For anyone (me) who has the blues about the end of summer, there is Fashion Week in New York City to take away the dumps and whip you into a frenzy of energy. Every corner of this city is thumping, and Friday night I thought this island was going to pop.
It was Fashion Night Out, otherwise known as fashion Mardi Gras ... otherwise known as bedlam. It's the night that every store in the city stays open late and throws parties to encourage consumerism. The dirty little secret that no one mentions is that NO ONE SHOPS
because it is impossible to get near the merchandise or a register or to actually try anything on. So it is a great marketing thing, but I didn't see one shopping bag all night. And that's the fact, Jack.
Bruce met me at 30 Rock and we decided to walk up to the Dolce party on Madison Avenue to check out what Naomi Campbell was serving there. Along the way we got sucked into various boutiques, which for the night become purveyors of free champagne.
The best thing we wandered into was Calvin Klein, where Bryan Adams was in the middle of a concert on the main floor. We hung out with Cheyenne Jackson (who was killing me with his imitation of DC's Cat saying "I'm not hear for a long time, I'm here for a good time."), Katie Lee (in white), and Cynthia Nixon (Sex and the City glam). We stayed for two songs and left.
Dolce was insanity, and we schmoozed with Fern Mallis, saw Chris Brown and an enormous posse, and then split never having made it to Miss Campbell.
The Ralph Lauren mansion on 72nd Street, where I have logged many hours shopping, has transformed itself into four floors of only menswear and it is heaven for me. In typical RL fashion, the mansion was NOT a zoo and you COULD shop and the champagne was crisp and perfect, and I really just took the opportunity to see the new place and put a pin in shopping, which I will do this weekend. If you're a man who loves great clothes, I recommend a visit to the mansion. See Travis; he'll hook you up.
We headed downtown to the meatpacking district and DVF, where we had an audience with the Queen of the night (DVF, not Anna) and enjoyed watching her get behind the dj booth and dance for the hundreds (thousands?) of DVF girls who camera-phoned her into submission. It was a no-cell-reception NYC fashion tornado SCENE of the first order. And
From there we rambled in and out of stores, met Tory Burch, schmoozed with many Bravo lovers, kissed Serge Normand who was hosting his own soiree, and generally had a blast.
Saturday was a friend's gay-by shower (two boys having twins!) that turned boozy by Hour 2 (that's one of the diffs between a baby shower and a gay-by shower). On the way home, I stopped by Raoul's to kiss some friends and take a 9/11 pause and toast our city. From there I went home and finished Jonathan Franzen's Freedom, which I recommend heartily. Whoa. I loved that book.
On Sunday it rained and I watched cuts of Bravo shows until it was time to head to Lincoln Center for the DVF show. It was a great show. Afterwords, DVF hosted a phenominal dinner at her Meatpacking emporium where we ran into -- among others -- Rachel and Rodger and Brad. If I am tired from my wee fashion ramblings, those three have got to be exhausted. RZ said she felt like a walking tranquilizer, which sounds not half-bad to me.
(I tweeted pictures of all said events above, and so follow me @BravoAndy and save me the drama of having to actually e-mail the pics to our Web people and their having to post it. I have a day job!)