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 you...no 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.