As Fashion Week evaporates into thin, emaciated air, we look back on a week that we managed to survive without saying "yellow peacoat." Of course, there's no such thing as competition in these events — and we just looove all the stitchin' designers, pitchin' PR reps, and bitchin' media that cover the whole Big Tent Circus.
Today's tweaked-out edition of the Observer has all the requisite Fashion Week coverage (does that fucking thing ever end, by the way?), but the most choice bit is the account of Jennifer Lopez's Coty celebration at the Museum of Natural History. While we could easily dine on the Olsens wearing "slimming all-black ensembles" or the appearance of IT BOY FABIAN BASABE (he will not disappear, just accept it), we'd much rather nibble on our favorite VIP-loving shoe designer, Holly Dunlap:
In case you had any confusion over whether or not Fashion Week turns our city into a post-apocalyptic planet populated purely by celebs and pseudo-celebs, allow Michael Musto to clear things up for you:
We tried to avoid visual contact with the runway, but staff photographer Eliot Shepard couldn't resist the draw of disaffected models doing their thing. As such, he braved the cocaine and cigarettes for the H Fredriksson catwalk and emerged with images of exactly what we expected: skinny girls, orange eye makeup, and the rare Unsmiling Girl.
Initially, the report of food being slowly reintroduced to the Fashion Week mannequins made us feel warm and fuzzy, as if there were some hope for humanity around Bryant Park. But then we realized that the results could be disastrous:
We've been operating under a total misapprehension. For God knows how long, we've genuinely believed that there was nothing more inane than the Sunday Times. But we were really fucking blown away by the Sunday edition of Fashion Week Daily, in which some psychotic genius decided to have metrosexually loathsome socialite and official It Boy Fabian Basabe interview Russian heiress and Page Six regular Anna Anisimova. The results are, of course, amazing:
Because Fashion Week isn't terrifying enough as is, the free Metro newspaper has hired an army of Anna Wintours to distribute their paper to unsuspecting victims. This might be the only time anyone doing something so dirty as commuting has contact with a beast even remotely resembling Vogue editrix Wintour. Their smiling faces and healthy BMIs, however, really blow the doppelgangers' cover.
Metro Newspaper 'Hires' Anna Wintour to Promote Paper [Adrants]
Why anyone would dare bring an edible item near Bryant Park right now is totally beyond us, but if you're bold enough to ingest anything besides Colombian pixie dust in front of the emaciated wonders of Fashion Week, we tip our nonexistent hats to you. A daring reader reports on a lunchtime observation session and manages to stomach food whilst staring at Nicole Richie:
Sometimes we're really glad we don't have to leave the house. Seriously, if we did, we'd see this sort of acid-trip stuff and our heads would spontaneously implode:
Vogue editrix Anna Wintour seems to think the rules of fashion don't apply to her own Siberian self. That explains the atrocious outfit at right, which inspires a certain what-the-fuck moment in us all:
Just when we got over those damn Republicans, Fashion Week begins and we're back to having terrible nightmares. This time, however, it's the laxative-laced cocaine and emaciated insect girls that leave us hiding in fear. We're thus reminded why it's better to stay indoors for the next week:
The Observer features a stunning exploration on the phenomenon of the Scoop boutiques, which aim to mold all fashionistas into that uniform Los Angeles look of cutesy tops and $300 jeans tailored to hit your casual Jimmy Choos at Just The Right Length. Ah, yes, West coast "fashion." When not scouting for the freshest colors of Petit Bateau tops and stockpiling rare baby-skin blazers, Scoop owner Stefani Greenfield likes to make her husband assert her presence in the Hamptons:
Shield your eyes, America: our patron skank Paris Hilton has decided to sell her wares on Amazon, this time without the help of junior pornographer Rick Salomon. We wouldn't actually call any of the bedazzled trinkets Paris Hilton is hawking desirable, but they're certainly overpriced (which means they're exclusive and you want them!) and would make a nice online purchase with that Tom Clancy hardcover you're picking up.
The Paris Hilton Collection
Ohmygod, I Can't Believe You're Shopping Retail [The Modern Age]
Bruce Weber, best known for his chronicling of only the finest in male physiques, has decided to take the traditional celebrity-driven route and try his hand at fashion design. His new line, Weberbilt, seems kinda funny coming from a guy whose subjects are usually near-naked, but whatever. Weblog Modelizer reports that the homoerotic king has more or less ripped off suburban standby Abercrombie & Fitch both in style and promotion (shocking, we know) — but, of course, Weberbilt is slightly more expensive. Remember, expensive means exclusive!
Here's a PSA to our comrades in the world of budget haircuts: you might want to avoid Jean Louis David, unless you're completely masochistic. A bleeding reader reports on the horror:
Lord knows we can't get enough of Holly Dunlap, shoe designer and professional WASP about town. When she's not designing $600 stilettos and dresses for her Hollywould line of fripperies or traipsing about evil VIP clubs, Holly is schmoozing with the folks at the Observer. The slightly-too-friendly profile on Dunlap borderlines on nauseating, but we can appreciate the anecdotal charm of her descent into alcoholism:
We don't know if the heat is getting to you kids or what, but your claws are way the fuck out today. We love it, of course! Take, for instance, an observation on Sarah Jessica Parker's Gap advertisements, which, in case you have been so fortunate as to not notice, are splayed all over our fair city:
As the Republican National Convention buzzes over the city like a cloud of fleas carrying bubonic plague, Mayor Bloomberg has taken some extraordinary steps to ensure peace amongst the protests: he's going to buy the hippies' love, of course!
You can always count on Daily Candy to point you in the direction of pretty, silly things that you'd never actually buy. Today's treat is rather timely, given tonight's Ronson birthday celebration: Charlotte Ronson's little Nolita boutique C.Ronson now offers iPod covers "made to resemble cozy hoodie sweatshirts... They even have a drawstring and little pockets for an added dose of playfulness." Oh, how fucking precious! I'm running out to get one right after I finish vomiting.
An I For An I [Daily Candy]
High Class iPod Cases [Gizmodo]
As if her Nolita shoe boutique and unabashed love of exclusivity weren't enough to keep us all locked in our bathrooms out of shame for humanity, Hollywould shoe designer and part-time diarist Holly Dunlap has decided to expand her label into the complicated and surely daunting realm of dresses. The frocks will start at $650, so we'll never even consider wearing them, but that's probably the point.
Hollywould Goes From Shoes To Dresses [WWD]
