NY Mirror


A theatrical tribute to STEVIE NICKS twirled its way to the Knitting Factory for the Jackie Factory's "Night of 1,000 Stevies," which brought out swarms of shawl-wearing solo artists laden with crystalline knowledge if not current crystalline habits. There were slick Stevies, raging Stevies, male Stevies, tip-the-scale Stevies, and also DEAN JOHNSON playing a Stevie concertgoer whose boyfriend couldn't get off work to join her because "Barnes & Noble didn't consider wiccan a recognized religion."

Wedding singer, dumpster diver: Stephen Lynch
photo: Joan Marcus
Wedding singer, dumpster diver: Stephen Lynch

But mostly we all kneeled before fashion last week, and it was worth dirtying our designer knee pads. First, Paper pooh-bahs KIM HASTREITER and DAVID HERSHKOVITS hosted a Saks party for JEAN-PAUL GOUDE's compilation So Far So Goude, where I asked the genius artist-photographer what was the most shocking thing in the book. "There's nothing shocking," he assured, casually. OK, then—what was it like to work with KARL LAGERFELD on photo sessions? "He was always very nice to me," said Goude. "I would even say warm." "Now that's shocking," I croaked. "It is, it is," he agreed. "I don't know if he really likes me. I just ran into him five minutes ago in the elevator and he was very nice. But he's probably saying horrible things about me now!"

The Paper gang re-emphasized the warm by celebrating French Vogue editor CARINE ROITFELD and her daughter JULIA two days later at an Indochine luncheon filled with designers, journalists, and spring rolls. In the soigné crowd, legendary model PAT CLEVELAND impulsively pinched my butt (but she's probably saying horrible things about me now); ZAC POSEN's mom and CEO told me, "Zac's head is on straight. There are too many people around him for it to fly off"; and MICKEY BOARDMAN's mother (if not CEO) TERRY, said of her Paper diva son, "He told me to dress as if I was going to a wedding." So naturally she turned up all in black! (And looking so cute, I'm heading down to Dillard's in Daytona Beach to get my own dark shmatte. It'll look swell over that straitjacket.)

One more truckload of fashionistas was rounded up for Surface magazine's invitation-only panel discussion at the Tribeca Grand, where FRANÇOIS GIRBAUD talked about the dark side of the denim design biz. Girbaud said an ad he did in Europe—a version of the Last Supper with women in jeans—was condemned by the church and will soon be up for its third court trial. Explained Girbaud, "We wanted to pose the question: How would the world be different if Jesus and the apostles were women?" For one thing, that meal would have surely had way fewer points.

Some final thoughts before flossing: The Da Vinci Code provides the immortal dilemma, "Do I see it to piss off the church or spare myself the lumbering boredom?" The first choice sounds like a too tedious way of ensuring one's entry to hell—there are far more fun ways—so I'll just stay home with my Last Supper of women in jeans . . . HEATHER MILLS doesn't have a leg to stand on . . . A reader wonders why—spoiler alert! spoiler alert!—both the Latin characters in Poseidon have to be killed. With African Americans gaining in movieland prominence, are Hispanics Hollywood's newest whipping posts? . . . Speaking of ethnic cleansing, by scaring up a paranoid, flag-waving fear of "the other," DUBYA is sounding eerily reminiscent of . . . no, let me not go to that shoah business place again. It could hurt my Tony chances.


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