Beauty and Madness

(center right): Before theapplause: Mason

Shlock and Blah

Today we should be touring the design suites at the Beverly Hilton, where some 30 clothing and accessories designers are showing, but fashion fatigue has set in so we go straight to Smashbox. I know Susan is exhausted because she’s making me circle every cape — she’s a freak for ’em — whether she likes the designer or not. And today is mostly not. “Shlock and blah, shlock and blah,” she keeps saying. Still, when I’m not being terrified by Esther Nash, who has her face silk-screened on the back of her shirt, I find myself liking Sheri Bodell’s rocker-chick chic. Michael reports from the camera trenches that he’s noticed a call-and-response interaction between the photogs — many of whom shoot only runway around the world — and the models. It’s not a construction-worker hoot, he says, but something more subtle. During the Shay Todd swimwear show, however, the calls become distinctly unsubtle. At Michelle Mason, nearly every ensemble gets applause. There’s a lot to clap about. Her Mason line is fresh and wearable, with powerful colors — turquoise, burgundy, ruby — and clean lines. Later, at Mason’s Beverly Hilton party there’s, whoo-hoo, free tequila. If you can get through the crush at the bar, that is. I overhear a guy brag about how he shoved his way to the front. I’m appalled, but I want to ask him to get me a drink. Better than booze is seeing designers such as Waraire Boswell here, as well as some of the PR and front- and back-of-the house production people, including Henri Myers and Lisa Elliot from EM Productions and Shana Honeyman and Jennifer Green from Genevieve Productions. Okay, I had a drink and I’m getting sappy. It’s time to go home.

Dog Divas No surprise that the accessory du jour — of every jour, in fact — is a small dog. Every other person seems to be toting around a pooch. I’d rather have the new Birkin bag. I think some of those dog divas carry their pets so they can cute their way into the front row. People spin shameless stories to get seats, claiming to work for publications that don’t exist or as stylists to stars who have never heard of them. But the most shameless of all are the outright crashers. My hat — and Susan’s latest Mercier — is off to one woman in particular, just for her chutzpah. She almost always ends up front row even though she usually has a standing ticket. As the producers of Cesar de la Parra’s show discover too late after handing out tickets by row, but without assigned seats, there is no honor among fashionistas. Can you say free-for-all? The end is near. Word around the runway is that Anna Wintour, at her second Fashion Week presentation, says she’ll leave if things don’t get started at Louis Verdad, the last show of the week. She needs to get to Beverly Hills for the Mario Testino ceremony. The models appear — Wintour still in her seat — and Verdad’s high-glamour collection, which draws inspiration from Frida Kahlo, is dazzling. Exactly what we need in a Fashion Week. Well-wishers crowd around Verdad to offer congratulations as the QueerEyefortheStraightGirlcrew does its final set-up and a garishly dressed woman works the runway so a friend can snap her picture. Ignoring them, the staff methodically close folding chairs, row by row, and clatter them to the ground. The fabulousness is over until next time.