Fashion Week: Spring 2007 Show Week

DAY 4

Where's the car? The car scheduled to pick me up and take me to Bryant Park never arrived.

Doesn't everyone in NY know it’s show week at the Bryant Park tents?

Shows are this Monday. Not Monday February 12 as the dispatcher had apparently recorded in the computer. Car takes forever to reschedule so I miss Carolina Herrera AND Nanette Lepore.

Make it to Jill Stuart.

Hi Kelly I shout to Kelly Rowlands.

Hi, you’re keeping warm today? she says.

And before I can answer, she’s out of earshot as the crush of photographers, editors and autograph seekers pushes her toward Jill and me toward the exit.

Kelly’s at the Jill Stuart show where models stomp up and down the marble runway in imposing black leather boots tipped with silver-color metal.

Jill's doing the mod thing this season, and channeling Balenciaga.

A small woman with a digital camera runs up to me.

May I take your picture?

It’s not a star thing. Just carry a hot bag or wear anything Prada or Balenciaga and you’ll get treated like a celebrity. The Japanese are always taking pictures that show up in magazines where your photos run vertically down the page instead of horizontally like here in America.

Most of Jill's business is in Asia so the Asian editors and retailers are out in full force and I take the opportunity to clock THEIR handbags for a change. The Japanese were doing “it” bags before we knew what IT was.

I see:

• A Marc Jacobs Stam bag
• Chocolate brown leather Hogan
• Huge black leather and leopard print Betseyville by Betsey Johnson
• Two awesome metallic gold bags

Enough of bags, time to run downtown to Marchesa where designers Keren and Georgina Chapman are staging an exhibit. Beautiful evening frocks posed on models—one more beautiful than the next—the dresses not the models.

Faves:

• Pale chiffon shift covered in serpentine sequins and embroidery.
• White tuxedo
• Black and cream tuxedo dresses
• A glorious cream gown with gradiated black bodice which Keren said took almost two months to make and which my mind said looked very Alexander McQueen.

Designers were worried when the ladies burst on the scene. Several stars have worn the clothes and many believe it’s because Georgina's boyfriend is Harvey Weinstein. (Weinstein looks pretty good these days, slimmed down and wearing Prada suits—which he says Georgina makes him wear. She's right. No woman wants to go to the trouble of looking gorgeous and walk next to a man who looks like a schlep.)

Recall Sienna Miller in beautiful gold and white at Golden Globes but with that unfortunate Heidi braid.

Georgina and Keren pose for pictures with Vogue's Andre Leon Talley while I run out into the chill to race uptown to Max Azria’s show. Best collection yet since Max and Lubov Azria spun off Max Azria from BCBG.

All poetic and funky—like Lubov—large cardigan coats over flippy dresses.

Backstage John Legend signs autographs, takes pictures. Lubov says she's giving him a ride to the Grammys in LA, where she lives. Does she mean a ride on her jet? I'm not sure. But I guess. Wow.

Think I had dinner in the car—a salad—but can't remember. Narciso Rodriguez show downtown at 8 p.m.

Dancing is really what's my heart, said Claire Danes at the show.

It's what I do to support my movie career.

Ha, ha. It really was funny.

Said she has two movies coming out and meanwhile is choreographing two dance pieces.

Waiting for show to start. Jerry and Jessica Seinfeld run from backstage (with bodyguards) to take their seat.

Julianna Margolis, looking really good, poses for pictures with some guy at her side. Boyfriend maybe?

Show is over. Rush backstage to see Narciso. Congratulate him on splendid sweeping coats, finely tailored double-face jackets and athletic cocktail dresses.

It's time to go from the chic serenity of a Narciso show and collection to the happy insanity of a Heatherette show and collection. Had no idea how insane. The club kids are out in force to see their idols: Make up cover boy Richie Rich and Traver Rains. I can't get by the thick crowd on the steps of Bryant Park.

Recognized by security, who wave me in. Thank god for security. But inside, it's even worse. No one I recognize as a legitimate fashion professional can get anywhere near the check-in desk.

Better off trying the model entrance. Invite a few adventurers to come along and we storm the backstage entrance.

PR waves us in. A tall young man in suit and tie tries to tag along with my group but is body blocked by security. He claims to be a basketball player.

With the 76ers. Gadalis, Udalis, O’Galis. Something.

I don't know of him. And surrounded by gay guys, none of them recognize him or can vouch for his credentials, I explain. He gives me an understanding look. And they just snicker and pay him no mind. I feel bad for him, towering above the fashionably dressed, evil fashion flock like a lost giraffe. So I speed dial my son to check. Alas for Mr. Basketball. He's not home.

I leave him behind beseeching the security guard as my colleagues threaten to leave me behind.

Take my seat and entertaining show begins with acrobats dressed in leotards and neon lights. No, really. More on the show later.

Everyone says it’s worst than a Baby Phat show.