE show to be at, dahlings, so naturally yours truly was there, in the front row, resplendent in a quilted cream velvet trenchcoat, carrying a large lacy cream-colored chocolate box of...what else?...chocolate creams. My dears, I plan these things to the tiniest detail. Matching stilleto-heeled cream glove leather boots. I would have worn gloves, but one needs to be able to lick the chocolate off one's fingers in order to get the maximum suffering from the catwalk girls.

I sat in the front row, quite near Sarah Ferguson the Duchess of York, who politely asked for a chocolate cream. But as soon as she took it, she had to stuff it in her mouth lest the photographers see her eating it. It must be such a bore never to be photographed eating! It quite undid any semblance to royalty, watching her chew the candy like a cow chewing its cud.

Seated next to us were Donald Trump, his hair, and his latest wife, as was a security guard to keep The Donald's hair from moving whenever there was a stray breeze from outside the tent. Amazing how fast the man could move! Plus every fashion editor of every magazine, dressed in an array of fur, leather, and various warm things. As usual, it was the actresses and the lower-paid who were shivering in sleeveless dresses. They don't have health insurance, what ARE they thinking?

As for the collection itself, it was all about luxury, which is my bread and butter. Once again, the models were dressed more warmly than many in the audience. Even Coco Rocha was completely swathed, which is a blessing. One does wish Kors would use more than a splash of color here and there. However, the fur dresses--a mink shift!--did make me feel a bit wistful about my decision not to wear fur during this particular Fashion Week. I have such lovely things at home--but then I saw some more of those idiotic Russian hats and my self-esteem rose to its usual high level.

Back to the limo!

Elisa (who still doesn't dare bring Bucky the Wonderdog, who is sulking)

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Anna Nicole Smith, R.I.P.

She will hardly be remembered as long as the woman she aspired to be, Marilyn Monroe, but the fact that she lived only three years longer than MM is equally as tragic.

And also, like Marilyn, Anna Nicole is now more than ever fodder for the parasites that feed on lies, rumors, and half-truths that become "fact"after enough time has passed. Whatever her troubles in life, they will be overexposed in a manner that any conscience human being would find humiliating, degrading and unimaginable.

I have nothing else to write. Others will have far wiser, and far more idiotic, opinions than any I could voice.

Rest in peace, Vickie Lynn Hogan.

Behnaz Sarafpour Needs Zoloft - Fashion Week Cont.


Why, oh why did I subject myself yet again to the Behnaz Sarafpour show? Hated it last season, DESPISED IT this time. My dears, if you want to see Depression Strutting, this was your meat. Dowdy, dull, gray, gray, gray.
Ms. Sarafpour must have stopped taking her Zoloft, that’s my opinion. Or she did all of her designing in a very dark room lit by a candle, with the wind howling outside. Actually, that was also the atmosphere at the show, and it had the intended effect. I ate my entire Toblerone.

And the models—once again, hideously skinny teenagers. You think I would be used to it by now, but it also startles me that anyone so gaunt can be mobile.

Of course, several models stumbled, but it was because they were passing by moi, sitting in the front row with my Toblerone. Understandable.

AND THE COLD! Vogue’s Hamish Bowles had the sense to wear a scarf, and some others in the audience wore sweaters and coats, but then of course there were those style-at-any-cost look-at-mes like Piper Perabou who shivered valiantly in a sleeveless summer frock.

Thank God for Bill Blass—or rather, Michael Vollbracht. A beautiful collection. But to be frank, your faithful correspondent has seen far too much of the wildly original these past few days. Many Blass gowns that I plan to order for myself, some LUSCIOUS satin brocade fur-trimmed coats, and a gold dress that is almost the exact duplicate of a gold dress presently being sold by my fellow Ebay seller, underwood_estates. See for yourself:

Underwood-estates is selling it in a terribly chic size 4, otherwise it would be in my shop.

My only regret was seeing First Lady Laura Bush dressed in Blass the other day...but one must push those thoughts out of one's mind in order to function, non?

The less said about the Betsey Johnson show, the better. Child molesters would have loved it, and I see the same things on Ebay every day for far less. Nothing original, except for Joan Jett in the audience! I am ordinarily not a rock fan, but I was almost inspired to play air guitar and belt out “I Love Rock And Roll.” Fortunately, I stifled the impulse. My image and all that.

In the midst of all this, I came across a delightful, body-positive way to promote your brand: the company Jack Spade has wants to save the models: by handing out cookies shaped liked hot dogs and hamburgers to the catwalk stalkers as they make their way around the tents. Each comes with note that reads: "These cookies have been baked with extra love and care, please visit to purchase a cookie, a portion of proceeds given to skinny people everywhere."

Must change my outfit again…when will this END??

Elisa (sans Bucky The Wonderdog at present)

Those Big Fur Hats Conceal Big Swelled Heads!

Dahlings -

It is with utter disgust that I report to you the reprehensible behavior of many of the magazine staff and internet reporters swarming around Fashion Week! Ninety percent of them swathed in huge Russian fur hats, the better to contain their egos. Yes, it is bloody cold here in New York City, but can't anyone wear something original?

Even Andre Leon Talley, my dear, dear friend, who is going to be speaking at "Haute Cou-Poor" next month, had one of those things on his head. Although if you were shorter then me, you probably wouldn't have been able to see it. More on Andre's upcoming appearance when I have a minute to breathe!

I myself have been wearing a variety of chapeaus and scarves, refusing to wear fur. (I actually love fur, but one must make a statement, no matter how subtle.) You can practically get trampled getting around, and the parties--! Mon dieu!

Bucky the Wonderdog has been an invaluable companion. When someone tries to cut me off or push in front of me, with lightning speed Bucky's little head comes out of my carrier bag and bites the offender! Since it's winter there have been no flesh wounds, but he has ruined countless Pradas, de la Rentas, Anna Suis, and such. So satisfying. However, I am going to leave him at home for a day or two...his nerves, you know. Plus he tried to bite one of those dreadful tiny children at one of the shows, and I do not want to get sued. It looks so bad when the newspapers get hold of it.

Elisa and Bucky the True Wonderdog

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Fashion Week - Coco Rocha, Why??


I had to take a break to Blackberry my assistant to send you word of the shows…I only hope no mistakes are made in translation.

Since Saturday I admit, I have been looking at the collections with an even more jaundiced eye than before, if such a thing were possible. I was refused entrance at the Marc Jacobs for show for my unflattering remarks about his Venice party a few weeks ago. I say, if you can’t take the heat, stay out of the atelier.

Speaking of heat, we are having some of the coldest weather in donkeys years here in New York City. I jump into my limo as soon as I’m finished with one show to go to the next (and to change my outfit and my chocolate box--each have to match!). But all the same, those five seconds on the sidewalk make me quite sympathetic to the less privileged. As long as they don’t try to touch me.

Carolina Herrera’s collection spoke to moi the most. So elegant, so classic, a little flat, but after some of the ordure I have seen on the models’ backs I was grateful for some dullness. There was some lovely dresses, in sophisticated purples and the ever-present gray (too much like the weather for my taste). Including a strapless number I will be ordering for myself that will show off my creamy shoulders perfectly.

Jill Stuart showed her collection at the New York Public Library. If there is a worse setting for a show than a huge, frigid marble cavern in winter, I’d like to know where it is. She claimed to be “inspired by vintage,” and yes, most of the outfits were copies of Swinging Sixties styles. Inspiration, my foot. I see the same things on Ebay—A-line dresses, peacoats (although Stuart had a lovely shade of blue for many of her things), fur toppers—for a fraction of the cost. For a change, the models were dressed more warmly than the crowd, which included many shivering interns in thin blouses and short skirts.

If Stuart’s inspiration seemed a little thin, perhaps it is because she is busy launching more product lines than Halston did when he was desperate for drugs. Not that I imply a thing, mind you. Just musing.

Lara Stone receives my vote for Model Who Looks Most Like She Was Just Hit By A Two By Four Before Her Entrance
The ubiquitous Coco Rocha for Model That Makes You Ask, Why?

Tanya Dziahileva for Most Starved Model (A Ferocious Competition, but Tanya tried to snatch a truffle from my hand at the Luca Luca show!)

The Oscar de la Renta show was wonderfully luxe. Furs, checks, so much to buy! I'm wondering who has had the tightest brow lift...Barbara Walters or Diane Von Furstenberg? Feel free to write in with your vote.

I am simply mad for his beautiful evening gowns. This was my personal favorite:

Of course the ubiquitous Coco Rocha was modeling, as was Tanya Dziahileva, who can look staggeringly gaunt in anything:

Off to see more…I’ve heard that Rod Stewart is in attendance. Did you know that he looks remarkably like my dear Mama did in her dotage?

I did have a lovely time at the Marchesa party (banned from the Marc Jacobs party, of course, and I know better than to try to get in). Harvey Weinstein is such fun, and we played "find the almond" in my decolletage.

A few more days of this and Rosie O’Donnell is going to seem like a breath of fresh air.

Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Sunday, February 04, 2007

Fashion Week vs. Fashion In The True Sense!


Saturday was a roller-coaster of emotion for yours truly. Truly. I spent some time sitting at the runways for Fashion Week, but I simply had to make it to the Manhattan Vintage Show at the Metropolitan Pavilion. Can anyone say "when worlds collide"?

The Yigal Azrouel show was simply one of the ghastliest shows I have ever attended. It can be summed up in one image:

And this, mind you, was one of the prettiest models in the show. One hideous design after another, worn by women with thighs like pencils and men with bad haircuts who looked like someone had given them a wedgie just before they came out.

The designer mentioned that he was inspired by what his girlfriend likes to wear...he might have to have a few sessions with a therapist to find out if it's really a woman he's sleeping with.

At several shows, people brought their very small children with them, who proceeded to whine and wiggle and in one case, throw up on Anna Wintour. (I only wish it had been Heidi Klum.) Ms. Wintour's calm was admirable--the child and parent were promptly heaved out, pardon the pun, and a lackey immediately brought Ms. Wintour a fresh skirt, while the Vogue editor never took her eyes off the runway. That's the sort of woman I aspire to be.

To go to the Manhattan Vintage Show in the middle of all head swam, dahlings, it simply swam! I walked into the cavernous, freezing space, and saw racks and racks and racks of FASHION IN THE TRUE SENSE!

A silk Dior from 1951! With the original Harpers Bazaar magazine displayed below it.*
1930s voile dresses!
Balenciaga when the name MEANT Balenciaga!
Exquisite white Edwardian tea gowns, covered with embroidery that had made nuns go blind
1920s beaded dresses in every imaginable color! Velvet coats with fur trim!
Pucci, Pucci, and more Pucci!

I was in fashion heaven, dahlings. I not only spent several hours there, I spent several thousand dollars, but what's money? It's only there to be spent, after all.

The only thing that bothered me was this: many of the sellers were quite large, but I did not see much large-size product (pardonnez moi for calling it that). When I queried one seller, she said larger women didn't come to these shows because of the communal dressing rooms! How ridiculous! Not only that, the larger women could only buy accessories for the most part, which is an outrage. Yes, I know Dior didn't design for plus sizes. But even back then there was a 1950s version of Victor Costa busily making knock-offs.

It's a sad state of affairs when the biggest vintage show in the world can only accomodate the smallest women. However, my spirits were still uplifted by being surrounded by so many beautiful clothes, so many sumptous fabrics, furs and feathers.

* The Dior dress and magazine were presented by the Cat's Pajamas Vintage, a fellow Ebay seller and a darling woman.

Then it was back to Fashion Week and the after-parties, but I must confess, I felt a tad depressed. After such opulence, the Fall Ready-To-Wear seemed like so much...not much.

Ciao for now,
Elisa and Bucky the Wonderdog

Friday, February 02, 2007

Fashion Week Is Upon Us Again! Fall 2007


Yes, it is hideously true, Fashion Week for Fall 2007 has descended upon New York like a plague of wasps (or a plague of WASPs, if you look at the socialites in attendance--I nearly said 'socialists,' but of course they're busy putting on Un-Fashion Week in other parts of town, as they always do.)

It's nothing for me to look fabulous at all times, but the weather, dahlings, the weather! Cold, biting wind, rain...enough to muss a girl's coiffure. Especially if you are like me and insist on not wearing a hat. My beautiful blonde hair is one of my trademarks.

That, and sitting in the front row eating chocolate. I so enjoy tormenting the models. Since Valentine's Day is coming, I've been able to get my assistant to buy some large heart-shaped chocolate boxes, the old fashioned kind with lace. It almost doesn't matter how the chocolate actually tastes...hearing the moans of hunger as the poor skinny dears parade by makes my sacrifice worthwhile.

(I think more than one designer might be better off using my idea for dead Brazilian models, as outlined a few posts ago. I should add the idea is copywrited, and when my lazy assistant gets around to it, patented as well.)

The day before the madness, I stopped in at Glamour Magazine's cocktail party, held at Milk Studios. It's a lovely penthouse, the views aren't quite as nice as mine, but it was a chance to mingle and watch Shalom Harlow stare desperately at the buffet. (A little drool even escaped her mouth.)

Yes,"they," whoever "they" are, are trying to pass laws to make models resemble real people, if only fleetingly from a distance, but the poor girls are still starved, gaunt, and miserable. Of course, being starved, gaunt and miserable can help one's attitude on the runway, particularly when one is wearing something simply hideous by the Proenza Schouler line for Target. There was an opening day launch at 35 Howard Street which of course your faithful correspondent attended. Schouler is having a four-day sale of their new merchandise at Target itself, but after the first day my friends tell me the place looked like it had been ransacked. I was not about to get bitch-slapped by some intern for an ugly little mini-dress that looks like a thousand other ugly little mini-dresses.

As for the Miss Sixty show, I detest the idea of "referencing" the past when all you are doing is stealing some old photos from Roller Boogie. (Linda Blair was a healthy weight in that movie, I might add.) Miss Sixty should have been called Ms. Eighty. Show me a woman who looks good in metallic leggings and I'll show one. Pink, one of the few women in rock that I adore, was wearing an extremely short denim minidress and a Mohawk...apparently the theme is to be "Summer In Winter," but it should be called "Freezing To Death For No Good Reason In Bryant Park." My dears, we are in TENTS!

I strolled into the after-party at The Box, hoping to get locked in the lav with Adrien Brody (those eyes!) but then people kept mistaking me for Kenny Kenny and I decided to call it a night. False eyelashes can be a real mistake sometimes.

More to report tomorrow, but I simply must get some rest...thank goodness for Sarah Jessica Parker's relaxing soap.