The photo retoucher who told 'The New Yorker' he extensively altered the Dove images said his quote was taken out of context, Iman's the rumored cover girl of the all-black Italian 'Vogue,' and is L.C. getting bad?
At last night's Snowflake Ball to benefit UNICEF, we asked everyone awkward questions about the future to prepare them for their holidays with nosy Aunt Susan. DavidLaurenBush, are you getting engaged? ("I don't know!" laughed the Lauren half of the socialite organism). Maggie Betts, will your dad, Roland, have a job for his BFF George Bush when he retires the presidency? ("I don't think he'll need one," said Maggie, who was arm in arm with Barbara Bush herself. "But I think my dad will give him anything he wants!"). When we got to Margherita Missoni, we couldn't think of anything tough to ask her, so we threw her a softball. What do you love about New York City? "I'm not in love with New York right now," she said. "I'm thinking of moving back to Europe." Oh, no! Is it because they shut down SocialiteRank.com? We'll try to write about you more, we promise! "I'm not sure if I'll go back to Italy. Maybe London or Paris. I long to be back in Europe," Missoni explained. "I've been in New York four years. I miss my family and everything. I wasn't born in America, and I loved it — it was great when I first came here. But after four years it's like " Missoni didn't finish her sentence. She said she preferred how everything in Europe is close together, but we weren't listening anymore. All we could think of was, with Margherita gone, there will only be 49 other top-tier socialites for us to care about! —Amy Odell
Dashing into the crowded yet blessedly air-conditioned lobby at the Thakoon show, we accidentally almost bowled right over Olivia Chantecaille, who probably would not have appreciated being snapped in two by a couple of L.A. girls whimpering about the humidity. (We're delicate flowers. Let's hope she heard our apologies.)
Graydon Carter skipped the dinner his Waverly Inn chef John DeLucie cooked at the James Beard House last night, but that doesn't mean Beard members won't get a chance to rub elbows with the Falstaffian editor. After attendees were served seven wines and a five-course dinner that included the restaurant's luscious Dover sole, Chef DeLucie informed them that they're all now worthy of a hard-to-come-by tables at Graydon's clubby Bank Street spot, just a few blocks west of where they were eating; they should simply stop by a day or two in advance to reserve. "Just say 'James Beard dinner,'" advised sommelier Sammy Kebob, whose name may or may not be spelled that way, as the restaurant answered neither its public nor private phones when we called to check. "Don't use my name," he warned the crowd. "It won't work." Neither, we suspect, will the "Beard dinner" trick for much longer. —Alexandra Peers