The line itself was wearable and innovative, with painstaking craftsmanship that wasn’t too flashy. We were especially struck by the techno outerwear in black cashmere and herringbone heather wool.
Italo Zucchelli, Calvin Klein Collection’s creative director of menswear, said that this season’s fabrications were particularly challenging to execute. “Complicated in a good way,” he said in his delicate Ligurian accent.
Shindigger headed over to perennial front-row Calvin Klein fixture and Giants wide receiver Victor Cruz, in from New York for the show and a lavish weekend of shopping with his girlfriend. “It’s fun!” said the handsome player known to American football fans for celebrating touchdowns with a little salsa dancing. “We ate our faces off. We went shopping. I went shopping at the Calvin Klein boutique. My girlfriend went to Giuseppe Zanotti, YSL …”
Mr. Cruz lit up when asked about Milano nightlife, explaining that he was staying at Hotel Principe di Savoia, Fashion Week’s party headquarters. “The Principe is always another world all to itself. It’s always fun being there,” he confessed. “I just wanna have a good time and leave Milano with a bang.”
Mr. Cruz undoubtedly deserved one, considering that the Giants did not finish the regular season with any sparks whatsoever. “I’d prefer to still be playing right now,” he told us. And suddenly our football star was shuffled away before Shindigger was able to ask him if he ever dared salsa without a helmet. Oh well—on to the party!
AND A PARTY IT WAS! After enjoying healthy pours of amarone at an earlier Roberto Cavalli penthouse party, Shindigger was driven in a Ford Fiesta to Pier Lombardo, 14. It was as if we had been transported to industrial Williamsburg: brick, rust, wooden beams and all. We beelined it straight to the bar, where poor yet dashing bar twinks (uniformed in Calvin Klein One) were kept at a grueling pace.
“It’s my first time for the men’s shows,” enthused Norwegian model and Calvin Klein “it” girl Hanneli Mustaparta, who had also been flown in from New York to attend the festivities. She was raving about Mr. Zucchelli’s intricate designs and color palette when Ellie Goulding took stage. “I’m excited to see her,” Ms. Mustaparta yelled over the dance tunes.
“Who’s gonna get me a drink?” blurted Ms. Goulding into the mic after a sultry rendition of Elton John’s “Your Song.” About four songs later, she ended with her hit “Lights,” which really got the energy up.
Afterward, we were in hot pursuit of Mr. Theroux when we bumped into the blond songstress of the evening. “You look amazing in that Calvin Klein dress,” Shindigger screeched over the blaring beats. “It feels sexy and I like what it does to my boobs,” she yelled back.
This festa was rowdy compared with our habitual Park Avenue fetes. Bodies swayed, the band was stupendous and attendees furiously continued to pillage the bar.
A few rounds later, Shindigger was still chewing the fat with old Italian friends and New York editors.
“It’s a great party! I’m happy to be here,” exclaimed our old friend Mr. Cruz, who proved to us he could hit the dance floor sans uniform. We asked him how he had passed the rest of his day after the runway show. “We just took the day to relax, hang out, get a massage; we ordered room service and then got dressed and came here.”
Not bad for a whirlwind VIP weekend, we thought, while he added that he was a big “sneaker advocate,” which Shindigger certainly could figure out ourselves, noting his pairing of a slim-tailored suit with Nike Air Jordans, which, to our surprise, worked charmingly. Eyeing a refill of our toxic champagne/vodka potion, we asked Mr. Cruz his cure for the inevitable Fashion Week hangover.
“Fluid. I drink tons of water, tons of juice … anything I can get my hands on. I gotta stay on top.”
With that, Shindigger finally had to let our favorite Milano date salsa away from us.
When the Cruz-less Calvin Klein blowout finally ran dry several hours later, we migrated with the in-crowd to Plastic for more mayhem, awakening a few hours later to find ourselves rushing to the much-too-early Armani show. È la dolce vita!
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