We hear from a reliable pal in Europe that designer John Galliano's long-time right-hand-man, Steven Robinson, was found dead in Paris today. (Dior's corporate offices in Paris are now closed for the evening and whoever was there wasn't speaking English, so, we give you this with zero confirmation.) Steven, we are told, did an enormous amount of the work for Galliano for both Dior and for Galliano's own line, creating the sort of things that clients actually wanted to wear, and also served as the inspiration for some of the more S&M work. Described as the "John Candy of Fashion," Robinson was in his late 30s. The repercussions for both Galliano and for Dior may turn out to be a huge deal.

Someone did a Joy Division sneaker for New Balance, on sale in the U.K. now. Yeah, that's how we always pictured Ian Curtis. Jogging like a prat. Maybe with some ankle weights, and a track suit! Right up until the moment he hanged himself.

Earlier this week, David "Skulls" Colman declared in the Times that d tente has been reached in menswear for the first time since the French Revolution, or maybe the '70s: everybody's wearing slim suits. But leave it to the contrarians at Journal Pursuits to problematize things for the weekend; according to Ray A. Smith, the present era isn't one of tight jackets and low-slung trousers—it's about fat ties!

Well, Bill Keller—pictured here with A Nameless Employee at the Balenciaga show in Paris this week—has only been the executive editor of the New York Times since 2003. But still, doesn't everyone know how passionately interested he's always been in Nicolas Ghesqui re's multiethnic fabric references?

Her New York Times byline notwithstanding, Mary-Kate Olsen (and sis Ashley) have a distrustful relationship with the press, at least when it comes to their own fashion line. You know, The Row? Which is supposedly available at Maxfield and Barneys? But who's actually seen the clothes? Not stern NYT fashion critic Cathy Horyn—and she won't be seeing them anytime soon. WWD reports that the Olsen gals are "scheduled" to emerge, elf-like, at Paris Fashion Week, where the fall-winter collection of their "fledgling designer ready-to-wear" label will debut. But! "A slate of high-end retailers is scheduled to see their fall-winter collection at a showroom here —with no cranky press critics, thank you very much." Those twins are just so sensitive.

We won't belong to any club that will have us as a member. (Hi, Soho House!) And we definitely won't shop in any store for which one would need to make an appointment first, or one that requires us to submit to inspection by a "stylist" who makes sure we are "right for the store." So there's very little chance that we will ever darken the door of Caravan, whose newly-opened third location (one of the others is a converted Winnebago—class !) has that stringent policy, which helps it keep out the undesirables. Unexpectedly, thought, that category doesn't include 'Survivor' survivor Jeff Probst. "He liked that he could try on a million things and have the store to himself," Caravan co-founder Claudine Gumbel told the Post. Don't all start clamoring for appointments at once, now!

Snoots Only [NYP]

It's generally understood among people who generally understand this sort of thing that the only reason award-show-going actresses wear designs from upstart UK fashion duo Marchesa is that the brunette Georgina Chapman half of the company is banging Harvey Weinstein. Today, the Times saddles up the elephant in the room and rides it around the petting zoo, getting plenty of fashion insiders to subtly imply that Marchesa would be nothing without the Miramax heavyweight's fiscal support and strong-army influence. But what does Harvey make of the haters? "The people who say things like that are just jealous. It takes away from the talent that Marchesa has exemplified." Talent for what, though, he didn't say.

With the Oscars less than a week away, there is precious little time remaining for actresses to undergo the kind of physical fine-tuning that will allow them to bypass having the marrow sucked from their bones by red carpet vultures like Joan Rivers and Isaac Mizrahi; at this point, those still requiring cosmetic intervention probably have no choice but to head for a combination donkey show/dermatology clinic in Tijuana and hope that hastily performed procedures will spare them the humiliation of being spotted in the unforgivable act of having a flaw on Hollywood's Biggest Night. The Sunday NY Times surveyed a number of celebrity dermatologists, trying to precisely pinpoint what body parts better-prepared attendees have already had paralyzed in preparation for the ceremony:

Have you ever imagined fashion to be a world of glitz and glamour ruled by German men with tight pants and little dogs and people who say things like "ponced around" with a straight face? Well, if Times fashion editor Cathy Horyn's blog is anything to go by, congrats. Those stereotypes you based on too many viewings of 'Zoolander' and 'Funkyzeit mit Bruno'? They're totally true.
On the contrast between a hockey game and the Raf Simons show:

PAUL BOUTIN — Pop quiz: Which one of these two men gets angel funding? Podcast evangelist Robert Scoble (left) has Valley menswear on lock. But guys who ape the Scobleizer's pullover-and-slacks look make five fatal mistakes that keep them out of Valley boardrooms.

Imaginary Socialite claims that on Tuesday night, the NYPD raided a 23rd-Street counterfeit fashion ring, grabbing "over 25,000" fakes in "the largest counterfeit crackdown in New York history." Perhaps it's just the early-morning chill and pre-caffeine shakes, but we're not seeing this reported elsewhere. Thoughts?

Stubbornly refusing to have the decency to succumb to some kind of debilitating medical condition and turn over his fashion-critiquing duties to a hungry up-and-comer like Ryan Seacrest or the deranged homeless man who hisses "Frumpy!" at each passer-by while urinating on Gucci's Rodeo Drive storefront, superannuated celebrity style arbiter Mr. Blackwell has once again released his annual list of Worst-Dressed Famous People. Unable to choose between nightclub narcoleptic Britney Spears, whose exposed vagina he probably mistook for a particularly ill-fitting pair of panties, and Paris Hilton, whose sartorial crimes against humanity hardly need to be recounted in this space, Blackwell decided to allow the duo to share his list's top spot, calling them "two peas in an overexposed pod." Also making the list: Lindsay Lohan ("tragically trapped in fashion's fast lane"), Christina Aguilera ("all crass, no class"), and, somewhat shockingly, Meryl Streep, whom Blackwell paranoidly accused of "stealing my adult undergarments and wearing them on her head at the Golden Globes."

Fashion designer Helmut Lang's got his lederhosen in a bunch over some stuff the New York Times printed about him recently. And what exactly seems to be the problem? Lang has "requested a correction for 'false reporting and incorrect statements' in an article that appeared in the Thursday Styles section on Nov. 2," according to WWD. Wait, you mean Thursday Styles just makes shit up? We simply refuse to believe it.

The Reeler provides us a with a perfect opportunity to revive our long-dormant Fauxteur Fashion Minute feature, in which we rather uncharitably spotlight the sartorial shortcomings of Hollywood's hackiest, most style-impaired directors, by confronting Denzel Washington with this photo (at right, depicting Scott with comparative fashion visionaries Jerry Bruckheimer, Don Simpson, and Cole Trickle) of Deja Vu helmer Tony Scott:

A mysterious prankster identified only as "Reverend Ted" (Brad Pitt? Steven Soderbergh? U.N. envoy to Sudan Jan Pronk?) took out this full-page ad in Variety today, reminding everyone in the industry that before George Clooney was a two-time Sexiest Man Alive title holder, he was just another mullet-rocking Facts of Life semi-regular (or is this photo from the Roseanne era? the mullet/Ton Sur Ton shirt combo is hard to place that precisely) without the clout to politely ask his wardrobe stylist to "not go so heavy with the Rick Springfield look."

Please, ladies, do not allow your (straight) boyfriends to subscribe to the UrbanDaddy newsletter, for it will only unearth whatever latent homosexual tendencies they may have been keeping submerged successfully for years. To wit, today's installment, about new men's fashion line Loden Dager (we think that's Swedish for big cock), started by a couple Marc Jacobs refugees:

The New York Times on the Facebook founder's appearance at the suitful FourSquare conference for Important People:

Often while we're reading Times boutique critic Alex Kuczynski we worry that something unfortunate might happen to her, depriving us of her genius. Who, we wonder, will fill her boots when she's gone? A quick check in with Harvard's Crimson reassured us that there's a new generation of Special K's out there, particularly one Rebecca M. Harrington, who takes issue with American Apparel. It's an amazing piece of work.

Australia, land of runway fatties and denim nymphettes, now brings you the Wonderbra for men — "Wondercup" underwear that "lifts, separates and extends" to "stop squashing." The "Patriot" designs come in nationally appropriate colors, as "Your country has never been prouder and neither have you." Your date, however, may be disappointed when his or her personal search in your underwear for an apparent WMD turns up empty.

What's cooler than cool, but not as cool as ice cold? Unkempt asymmetrical hair and a strategically placed cigarette. This week's edition of New York magazine Look Book brings you the apparent spawn of Malcolm Gladwell and Lenny Kravitz, "massively Afroed guitarist" Alex Kennedy-Grant. And you're in luck because he just woke up and you're seeing the hair in a "totally raw state". Alex, who describes his musical style as "psychedelic soul and blues-rock" laments the fact that no one really plays the guitar any more, and will not apologize for being a virtuoso. "I'm totally independent," Alex proudly declares, but admits he wouldn't mind getting paid. Totally.

After the jump, Inter Alexis corrals Joshua Stein, Pat Driscoll and Timothy Michael Cooper to dig through the Afro for change.