MON

Wake up in time for the TSE Cashmere which restores my faith in fashion. If you have to be clinically clean and invisibly luxe , then this is the way to do it. I mean those gauze turtlenecks Dare I whisper the word. (Genius!) Severe collector''s items. All hail Hussyein. Here comes the requisite Naomi scandal. Naomi walks into the Betsey Johnson , late of course, so Kiara, who is NOT La Diva's dearest friend is already in full make-up. Naomi looks Kiara up and down and announces "Spice Girl" before stalking off to the hair station. So its showtime, La Diva walks out, does the hip-swivel-thrust thing and wouldn't you know it, even though she IS being paid $50,000 for less than an hour's work, La Diva does not even stick around for the show's finale but bolts the premises after her last change. She is indeed, the last of a dying breed non? Marc Jacobs, it needs to be said, is beginning to confuse himself with Jil Prada, I mean Muiccia Sander, y'know... those louche purveyors of sweet luxurious little nothings. Almost as if to punish himself for last year's demi-riot at the Lexington Armory, tonights backstage is so strict and regimented that photographers are being admitted in three's at intervals of ten minutes each. There is a shocking dearth of supermodels (what ....no Kate n' Naomi! Who the hell is Sunniva and Charlotte and Heather?) And Rex, mini-diva Rex is more subdued than a prelate in an Presbytarian church. Clothes perfect for Martha Stewart, right down to those little sweetheart shoes. Is that what happens when one turns thirty-five? Do you suspect, as I do, that this particular Downtown party is over!

TUES

A blessed day off unless you count Helmut Lang's genius internet unveiling. It looked ravishing, far better than that very transitional Spring line . Helmut is so clever though, acting all cyber-democratic when you know and I know that he had a top secret, highly select presentation for 50 movers and shakers at the Soho store yesterday. Had to take a meeting with The Mogul concerning tommorow's TV taping. All of a sudden everybody's obssesed with having Jennifer Lopez do a behind-the scenes at the Anna Sui and high powered calls are being thrown left, right and center. Half my brain is going "Jennifer Lopez. Brilliant. Let's Do It!" and the other half is going "Uhmm Who's Jennifer Lopez?" I hardly go to the movies you see. Dinner w/ Mr. TV Producer and his boyfriend at Indochine. Ever tried to eat grilled prawns with chopsticks. It wasn't sleek. I know things have gone awry when the subject of getting Ms. Universe a front row seat at "Anna's" comes up. Yeah right! You ain't seeing my name on that fax baby!

WEDS

Wake up with severe misgivings. Decide to create a false facade of bravado by giving a mad hairdesser effect: y'know, the skintight Agnes B sweater and body-cut leather jacket tied around the waist, tight tan Dolce & Gabbana trousers anchored by brown Birkenstocks w/ maroon socks and wraparound clear Balderamas. All I needed was to pack a lunch of tofu and bean sprouts. Meet the TV Crew by the 6th Ave steps. Plunge ahead to Cynthia Rowley. That insufferable little peon, Micheal Bruno greets us and immediately snips "Why do you need six people to hold the camera?". I was going to come for him and say "Because that's how many people are required to find a redeeming quality to Cynthia Rowley" but then I thought "this rude fool has nothing to do with poor Cynthia". Chatted a little with my old sweetheart Lois and with Mannequins Supreme, Esther Canadas and Kylie Bax before the damn camera crew comes stampeding over. Alek Wek pretended not to see me so I didn't see her either. Its all so high school right? The show is cute but not our cup of tea (the models sported hats fashioned to look like...cups of tea). Chased IMG's budding supermodel Ling around the Fountain Lobby and got quite the non-interview ("Why don't we do this at the Anna Sui?" she whines by way of dismissal). That leaves us having to march through The Tent to accost Ted Danson (?) and Mary Steenvirgen(???). Don't ask, it was all the producer's idea. This is not as glamarous as I imagined (Is it ever). Thank god for Alpana Bawa. Color. Multi-Ethnicity Gaultier Goddess Stacy Mackenzie. Guess Girl Adia. Ladykiller David Boxwill. Plus that awkward new African 15 year old Elite's been pushing. This is more like it and I bet it won't make the final edit. Dash off to to lunch at a picturesque diner on Sixth Avenue with Stacy and Adia whom I flirt with as if my life depended on it. Stacy (nibbling on a bacon riddled omelette) raves about her birthday party as it seems 800 people, including cult rapper Q-Tip turned up. Sundays at System is after all, a valid venue. Go figure. Otherwise our lunch debate focus on getting the best cell phone deals. According to Stacy, Ling got her new phone for only a $100 down while the rest of us dropped $300. But you see Ling is quite the economist. Adia (while barely tasting her green salad) alleges that she has to bolt to a fitting for the Emporio Armani. We agree to hook up later at Lenny Kravitz's listening party at Moomba but Adia sniffs that option off cause Lenny had her on hold for his new video but nixed her at the last minute. Why Adia decides to give Stacy her cell number in French is a mystery to me. Did she think that would thwart me? Hah. ("Trois, sept, cinq... ") March over in the drizzle to the Badgley Mishka but there has been a terrible mix-up and our credentials are for front-of-the-house. I think its time to go hang out at the Virgin Superstore as its really beginning to pour and that Fountain Lobby is the most depressing place to be trapped in. Reconnect with the crew to hazard the Anna Sui backstage. Oddly enough KCD's Rachel is totally blase and I pretty much walk in with segment's host, Vanity Fair's favorite harlequin George Wayne. Yes, you read right, George Wayne, the peon who tried to push me down a flight of stairs at that Charvari party is my co-worker in this circumstance. You know and I know what the implications of putting Mr. Wayne on camera are but since no-one ever listens to me I just wait for the bomb to blow and boy, does it ever. At first Wayne is brilliant, lubing up Anna (Sui) with admirable skill but then he begins to sip the free champagne and its on. Its very...see George Wayne fondle Vincent Gallo's nipples on camera. Of course you've heard about Amber's big "streaker act" (a documented 10 minutes of post-show nudity) a feat underscored by George's decision to hop up and down on the spot howling "I see bush, I see bush" He was not referring to the ex-president. By the time we get to the Girbuad, he does it. The Ryan Locke interview goes well as does the interview with Mr.. Girbaud himself. But then Georgie Porgie runs into the titantic talent Billy Zane and essentially mews "So Miss Zane, is this your first fashion show?". Pins dropped and clattered like thunder in the shocked silence that followed. Billy mutters "Don't insult me!" and a flurry of publicists came running up to control the damage done. I laughed till tears welled in my eyes, an act George mistook for solidarity. The night ends with consultataions on what to do tonight? Veruka? ("Tired" announces George) Moomba? (No more camera crews as social companions thank you very much...). Visionaire gets the comunal vote and you already know that in between the thunderstorm and the short attention span of the guests that was quite the disaster so I shan't be redundant.