A Stroll Through Fashion Week Shindigs

Pearls to swine, and back again

Onward! It's time to hoof it to "Art Fashion" at Christie's, where an archive of old clothes collected by the duo behind the Resurrection vintage stores is on display. The sound of champagne glasses smashing in such close proximity to irreplaceable Courrèges coats and Poco Rabbanne metal dresses makes me quail with nerves, but the Christie's people seem unperturbed. I only wish the crowd, mostly clad in boring little black dresses and towering heels, had spruced up more in the spirit of these wacky ensembles. And where is Agyness Deyn—misspelled as "Agnyess Dean" on the elaborate invite? Actually, maybe she's here, since I am notoriously unable to distinguish one pixieish blond from the next. (I suffer from prosopagnosia, a/k/a face blindness—not a joke—but more on this subject some other time.)

Ball and chain: The Paper mag party
Carolina Torem-Craig
Ball and chain: The Paper mag party

Appetizers not quelling my appetite, I buy a bag of pretzels and hop on the train for the short ride down to FIT for the opening of "Gothic: Dark Glamour." Despite the cult of darkness suffusing the atmosphere, the guests, unlike those dolts at Christie's, have dressed for the event in lugubrious taffeta dresses, tight-laced corsets, and top hats, and are having a ball. And what do you know—here, amid the Victorian mourning suits and ghoulish Galliano gowns and chain-mail purses decorated with bats, is the real Andre J, in a glistening black and gold frock to match his glistening beard. "Life is good to me!" he says, injecting a bit of much-needed optimism in the cynicism and torpor that inevitably attends Fashion Week. "I'm still excited!"

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