Tori Spelling Wants To Be Madonna

Chatting with the rising design duo Phillipe and David; a more serious Tori reading.

Tori! Tori! Tori!

Blonde scion-turned-reality-star Tori Spelling came out of her pink-lens world to promote her book Mommywood at a Rouge Tomate party, where she told me that being a celebrity mama isn't all bangles and pailettes. The biggest challenge? "Finding the balance," said Tori, "especially since my two-year-old, Liam, is in his terrible twos. Most mothers deal with tantrums quietly. For me, all eyes are on me."

While mine were on her, I managed to ask Tori whether she thinks Madonna is Mother of the Year or just a big mofo. "I saw a picture of her and Lourdes holding hands," she replied, glowing, "and I thought, 'That's amazing. I hope Stella and I are like that when she's 12.' " I hope I'm invited to Lourdes's inevitable book party.

Toothsome twosome: Phillipe (left) and David Blond
Mike Ruiz
Toothsome twosome: Phillipe (left) and David Blond

Blonde women in black dresses filled the top-floor lounge of the Cooper Square Hotel—along with me in flip-flops and three pairs of socks—all of us united in a lust to check out anything new while bagging some pass-alongs. The hotel—right across from the Voice office—is a tall glass-and-steel structure that looks like a giant suppository. I told that to owner Klaus Ortlieb, but he corrected me: "It starts narrow, then widens, then gets narrow again. It's actually shaped like a face." And this roof deck is the scalp? "The brain," he advised. Aha! And, fortunately, Ortlieb has one. When I asked him who he's targeted as customers, he said, "People in the creative arts. Thank God I didn't go after Wall Street!"

The creative arts community converged for the Tribeca Film Festival opening attraction: Woody Allen's Whatever Works, which breaks the curse of his New York films and means he doesn't have to live in exile anymore. Sure, it's the usual Woody premise—hot, young blonde girl is crazy about a bald, neurotic old Jew, duh—but it's fairly hilarious in its fluffy, optimism-posing-as-misanthropy way, and it even suggests that God is a gay decorator. And that's enough gay decorators for one column.

musto@villagevoice.com

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