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tues.

Gianfranco Ferre-much impoved -GFF- line features the likes of Polly Mellen, Yours Truly, Constance White, Andre Leon Talley and Interview coverboy Maxwell in the front row (wearing the most butter pair of Prada loafers imaginable). I fume with envy especially when we're backstage and Chrystele his love interest in the Matthew Rolston lensed "Something Something" video fuses with him for all the photo-ops that's worth. I dispell the black clouds by chanting "Envy is ignorance and Purchasing Power is Universal! Click's Debra Shaw opens in a very Japanese looking outfit. I guess now that she's in American & Italian Vogue simultaneously she's like a Big Girl. Bad Gal Brandi, back from ..err.. a brief vacation.. steals the show however, working it out- in this impossibly hobbled skirt, sighing and struggling her little heart out as she painfully crawls up and down the catwalk. Oh the drama of it all! Further drama at the Richard Tyler, with--y'know, the light fixture, the smell of fabric burning, Vogue icon Marina Rust's coat on fire. Do you suppose it was all a publicity stunt. Then again the coat was a Jil Sander so it couldn't have been. Somebody here is in the money because Tyler does manage to live up to the pretentious "Couture" billing sashed on this superluxe showing of devastating ballgowns and impeccable suits. Was it Micheal Milken who said "Capital is never in short supply?" Oh God, the 80's really are resurfacing!

weds.

Commence the day at the VIP Searle show, which features the iridescent return of Miss Beri Smithers and her new best friend, Brandi. Perhaps they met at the same... spaaaa? Honor Fraser looks cool, as does Company's new star Carrie Salmon but she's so sad these days I'm getting worried... I mean that horrible business with the boyfriend's suicide...her decision to shave her head in grief, the resulting sensation it causes at The Coutures...the torrent of work that triggers...It all reminds you of when Amber Valetta went through that huge depression after finding...but let me not digress. All I got to say is that Fashion is a strange mother that just lives to reward distress. Anyway, Liz Tilberis is in the front row protecting that ad revenue as is Vogue's Hamish Bowles. The line is all about luxe threads and minmalist H&M (hair and make-up). Impressive! After the show Brandi is clipping about in plastic sandals with black socks and dirty ole' jeans. I tell her that she's the only woman on this planet who could safely execute that visual and still be so ravishing. She blushes. This really is a new and improved girl here! Today is a good day because Fashion has parked its slight little ass right on my doorstep. Two major shows are literally three doors down from my pad. Fern Mallis really should consider relocating all the shows to Central Park West and 77th! First the Anna Sui. Am I hallucinating or did I end up attending the Betsey Johnson after all. Suphreme Empress Of The Downtown Universe Anna used to be so rigidly thematic but she sure has been having fun recently. I mean the lace/pinstripe mix and match madness of it all, the unicorn apendage in the middle of all those supermodel's craniums is all just so...giddy. There, sufficent ambiguity to swerve KCD's eternal damnation. The Halston people have been swearing back and forth that this Randolph Duke line was going to be quite the event The show is very working woman meets sweater set. At least it had a rare NY sighting of Claudia Schiffer on the runway? Speed up to to the Absolut/Versace/Vogue Cotton Club jam in Harlem, my heart throbbing with expectations of a progressive, visceral experience. Anyway I am shattered within seconds of arrival at the overcrowded venue. I didn't glimpse no megamodels, did you? Apparently Naomi said she wasn't coming unless she was paid an apperance fee. Instead we get a plethora of mature types in business suits yak-yakking and people like Ingrid Casares. The whole thing is so cloistered it might as well have been staged in the....Cloisters or something. Yuck! Visionaire's "Deck Of Cards" party at 21 is more like it. Masses of drag queens, torrents of inerbrated junior models in clogs and ski hats raising terror in the hearts of these Sutton Place refugees. So what if the issue was tacky, my lips get chapped from the mwah-mwahing.

thur

...the Ceasar Galindo? All I have to say is you know you're in for a diffrent sort of show when half the audience (led by that astonishing diva Kevin Aviance) stands up at the appearance of the first model and shrieks in unison "Woooooork!" I think Playboy just about threw away 500 copies of their girlie magazine --- don't you! Still the show triggers a fab windfall of long deserved PR for Caesar, I mean both Elite's Monique Pillard and Company's Michael Flutie were sitting behind us and Entertainment Tonight is deep up in backstage interviewing everything in sight. Days later both the Times and The Post show him mad love. Who woulda thought!

fri

Whatever is up with the security at Calvin Klein. The levels of clearance necessary for the Dia backstage is so gruelling I almost thought I was about to recieve a complimentary Brice Marden drawing or something. Finally when we penetrate the sanctum sanctorium (thank you Monica luv, sorry about the tantrum!), the display of unfettered budgetting and ruthless efficency is breathtaking. Kate Moss is giving delicious life to a fabulous grey wool pantsuit and it must be said Kirsty Hume really has come into her own from the most insecure model known to runway to a sleek soigne epitome of chic. In other words she looked bored. Oddly enough, the clothes are the most beautiful I see all week. Simply a collector's item collection. Skid to the fun Matsuda presentation. Mwah-mwah a harried Stacy Mac chat up a perfectly lucid Nikki Ubberti. She's sooooo cool! Interview's new Market Editor, Natasha is there, as is the ever edgy stylist Masha Calloway. I tease Pablo that I no longer need him since I too am now a photographer (not). He in turn tortures me for missing the allegedly awesome Micheal Kors backstage where the increasingly unstable Kristen McMenamy keeps flashing her bonanzas. I checkmate by earnestly apologising for forgetting to invite him over to girl-of-the-minutes Tanga' Moreau's transcedent hang out party. We're so maturity challenged! Shuttle bus over to the Donna Karan, which is so ridiculously over-crowded and time-challenged (i.e late) you pray that the show'll be transcedent to overcome all the pissed off energy locked up in this too-small showroom. Well the line was certainly consistent and aggressively commercial and I really liked that there was a vision here for real women (albiet with a six figure income) as opposed to nightclub clothes. Speaking of nightclubs we now scurry on foot, to the Diesel backstage to chill w/ The Face fave Ketuta and of course, Miss Nikki. Nightculture god-head Mark Baker is there hailing people up with some ferociously gangsta style terminologies (Whaddup Papa) Eavesdrop on one of his cell conversations where he switches back to his English accent trying to lure a certain studio don to dinner. ("Cindy Crawford's at my table, and Elle Mac Pherson.") Burn-out has set in cuz by the time the show is lauched (40 mins late due to post-Donna rush hour traffic), the endless parade of St.Marks Place post-grunge visuals seem a little...under developed. The skintight bells with wallet chain and loafers on the boys is the only idea that stimulates. Otherwise, zzzzzzzzz...! That night had this bizzare dream that Kylie Bax & Greta Cavazzani had dyed their blonde manes brown which made me burst into tears. Woke up and realized I needed to develop some sort of spiritual life. Isn't there some sort of fabulous prayer thing over at Showroom Seven every Wednesday. Hmmmm!