Or maybe those kids will grow up with a little more class than this crowd at Bryant Park. You can always tell out-of-town fashionistas by their aping what they imagine to be cosmopolitan bad manners. A perfectly reasonable intern will ask the crowd if they all have their passes on hand, and get a bitchy response of, "Of course not?this is New York!" Even with those clever italics, I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. Then those same jaded types go all aflutter when they see one of the designers from Trading Spaces.
Judging from an unusual amount of bandages, this year's theme seems to be poorly timed nose jobs. It's obviously hard to remember how that whole 9/11 thing has interfered with the September fashion schedule. But then, it's not like a catty creep like myself is supposed to be in the big tent. I'm simply attending the show by Mark Montano?a man so brilliant that he designed the wedding dress for the fiancee with whom I actually went through the wedding.
Mark's got a unique understanding of how fabric is meant to move on women. He's also joining the home-redecorating show While You Were Out, which is far superior to Trading Spaces. So take that, bitches. But if anybody?including myself?really cared what I think about fashion, then I'd have a seat at Montano's show.
The only other Fashion Week show I care about is the one sponsored by Ortho Evra, mainly because I like the idea of a fashion show presented by a birth-control product. Plus, I've been assured that this is the week's sole event where ordinary women will be modeling designer clothes. I'm hoping for gals proudly parading their Ortho Evra patches, with a theme of Girls Gone So Wild that They Have to Wear Ortho Evra Patches as Dictated By Law.
Instead, it turns out that this is the second annual Everywoman Fashion Show dedicated to exceptional women. Some of them may not even be using birth control. And since the event's billed as a "celebration of inner beauty," all these ordinary gals end up being reliably tall and thin. It's really more of a celebration of women who look like models but work actual jobs.
This passes as sacrifice during Fashion Week?although ordinary Baltimore woman Miatta Dabo has her priorities in order, explaining that she's "a 27-year-old attorney, accountant, writer and aspiring model." Being an attorney and accountant, of course, can't be fulfilling enough. Dabo's definitely the most ordinary exceptional woman under the tent, though, with an outlandish bod that's way too womanly to usually be allowed on a runway.
We can all take pride that local NYC ordinary gal Gloria Ford is the most irritating. "I have a great life," she explains, "but I won't be happy unless everyone else does, too." Somebody took a wrong turn to get to Atlantic City. Still, it's a pleasant time hanging out with people who aren't typical Fashion Week types. You can tell because some goodie bags are left unclaimed afterwards.
Unfortunately, you can also tell these aren't typical models because the gals are modest about undressing backstage, which becomes apparent after a large curtain's drawn when I'm caught ogling lovely basketball player Chelsea Ferguson. Let's not have any talk of my own unprofessional ways, since this is the first time my hoppin' poppin' eyeballs have gotten me in trouble after years of covering these things?and that includes three Lane Bryant shows.
Anything that happens later, of course, is inherently a Fashion Week event. This dawns on me when there are members of the demonlover cast at the demonlover party at Plaid. That's kind of unheard of, although it's never a surprise to run across perpetual nightlife machine Chloe Sevigny?who, as it turns out, is an exceptionally swell and unassuming young woman. I'll have to find a new celebrity for measuring nightlife events to avoid. That said, I end up going into Vue for Blender's Nelly concert, despite the presence of the Hilton Sisters. It's Fashion Week. People do crazy things.