Fashion's Night Out! Watch It HERE Tonight!

DAHLINGS -

The good folk at Conde' Nast were good enough to send me this press release. AND you can watch part of Fashion's Night Out right here on my blog!

CBS Live Stream of FNO: The Show
CBS.com’s Live Webcast of Fashion’s Night Out: The Show, hosted by Andre Leon Talley (my former BFF) and Hanneli Mustaparta, is embedded on this site, so all of my wonderful readers can watch it right here! The player will go live tonight (Tuesday, Sept 7th) at 5pm ET/ 2pm PT. From 5-7pm teaser clips from CBS Special on Fashion’s Night Out will run. Show begins at 7pm. Please see below for the embed code.

#FNO
If you are Tweeting about the show tonight (and FNO in general!), they would love it if you would please use the official hashtag – #FNO. Their ID is @FNONYC if you would like to follow us – they shall be live Tweeting from the show and on the 10th.


LIVE WEBCAST (one hopes)




That's all for now. I am frantically trying to get ready for Mercedes Benz Fashion Week and all of its ancillary events.

ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week Fall 2010 Day Four Report

DAHLINGS -

I arose from my sickbed to return the Bryant Park tents because I know that is what all of my faithful readers demand from me. What would Fashion Week be without my discerning eye and my desire to bring all of it to you, mes fidèles lecteurs? A hollow shell, that’s what.

The untimely death of the genius designer Alexander McQueen has left a pall over New York Fashion Week. The atmosphere isn’t exactly grim, but it is definitely there. On Thursday, each show began with a moment of silence to acknowledge his passing.

I was supposed to start my day with the Simon Spurr show. But in the words of the late, unlamented Phil Rizzuto “WW (wasn’t watching).” It was almost too much to get myself to get myself together to drag myself to the Bryant Park tents. The level of fabulousity I struggle to maintain is hard labor, let me tell you! I was not at my best, which is why there are few photos .

The Diane von Furstenberg show was full of feminine delights and pushy media folk. Yours truly was almost knocked over by a peon with a Canon point and shoot. And still having a terrible cold, as I made my way to my seat, I sneezed on my former BFF, Andre Leon Talley. (The Rachel Zoe incident will take a long time to forgive or forget.) Unlike Alec Baldwin, he was not wearing suede. Be grateful for small favors.

"Bask in my awesome, bitches"

In my haste to get away before an unpleasant scene, I again met my new BFF, Tim Gunn. He was so delighted to see me he pushed Fern Mallis out of the way.

My BFF, Tim Gunn


















He particularly admired my mink vintage cigarette case, which I use as a business card holder. When rummaging through my handbag, the fur makes it much easier to find.

I shall never understand the double row of celebrities or whatever they are at the center of the runway. It reminds me oddly of cafeteria seating.

As for the show itself, there was an homage to her famous wrap dress and much of the collection was black. Diane clearly knows how to design for a woman’s body. Her clothes can be worn by woman 19-69.













Model waiting to go on the runway

The finale of the show was a sensational metallic pewter draped dress which on closer examination had a rather strange little edge of blue tulle.


At the end, Diane herself walked the entire runway with her family. There was not a dry eye in the house except for yours truly. I detest cheap sentiment, however sincere.




















DVF about to hit the runway

Before the Custo Barcelona show, I was (un)fortunate enough to interview the impossibly fey designer Vassilios Kostetsos, to which I will devote a separate entry. Suffice to say his aversion to larger women is only equaled by Oprah Winfrey’s self-loathing.

The Custo Barcelona show had, like all of his shows, a lot of thumping, thundering noise. With androgynous models speed-walking around the catwalk. Custo Barcelona designs for very young men and women. Since I am not very young, only ageless, he is not "targeting my demo," so to speak. To be honest, the only way one could tell which sex a model was, was by the size of their thighs. The men have a bit more meat on their legs.

The show was called “Hairy Metal,” which to your faithful correspondent is a truly disgusting image. It translated into something far more palatable, albeit a bit strange: large fuzzy tunics, clothing with random strips of fur applied as though the designer had thrown them against a sweater covered with superglue.

The coats were the strongest part of the show, thick with texture. Even though these designs are for club kids, I could have used one of them in the frigid February weather.

Some of the men’s suits were made out of faux reptile fabric, in yet another evocation of the 1970s. Of all of the decades to be inspired by, why THAT one?

When the designer came out, he wore a color-blocked sweater that underscored that he is too old to wear his own designs. Comment bien triste.

Off to a hot bath and one hopes a lessening of sputum. Next time I might sneeze on Fern Mallis, and that would be the end of the tents pour moi!

More later!


Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Photos not taken by moi are courtesy of Getty Images

The Met Museum Costume Gala: "The Model As Muse" Part 1

DAHLINGS –

The Metropolitan Museum opened its latest costume exhibition, “The Model As Muse: Embodying Fashion,” last night with a gala co-chaired by Marc Jacobs, Kate Moss, Justin Timberlake and my idol, Anna Wintour, who was of course stunning in Chanel.



Kate Moss embodied an unusual sophistication (for her), wearing a silver dress and matching turban. Here she is with the grand poobah of the evening, Marc Jacobs:



Inadvertently, the evening revealed to this intrepid reporter how fashion modeling has slid downwards, from spectacular women wearing beautiful clothes, to anorexic teenagers who can, for the most part, hardly be told apart. I very much doubt that the model wearing this fantastic Fortuny gown would have inspired the designer back in the day:



Look at that cheap bracelet, the mussy hair, the vacant expression. One might call this, "The Model As Mess." Natalia might as well be in jeans and a t-shirt, for all of the poise she displays. Compare the gorgeous Cindy Crawford (in Versace) to Anja Rubik:



The model above is one of the best arguments for fat-grafting the thighs that I have ever seen. And note how, in the photo below, Agnyss Deyn and Twiggy seemed to have switched ages. Twiggy looks young and fresh, while her compatriot looks haggard.



There were two disturbing fashion trends seen on this evening (excluding Madonna). The first was high-low hems, which are reaching new extremes this spring.


Victoria Beckham, replete with a spray-on tan that would put Valentino to shame



Jessica Biel, who just cannot get the hang of this red carpet thing, also replete with spray-on tan.


Narcisco Rodriguez with some young unfortunate wearing his creation

The second was my personal bete-noir, pardon the pun, neutral tones. I am only showing a few out of the HUNDREDS of beige, pale pink and faintly tan gowns last night.


Zac Posen with a model wearing his dress that spells VOGUE across the front. As first I thought it spelled MCGOO but a friendly journalist pointed out my mistake.





Ashley Olson arrived to announce that she is soon to be taking the cloth, and was appropriately garbed as a novice nun:



And somehow I believe Amy Winehouse staggered in:


Debbie Harry showed up, whimsical as ever, in her pajamas.


And then there was Carmen, one of the most ageless models of them all, splendid in leopard.



One of the surprises, to moi, was how well most of the designers themselves looked. Donna Karan, usually a fashion disaster, wore this tasteful, flattering gown:



Diane Von Furstenberg always looks lovely, but this was especially chic:



Standing nearby is Eva Longoria Parker and the underside of her breast. Ironically, television and movie stars are far more often gracing the pages and advertising of fashion magazines than models, and so, many came out for the extravaganza. My dear, dear friend Donatella Versace stepped out in a dress of her own creation.



While I adore this gown, I must confess it seems that Donatella's face might be sliding off. Lay off the anti-aging treatments, Donatella!



And what fashion event would be worth its salt without my other dear, dear friend, Andre Leon Talley? I don't know who designed his outfit, but doesn't he look like an English barrister without the white wig?



More later, dahlings!

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Fashion Week Continues--Recovering From Heartbreak

This is Miss DeCarlo’s assistant…I snuck out of here and didn’t dare come back until she left again. A girlfriend of mine over at Bryant Park said she saw this big blonde screaming in French at a huge black dude who was cowering behind Rachel Zoe. That is so my boss. Jesus wept! So, like I made sure I was outta here. She left me a ton of stuff sent from her Iphone, so I guess it’s going to be one of those nights. What a weirdo.

DAHLINGS –

Genuine apologies for the interruption. My delicate nerves are unraveled, raw, indeed, flayed! Andre Leon Talley shall never darken my silk napkins again.

But to business. Before I was so rudely interrupted (and betrayed!) by Andre’s alliance with that Los Angeles trend-hound, I was about to tell you of Fashion Week on Saturday. The first show I attended was Abaete, designed by Laura Poretsky. One was so hoping to be diverted from one’s private pain by wonderful fashion. Instead, a parade of fashion oddities strutted before me. I know that vintage is in, but this made me think of men’s swimwear circa 1910. All the model needed was a large mustache to sing in a barbershop quartet.



And I am sorry, but this was simply what the young folk like to call “a hot mess,” as was much of the show.



It was simply a MONSOON outside all day, and my poor dear darling Bucky detests the rain! It is a known characteristic of miniature pinschers, along with licking their private parts when one has company.

My little dog was trembling so violently that he urinated on my Oscar de la Renta dress, so it was back to my luxurious apartment on Central Park West to change clothes and let the poor little dear stay home (after giving him a pinch of valium in his dog food). I chose a Bill Blass pants ensemble designed by Peter Som for the 2008 Pre-Fall Collection, opting for fashionable comfort over getting my legs drenched.

At least not by the rain, this time.

My return, unfortunately, coincided with the Alexander Wang show. Back down to 21st Street...I should have confined myself to the tents! Wang had declared that he was going to give us "color", and this was his version of color.



Ah, yes, tres jolie, particularly with the "Pinhead" horror movie hat on.



Your faithful correspondent should have known better than to return to Bryant Park in time for the Rock & Republic show. Why, oh, why, would they let one of those horrendously emaciated anorexic models pretend she had even a chance in Hell of looking curvaceous?



One flashes back to a childhood memory of watching Fred Astaire with dear, darling Mama at the Museum of Modern Art. I might have been an adolescent by that time, but Mama was still forcing me to pretend I was eleven years old (explained elsewhere). The thought occured to moi that having sex with Mr. Astaire might result in some very bad cuts from his razor sharp elbows and knees. Thank goodness I did not yet know about hipbones!

Until next time,

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Very Slim Pickings At Fashion Week 2009

This is Mademoiselle’s assistant, transcribing her notes from her Iphone. Yeah, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now after midnight on Sunday than be stuck in the office while she’s out seeing all the big celebrities and those beautiful models—what is her problem with them?? Anyway, here’s what she has sent me so far. It broke off kind of abruptly, but she says there's more.

DAHLINGS –

It’s only day two of Fashion Week, and already a disturbing trend has shown itself. No, not the extreme gauntness of the models, that is a given in these times. The fleshless arms, the huge spaces between their nonexistent thighs, the gurgling of their stomachs from hunger; all commonplace. Not even the occasional fainting spell makes the jaded spectators turn their heads.

But for reasons known only to themselves, many designers are playing up the models’ resemblance to survivors of the Holocaust. For instance:



Need I say more?

It did not help that the first show I attended, all the way down on 21st Street, was the dependably depressing Yigal Azrouel, who showed this:



Marching off to the labor camp, one assumes. And really, did one need to start one’s day seeing THIS?

Give the poor thing some pencils and a tin cup, I say.

I dashed out of Nicole Miller’s show early to cunningly sneak in to the Erin Fetherston show (one is loathe to admit that one is officially banned for pelting a model with bonbons a season or two ago). As it happened, I was dressed in a stunning ensemble by Ms. Miller, and as always, had my loyal companion Bucky with me, today in an exceptionally large Gucci tote. (On the practical side, the tote has been specially lined with plastic; Bucky has been known to be unable to wait until the end of a show for his walkies.) It was a bit annoying having to watch from the back, as I usually sit in the front row. But I did not want to give away my presence before I could get a look at the collection.

Fetherston’s designs are meant to be ethereal, but look as though they had been put together from a combination of what the catalogs like to call “tissue weight” fabric (another word for faible qualité) and the kind of bizarre shiny wrapping paper one buys (not moi!) at the local dollar store.

On Saturday, I started my day with—wait a moment, that can’t be! Andre Leon Talley, my bosom friend, talking to…RACHEL ZOE? A dagger in my heart!

Later for Saturday! The traitorous rogue!

Added by me:

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Off For The Weekend, Dahlings!!

DAHLINGS -

Thank GOD for Memorial Day Weekend. I'm fleeing New York and all of the Ebay hazurai (a Jewish friend used that word and it seemed to sum up exactly what's happening, however, I haven't the faintest clue how to spell it). Off to my beautiful oceanfront mansion in the Hamptons (featured in Architectural Digest)!

There, I and many other rich and famous people shall mingle, laugh, drink and forget our troubles. Bucky the Wonderdog will be able to frolic freely with his peers. Although his tendency to attack without warning has caused some over-sensitive dog owners to clutch their wee ones to their chests and run when they see us coming. At least I assume it's because of Bucky...

I've assembled a simply fabulous wardrobe for the weekend, lots of big flowered Italian straw hats to ward off the sun and plenty of sunblock. Must keep my creamy skin milk-white, you know, it's good for business. Maxi dresses will be the building block of choice...I simply detest wide-leg jeans! My maxi-dresses will be vintage, however, not knockoffs from Target. Bohemian soul that I am at heart, most of my time will be spent barefoot.

That reminds me...must tell my assistant to book a pedicure, STAT!

My guests are the Creme de Mer of the fashion industry, naturally, I name no names. But as been written here before, until you have seen Andre Leon Talley with a champagne bucket upside-down on his head, you have not lived.

The staff has been working night and day getting the mansion ready. I know, because I have Hide-A-Cams all over the place. Idle hands and all that, you know. My assistant started to weep when I told her to cancel her plans and come with me, stupid thing. What on earth is so special about Pittsburgh?

Until next week, dahlings, have a wonderful weekend, drive safely, and remember, hot pants do not look good on anyone!

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Crimes Against Fashion At The "Superheroes" Gala!

Dahlings –

As I wrote in my last entry, the annual gala for the Metropolitan Museum’s Costume Institute happened the other night. The theme was “Superheroes”, those mythic comic book heroes and heroines in leotards and capes, among other strange fetishistic clothing.

Today I am going to concentrate on the Crimes Against Fashion that were sprinkled liberally throughout the crowd! If only there was a style Super Heroine!

I’d take on the job, but a) I am far too busy b) I do not care for physical exertion c) it would muss my golden locks.

First, we have the usual hideously gaunt model (one of many). I seem to recall that during dinner in the Temple of Dendur she passed out face-down in her plate. She was later to be heard bringing up what was left of her supper in the ladies' room by one of my informants.



Next, we have Steven Newhouse and Gina Sanders. She is dressed as a Hostess Pink Coconut Cupcake, and indeed, her dress was quite sticky and could be used as a weapon!



Amanda Brooks looks quite stunned to be caught in the muslin mock-up of her gown—Marni had PROMISED to have it ready!



Marni pulled the same stunt on these two young ladies. They look ready to pull a heist at Bergdorf’s by hypnotizing the clerks with those horrendous frocks, don’t you think?



This couple in Burberry are pulling the classic Super-Villain and Hero’s Girl pose: “One step closer, Spiderman, and she’s toast!” (Note that the girl really does look quite terrified. Makes one ponder the nature of the relationship, hmmm?)



Linda Carter looks astonishingly like an old Batman television show villainess, who patterns herself after a bordello owner in the Old West. Perhaps The Murderous Madam?



Fortunately, my dear, dear friend Andre Leon Talley appeared with one of the Williams sisters. Andre’s spectacular red cape was from Chanel, of course. Here he strikes the classic Superman pose, shielding Lois from fire/explosions/falling buildings/Lex Luthor by covering her with his indestructible cape!



Redeeming the whole evening, in your faithful correspondent’s opinion, were the effortlessly stylish David Bowie and his wife, the gorgeous Iman. "We Can Be Heroes," indeed! Proof that style is truly ageless, and I am sure that Anna Wintour would agree!



It almost made up for the Olsen Twins…I haven’t the heart to post a photo of them.

Ciao,
Elisa & Bucky The Wonderdog

Lana Turner Gives Me A Warning...

DAHLINGS –

Let me tell you a story.

A few nights ago, I was lying abed, in my usual wisp of chiffon, a scented candle made by Sarah Jessica Parker burning near the bed. Bucky was in his little dog bed, making soft woofing noises, presumably chasing a one-foot-high Andre Leon Talley in his dreams. I was in that mystic state between sleep and waking.

And then I heard someone softly calling my name. Thinking my assistant had locked herself in the armoire or some such, my eyes snapped open and I said, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

Standing before me, as beautiful as ever, was my dear dead friend Lana Turner!

She was in her spangled costume from “Dancing Co-Ed,” back in her red-haired days, and gazing at me with a disapproving smile on her lovely young face.

“Lana, dahling! How nice to see you, and without even a medium around!” I cried, sitting up. Bucky looked up, blinked, and went back to sleep. Dogs are overly pragmatic sometimes, if you ask moi.

“Oh, honey, I had to come. I’ve been watching you for a while.”

“Moi? Whatever for?”

Lana hesitated, and then said, “The way you treat your help. I mean, when I was alive I was plenty temperamental, and I fired my fair share of folks. But you—you’ve got to slow down! Soon you’ll simply run out of hired help! Even prisoners on work release wouldn’t work for you.”

I drew myself up, gathering my wisp around me. “I hardly think my attitude towards the idiots I hire is your business, my dear Mademoiselle Turner. After all, things have changed since your time. People don’t know their place.”

She shrugged her shoulders, sparkling slightly. “There’s something I learned about where I’ve been, honey. It’s called karma. Or as we used to say, what goes around, comes around. And oh, boy, do you have it coming around! When I was first at Metro, and I wasn’t a star, they worked me like a dog. School, acting lessons, dancing lessons, publicity—I didn’t have a minute free. That’s what you’re doing to your staff, and they don’t get to be movie stars in return like I did.”

“Merde,” I retorted.

Lana threw up her hands. “Okay, don’t listen. But you’ll see what I mean, if you know what I mean. See ya round the séance table!”

And with that she vanished. But I was later to learn exactly what she meant.

To be continued –

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

Apologies - The Met Costume Gala, Trés En retard!

DAHLINGS -

To my absolute horror, while thumbing through my diary, I discovered that I had entirely forgotten to write about the Metropolitan Museum Costume Institute Gala honoring their new show, "King of Fashion," celebrating the work of Paul Poiret, on May 7th! (I suspect that Bucky, who was not allowed to go in the wake of his defense of moi from Andre Leon Talley, hid the diary...it does look slightly chewed.)

But better late than never, say I. And while this might not have the freshness of the dew on the rose (unlike myself), I promise it will be most informative.

For those not in the know (and that included 90% of the guests and possibly Anna Wintour, our hostess), Paul Poiret was the self proclaimed "King of Fashion" prior to World War One, and reigned supreme among couturiers until late in the 1920s. His greatest achievement is thought to be freeing women from corsets, creating sinuous garments that celebrated the female form, rather than squashing it into various unnatural shapes.



Not that it had much influence on most of what the guests were wearing. One walked up the red carpet amidst a swarm of screaming paparazzi, to where huge gilded cages held four peacocks looking quite miserable, amid a hedge of red roses. I wore a self-designed Poiret-inspired frock of red silk, heavily trimmed with red and black bugle beads, and plunging in the back.

Along with darling Anna, Cate Blanchett was our co-hostess. Anna looked quite marvelous in Chanel (she is shown here with some lackey from the Institute), but CATE--the horror! The horror!





It is quite obvious that Cate is taking this clavicle idea too far! (Not to mention the fact that she looks like she might have been snorting some of the peacock poo...one has heard it has quite a buzz.)

My dear, darling friend Andre Leon Talley was there, all hugs and kisses. He has completely forgiven me for having Bucky attack him. Even if it was in self-defense. And I've had to pay mountains of medical bills AND buy Andre a new suit.

We embraced like the long-lost comrades we were, and I bit my tongue rather than say anything about the rather ridiculous long blue cape he was wearing. (My first thought was, that since he was with his protege' Jennifer Hudson, perhaps their arrangement is that one of them has to look ludicrous. But she was absolute perfection in Michael Kors.) My second thought was either Andre is up for the lead in a remake of "Blacula", or he has always secretly wanted to be Sherlock Holmes. But I merely smiled.



More to follow in a subsequent post...my assistant has just informed me that an intern from "Haute Cou-Poor" at FIT is calling, wailing something about misspelling all of the diplomas.

Ciao,
Elisa and Bucky the shamefully neglected Wonderdog