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At the Bowery Hotel last night, there was a fire in the fireplace and Fatboy Slim's Brimful of Asha on the stereo. Adam Moss, editor of New York, was wearing a blazer. Models were scattered through the crowd. Ally Hilfiger was there wearing tartan and Daily News gossip-auntie named Ben Widdicombe talked to a cute boy near the bar. What could have occasioned such a convocation of minds? Why, only the launch of Look, "a new magazine fresh off the runways," of course! Nikola Tamindzic was there to chronicle what everything and everybody looked like.

The magazine is pretty, aesthetically as well as financially. It's like a T: Style magazine but for New York: a chance for advertisers to roam free through the pages like beautiful skinny bison on a wild glossy plain. According to Lauren Starke, the magazine has 70 ad pages to 180 editorial. That's strong and healthy! So healthy that it took us 50 ad pages to even reach the table of contents! [Correction: "I must have misspoke. It's actually 180 pages total." Ah. That makes more sense.]

Classic Mossian touches—short declarative sentence headlines, pressing ever onwards to the new, charts&mdash:are distributed betwixt the advertisements. "Hats are (almost) the new bags." "Legs are the New Cleavage." "The Basic Pump Is a Distant Memory."

Harriet Mays Powell, a longtime editor at New York magazine who got her start under the bespectacled grand dame of the Times' Carrie Donovan (and later Old Navy mascot), Look's fashion editor. She was wearing a wondrously strange dress and looks like Anne Bancroft. She described her style as "charmingly seductive." It was!

Simon Doonan, a small gay famous person from Redding Reading, England, pretended to eat her necklace. Cute.

Amy Larocca was wearing a dress with little creme dots on it. She wouldn't describe her Look. She also wrote most of what is in the magazine including a piece in which she basically calls Marc Jacobs a baby. Not in a cute way, in a critical way.

Around 8:30, the Bowery staff began to herd stragglers out of the bar. The after-party for the Dylan movie "I'm Not There" had booked the space and Heath Ledger was expected. As they were leaving, some models cast their eyes longingly back to the fireplace and gave it one last melancholy look.