While digging around in our bags for our precious Proenza Schouler seat-assignment cards, we suddenly looked up and noticed that the space around us — formerly teeming with fashionistas — had cleared suspiciously quickly.
We may have borne inadvertent witness to a catharsis of sorts for twig-size actress Brittany Murphy. At Monday evening's Max Azria show, we caught sight of Murphy — the first celebrity to wander out from backstage after photographers waited for about 40 minutes — refusing an interview with one gossip-magazine reporter by placing her hand gently on the girl's arm and intoning, "Not for that magazine. Your magazine HURT. MY. LIFE."
We had an epiphany about Sophia Bush today. Her character on One Tree Hill is the super-successful fashion designer behind the grammar-tragedy clothing line Clothes Over Bro's. So maybe some of her appearances at Fashion Week — like tonight's, at the Ports 1961 show — can be chalked up to Method acting!
Usually by this point in Fashion Week, we're so tired that we start hallucinating celebrities everywhere we look. While this would be divine if we were having visions of Matt Damon, instead there was a split second in which we were convinced we saw Kenneth Branagh wandering around aimlessly in a full-length man mink (strike one), and we thought this one short dude at Carolina Herrera was Lucy Liu (strike two, and we're sorry about that gender mix-up, Lucy).
When we spilled out of our cab two blocks from Oscar de la Renta's show at the Third Church of Christ Science on Monday afternoon, approximately twenty minutes after the time on the invite (and therefore at least ten to fifteen minutes before the show realistically should have started), and spotted two women we recognized as front-row industry types running toward the venue, we knew we were screwed.
Listen, we think she seems great and all, but how on earth has Sophia Bush managed to get invited to shows all over town this season? Either she has frighteningly effective people working for her or she's cashing in on one of the several hundred karmic IOUs she earned during those months she had to spend married to the king of the asshats, Chad Michael Murray.
For a celebrity at Fashion Week, it doesn't really matter WHY you're there; if the camera catches you with a hair out of place, that's pretty much all anyone will remember. Clever Angie Harmon clearly knows this, as the second she took her seat at Carolina Herrera, a stylist type blocked her face long enough to fluff and arrange her black locks flatteringly around her face.
You'd think that the one thing you wouldn't have to worry about with Hervé Léger's iconic bandage dresses would be having any of your body parts fall out, but tell that to Joy Bryant's nipple, which we inadvertantly spied peeking out of her tangerine frock as we squeezed past her at the Léger show this morning.
It's a bad sign that the first thing we wondered while trying to make our way into the Rock & Republic show tonight was, "Is this the new Heatherette?" The answer is not quite, if only because the show didn't feature the campy deliciousness of assless pants.
Even though we're only two days in, it just seems wrong somehow that we've seen more of socialites and Sophia Bush than we have of Anna Wintour. Sure, we know that soon enough the Bob will be sitting in stony silence about six rows ahead of us, but it's hard not to get impatient for that first glimpse of the coif that Suri Cruise is currently getting unfair credit for inventing.
Saturday was paradise for anyone fond of watching reality-TV shows in which regular (yet good-looking and tall) people are magically transformed into models. First, former Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency model Chris Jones appeared in oatmeal-colored Hammer pants at United Bamboo, then Niki Taylor showed up at Alexandre Herchcovitch with the entire cast of Make Me a Supermodel, albeit sans Tyson Beckford.
There’s nothing like bookending day one with a pair of genuine national treasures: Liza Minnelli at breakfast time, and come supper, that deeply understated legend of Lycra-blend we call Kimora Lee Simmons. Tonight’s Baby Phat show was everything we’ve come to expect from the exceedingly subtle model turned designer, right down to the feathered hot pants, visible garter belts, and getups that felt inspired by Atonement via a few head injuries and maybe a martini.
It’s not often that you see a turban out in the wilds, especially not on the head of someone who (a) isn’t Melania Trump — in which case it would be made of fur — or (b) sporting it for religious reasons. So unless Julia Reston-Roitfeld has just joined the Church of Dynasty, she might well be the first person since the eighties that we’ve seen flaunting this very special headgear as though it were no more unusual than a bun.
It's a tough call as to which was the more outstanding beginning to Fashion Week: seeing Liza Minnelli burst into "New York, New York" at the Heart Truth's Red Dress Collection event or being handed a free Diet Coke in a frosty bottle after we fought our way out of the tents.
With Super Bowl Sunday looming, football pundits worldwide are typing their fingers to the bone predicting who will step up, who will choke, and which commercials will be the most buzz-worthy. Sure, football is a group sport and there's no "I" — or "Eli" — in "team," but we can't help boiling down the big game to its most fascinating matchup: the budding legend versus the legacy kid. How do Tom Brady and Eli Manning stack up, and more important, which one looks better in spandex? Let us be your guides.
TABLOID APPEAL: Tom Brady has been all over the rags this year, thanks to his baby-mama drama with Bridget Moynahan and his ensuing photo-friendly relationship with Gisele. Whereas we only know from Wikipedia that Eli Manning is engaged; "Giants QB Really Digs College Sweetheart" probably won't move any magazines unless he knocks her up with some baby joy. At Tom Brady's house.
Advantage: Tom. Unless you prefer keeping your private life private, but where's the fun there?
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Oscar bigwigs released this year's crop of nominees Tuesday, but after the flop that was the Golden Globes (the opening night of awards season), it's tempting to ignore Hollywood's annual self-congratulation spree and embrace a good old-fashioned orgy of shame. That's right, the Razzie Awards! They beat Oscar to the punch Monday, naming their choices for 2007's very worst. As ever, the race for the Golden Raspberry is as tight as Burt Reynolds's face. We can't contain ourselves! So, we won't: Read on for our exuberant choices as to who stank up the screen the most.
Worst Supporting Actor Nominees: Orlando Bloom, Kevin James, Eddie Murphy, Rob Schneider, Jon Voight.
Not to ruin his moment, but we dispute Orlando's inclusion: He looked smoking hot in Yet More Pirates of the Caribbean, and that's truly the most supportive an actor can be. Chuck & Larry's problems go way beyond poor Kevin James, and, let's face it, there's no way Rob Schneider was any worse in that than he is in anything else. That leaves Jon Voight in Bratz (oy) and Eddie Murphy as Mr. Wong in Norbit, another of those parts he hogs because he's a whore for latex makeup. But it's Voight's Razzie to lose, if only because seeing his name next to the word "bratz" makes us want to crawl back into the womb.
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