Fashion Weak

Georgio, I don't think that was a Quaalude

Well, the fashionistas have pilfered the last goodie bag and the supermodels have wiped the last bit of vomit from their gaunt cheeks, thus bringing to a close another glorious New York Fashion Week, brought to you by the fine folks at Olympus.

Truth be told, this is the first year I was really tuned into the whole Fashion Week lollapalooza. Usually I'd catch an item in Page Six or see some anorexic bobblehead on the Style Channel talking about how it's "the return of the skirt." But since I'm interning at [name of fashion/lifestyle magazine deleted], I've pretty much been dropped into the center of the chaos. OK, not the center--I didn't get to see any shows or do any lines with Tatjiana in the port-o-potty. But I did work at Bryant Park for our parent company and was thisclose to the madness.

I'm a major star-fucker, so getting to (literally) rub shoulders with the in crowd was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. For the most part it was kind of cool looking like I belonged there, with a badge and everything. I got to go into the main tent, pick up some freebies and pretend like I was very important.

The downside though, was that in addition to having to wear all black in 85-degree weather, I had to wear the dorkiest looking fisherman's hat with our company's logo emblazoned on it. The kind of hat Gilligan (R.I.P. Bob Denver) wore, but all in black. I don’t have a head for hats anyway, but this thing was embarrassing—I looked like Blossom's gay brother, Pansy. I tried styling it like a fedora, but there was no hope. I had to stand there handing out issues in this hat as Anna Wintour, Andre Leon Talley, Hal Rubenstein and the rest of the fashion elite walked by. Thank god they don't generally notice non-entities like me anyway.

I don't really have much to say about the fashions themselves—mainly because I didn’t really see any of them. I snagged an invite to the Perry Ellis show, but ended up bailing on it. (I did, however, go to the party later that night and nabbed a sweet goodie bag with an umbrella, watch and wallet). I was given an invite to the BCBG/Max Azria show on Monday and even got a seat assignment, but after waiting for thirty minutes we were told they overbooked by 900 people and were sent away. Fuckers.

Anyway, here are some random thoughts on the past week. I'll probably be adding more over the next few days, and should have some pics up soon.

2006 Fashion Week Awards

Worst fashion trend not on the runway:
Has to be all the unlined lace tops I saw being worn by middle-aged fashion editors. It was the strangest dichotomy—these sophisticated ladies with their expensive haircuts and jewelry, wearing trashy see-thru tops that look like they came from the bottom of Cher's closet. I don't want to see bare skin under lace when it's young and supple, I certainly don't want to see it when it's old and leathery.

Best Celebrity sighting:
Scott Weiland at Gwen Stefani's L.A.M.B. show. For a crack-out rocker pushing 40, the guy looks pretty damn good. Hell of a lot better than Fergie (a.k.a. the Duchess of York), who still looks like she needs a bridle and some horseshoes.

Clearest Example of Schadenfreude:
Everyone was chattering about the poor editors who got hit with a falling Klieg light during the DVF runway show. Many acted "concerned," but you could see the slight smirk on their faces as they spoke. Others practically called for FEMA to step in.

Tackiest PR stunt:
So Saks is trying to push cashmere for the spring. Fine. But they actually brought a herd of goats (do goats come in herds, anyway?) to Bryant Park and paraded them around the tents. I don’t know if you have to kill the animals to make cashmere, but I'm sure the goats would have preferred not to be pressed into service like that

Most Tasteful PR Stunt:
To promote their new line of Nick(it) suits (which actually look quite stylish), J.C. Penny hired a bunch of very handsome male models to stand on Sixth Ave in suits, top hats and canes, performing "acts of courtesy" like opening car doors, opening umbrellas and bowing as rich bitches scurried by.

Bitchiest Moment:
This rather large man who was clearly not in good health (someone important, I think—he had three chaperones) was leaving the tents and making his way slowly down to the sidewalk. He was actually gripping the rail and pausing after each step. At the bottom of the landing was a 40-something fashionista, indignant that she had to wait for this man before she could ascend into the tents. She proclaimed, loud enough for those around her to hear, "I have a show to see!"