Perry Ellis, noon

A moist 73 degrees; 92 percent humidity. Those not able to afford the de rigueur Japanese hair-straightening were desperately smoothing down that morning's blowout.

There was no runway, just girls standing patiently under the lights, looking dangerously young, with small pouty faces and dark-rimmed glassy eyes under mounds of big wavy hair.

"The clothes are nice ," whispered one officious-looking editor to another, and she was right. The collection, the third under industry veteran Patrick Robinson, was all ruffles and bows in delightfully vibrant yellow-golds, chartreuse greens and an array of pinks, and it looked easy and wearable.

Outside the tent, the clouds hung threateningly low and the carefully manicured lawns were minefields of sludge puddles. Now wearing skin-tight low-slung jeans and a white tank top, a model from the show smoked a cigarette under a tree, tossing the butt wearily before heading back inside.

- Sara Vilkomerson

John Bartlett, 6 p.m.

The Harvard Club played host to a preppy collection of bright oranges, pinks and green that clashed with the fluffy crimson carpet.

Rather than setting up a runway, the designer had opted for a live art exhibition, with models scattered about the room in various stages of role play. Some relaxed in burgundy wingback chairs, others sat on the edge of a fireplace. Perhaps in a nod to the intensity of Fashion Week, a tattered copy of Lord of the Flies was propped up on a side table. "This is my fantasy," Mr. Bartlett said. "This is how I wish guys had looked and dressed when I was in college. Originally, I was going to have only Harvard guys in the show, but there weren't enough hot Harvard guys!"

A boyish-looking gentleman with lacquered red hair and one leg slung over the arm of his chair was reading Valley of the Dolls while portraits of past Harvard presidents looked on reproachfully from the walls. Nearby, a distinguished-looking gentleman in a suit, pink argyle socks and purple Converse sneakers sat rubbing an impressive charcoal drawing of three men who were also in suits. "I lived at the Harvard Club for a month when I moved here after graduation and I sort of felt like Eloise at the Plaza," said Mr. Bartlett, who wore the university's crest on his right ring finger.

-Noelle Hancock

thursday · september 9

Carolina Herrera, 10 a.m.

Olivia Chantecaille, co-founder of Chantecaille cosmetics, was sitting in the front row in a black Prada accordion skirt and crisp white Calvin Klein blouse. She said she was particularly fond of a pink Herrera halter gown. "When I wear it, both men and women comment. But they say 'You look pretty' rather than 'Your dress is pretty,' which means that dress is fabulous but the rest of you looks like crap, " Ms. Chantecaille said.

Further down the row, Vogue editor in chief Anna Wintour twisted her gams like a braided pretzel stick under her Louis Vuitton navy and ivory print dress. "With Carolina, you realize how focused she is on a woman like herself-cultural, understated," Ms. Wintour said. "She doesn't worry about what the rest of the world is doing. It's not vulgar. Too much falling out, transparency." She curled her pink lips upward in a shy semi-smile. "Of course, sexy has a place too."

Sylphs legged down the runway in a subtly seductive collection that seemed to indicate a worldly woman who is difficult to woo, but worth every penny. There were mosaic dresses and flippy skirts, in ivory and espresso, disks sewn in what Herrera calls "floating crystals," a combined effect of light reflector and stained-glass sunflower; a ruby dress with semi-precious stone embellishments; an emerald bikini; shoulder-baring frocks with fringed horizontal aqua and ivory lines; embroidered sweaters with cuffed ivory shorts; and short-sleeved silk blouses, called "camp shirts," in a signature print of female divers with white swim caps, evocative of Esther Williams' cinematic pool dancers in the 40's.

-Susan M. Kirschbaum

Bill Blass, 2 p.m.

Clad in a slim tailored black suit with pointy black boots, the starlet Angie Everhart crossed her legs and tossed her impeccably red long hair. "I think it [the collection] is very now," she said of Michael Vollbracht's line. "Michael has done a much younger line. I like what he's doing, that's why I'm here."

The familiar idea of "lady" seemed to be the line's inspiration, from sweet tea-length dresses with tobacco-colored bows, to flouncy blouses, ruffled skirts and peacock-like evening wear in diaphanous chiffon. Colors that stayed mainly in the Easter egg color range: pinks, yellows and creams and some warm earth-toned reds. Ivana Trump was wearing a gold and flowered suit. "It was very fresh and very feminine and I loved all the fabric," she said. "I can see the influence of Bill Blass is still there, his feeling is still there … like that blue coat," she said of the mod-looking swing coat that had drawn general approval from the crowd. "That reminds me of Bill Blass from 30 years ago …. I probably have that Bill Blass coat in my closet somewhere."

-S.V.

Proenza Schouler, 5 p.m.

There weren't many celebrities at the Milk Studio on West 15th Street, but designers Jack McCollough and Lazaro Hernandez didn't seem to care. Why should they? Barely two years out of Parsons School of Design, the duo have become editorial darlings.

"We don't have a specific muse," said Mr. Hernandez, who has the wavy dark hair and laughing eyes of a classic leading man. "We design for our friends."

One girl claiming to be Mr. Hernandez's friend arrived in knit navy shorts and a white Proenza Schouler top with navy buttons, and four-inch-high lemon-yellow Manolo Blahnik strappy stilettos. Preferring to remain anonymous, she flashed her feet for the paparazzi as Hawaiian music piped. Models hit the catwalk in silk and boxy linen jackets, sultry metallic and pastel bustiers with criss-cross back straps, slouchy trousers and bum-hugging pencil pants, stopping just above the ankle.

The pieces looked chic, irreverent-va-va-voom bustiers paired with tailored pants/jackets-and expertly cut. Yet so many elements mixed together-from Egyptian gold detailing to bleached alligator pencil skirts, palm-tree prints and velvet cutout flowers-gave the impression of a fickle gamine who raids her mom's closet and emerges with an identity crisis.

-S.M.K.

friday · september 10

Zac Posen, 8 p.m.

The stars and sycophants who followed Zac Posen after his packed runway show resembled a tribe following Joseph and his Technicolor dream coat. Mr. Posen himself wore a tweed jacket, and while his sleek white suitings and bum-hugging dresses in kaleidoscope mosaics inspired crowd frenzy, Sean John (P. Diddy) Combs-his financial backer- strolled backstage with his head high.

"We're going to put some heat under Marc Jacobs' ass," said Mr. Combs, who was carrying his own fashion accessory-a Maltese called Sophie-dressed identically to his master in a white Sean John shirt and black cashmere pullover. "I think it's obvious where Zac's trying to go. I'm more than happy with my investment …. Zac makes love to a woman in his dresses."

Row one-which included Claire Danes, Bernadette Peters, Serena Williams and Paris Hilton-appeared genuinely awed by print frocks that married Missoni and psychedelic, ruffled dresses, fitted blouses with sexy tailored shorts, white trousers with three gold balls hanging on each hip and black chiffon gowns with trains attached to the arms which lifted like wings. (Mr. Posen even went as far to spray the white jackets and trousers with Teflon. He claims this prevents any kind of stain.)

"It's like he's thrown stardust on his clothes." Ms. Peters said. "He always does something-a ruffled shoulder, no back, you feel really different." Ms. Danes, who was sitting opposite Ms. Peters in a Zac Posen white halter dress, agreed. "That's what's so genius about him. He thinks that fancy, imagination, art and glamour is appropriate always, ya know?"

-S.M.K.

sunday · september 12

Diane von Furstenberg, 6 p.m.

For Barry Diller, the fashion show of his wife Diane von Furstenberg, at her West 12th Street studio, provided more of a chance to mingle than to examine clothes. "I'm the ancien régime ," said Mr. Diller. He was wearing a white shirt with vertical navy pinstripes. "I have no fashion sense. She gives me advice about everything except how I dress. I make a lot of noise."

Ms. von Furstenberg showed her signature printed wrap dresses, as well as three-quarter white ruffled prairie skirts and matching billowy shirts (which were derivative of Ralph Lauren), marigold splashed halter dresses, cuffed shorts and green leopard print frocks.

"I came because I have some friends that work here, " said the actor Josh Hartnett, who was wearing a gray railroad-conductor cap and silver-rimmed spectacles that hid his big chocolate-colored eyes "It's my first fashion show and I liked the dresses."

"Diane owns New York," said the actress Marisa Tomei. "But she owns anywhere she would go. She's just somebody to emulate, not only in style, but in philosophy-this great joie de vivre . And she's got this great, young, old soul at the same time. She's a woman, not pretending to be a girl. Glamorous, smart and spiritual-everything."

Sitting diagonally across from Ms. Tomei was Foreigner guitarist Mick Jones' wife Ann, wearing a slim three-quarter gold brocade Vivienne Westwood jacket and jeans. "I think Diane represents the old and new guard." she said. "She was incredibly innovative in her time, as well as being beautiful and social. And she's different than the new guard because she doesn't care that much about money. She cares more about creating …. Diane's like a beautiful racehorse that is always jumping another fence with pleasure."

-S . M.K.

monday · september 13

Donna Karan , 5 p.m.

A contretemps erupted outside the Donna Karan show on Monday, when a 61-year-old local resident named Martin DiMartino decided to pick a fight with one of 10-odd black-clad bouncers guarding the sidewalk. "It's a public sidewalk," he mumbled, leaning into the bulky guard, who sniped back. Mr. DiMartino fired his cup of coffee onto the guard's frame.

"Do not let our security man start a fight!" shrieked Christy Hood, a publicist who had arrived just in time to see a crowd gathering round for the showdown, before she was informed that the guard had been provoked. "Well, do not let him finish it," she scolded. Mr. DiMartino and the guard, identified later as Brian, walked across the street, where Mr. DiMartino sat down on the street on the southeast corner of Greenwich and Charles, striking a pose like Rodin's Thinker .

"You've got a good seat there," joked one passer-by. As other locals gathered, scowling at the parade across the street, it was as if years of frustration and anger-at clogged-up streets for fashion shoots and movies, expensive snobby boutiques, rising rents-finally had an outlet in the form of Mr. DiMartino, a part-time pianist, hair-dresser and, now, rabble-rouser. A small crowd gathered to get Mr. DiMartino's back.

It smelled like mutiny, but eventually he went home.

Then the starlet Milla Jovovich stepped through the line and mugged for the cameras, looking vacant in an entirely sheer pink T-shirt and below-the-knee tweed tulip skirt. "We've started our own clothing line, Jovovich-Hawk, and we're actually wearing that," she said, motioning to her business partner, model-actress Carmen Hawk, "but otherwise Donna Karan."

Kate Betts, the dethroned Harper's Bazaar editor now on the masthead at Time , looked uncomfortable because, she said, she was "six months pregnant." Fashion Week is no fun when you're preggers. "I'm not excited at all. I mean it's exciting, but not wardrobe-wise," she said, pointing to her Connecticut-bland ensemble of tweed skirt and black cardigan. "Honey, it's full-on Liz Lange." Some might consider Donna Karan's jersey materials easy to wear for pregnant women. "Yeah, if you're in good shape, which is not the case," Ms. Betts said.

Inside, the 10,000-square-foot space was a labyrinth of white couches with comfy white pillow logs. Dianne Reeves' electrifying "Endangered Species" pop-jazz tune led off the show: "I am a woman … / I am an endangered species / But I sing no victim's song / I am a woman / I am an artist / I know where my voice belongs."

The outfits themselves? Lots of stretch net and jersey in industrial grays of different shades. Only a few of the nude (colored) chiffon dresses drew catcalls from the bleachers where the photographers were positioned. The models were freshly scrubbed with staticky flyaway hairstyles.

Ms. Karan got a little wet-eyed describing the space, her late husband's former studio, but the minty smell of her gum cleared the air.

"It was a wonderful experience," she said.

- Anna Schneider-Mayerson

Marc Jacobs, 9 p.m.

Once again, Mr. Jacobs set his show in Pier 54 of Hudson River Park (mostly Astroturf, less park). It was the most intimate gathering of 1,000 people one might imagine. Security was relentless, and standing room was not permitted. The wall from which the models emerged (after more than an hour's wait) was papered meticulously in multicolored roses and foliage.

Jenny from the Block flounced by, wearing creamy wool. Husband Marc Antony's cheekbones came in separately, followed by their owner, clad top to bottom in olive velvet. There was Lil' Kim, looking demure (for her) in bright green, with only one substantial piece of bling hanging from her neck. There were the Olsen twins, also in green, shiny makeup and unkempt hair, sitting next to what seemed to be their baby-sitter but turned out to be the singer Mandy Moore, hair and skin tinted copper to match her clothing. There were the perennially glowing mothers Helena Christensen, Kate Hudson and Liv Tyler. There was the Donald, in Brioni and boarding-school tie, and his girlfriend Melania Knauss.

Models teetered down the catwalk to a remix of Christina Aguilera's "I Am Beautiful" in exclamatory colors: turquoise! Paradise blue! Magenta! Golden yellow! Orange! There was what looked like hyperbolic hound's-tooth (quilted to boot), some brocade, lots and lots of trumpetty skirts, little belts, little cardies, housecoats and aprons decontextualized into embellished blouses and dresses and, finally, a stream of silk poplin dresses with enormous bows in inexplicable areas. Nothing was too tight, nothing was too structured. Brocade was teamed with gray wife beaters; skirts were slung low. Neither the outsize candy-wrapper bows, set to cover up any part of the anatomy that might give away membership of the female sex, nor the pleated romper-stomper clown-stripe knickerbockers will take away from Marc's gilded reputation.

Trampling over the catwalk and through the far rose-wall into the party area was the actress Kate Bosworth, clad in one pleated knickerbockers and brocade ensemble: "I just loved it. It was so soft, beautiful and young. I just loooooved the shoes." And why was she in New York sans gentleman friend? "I'm here to shoot the new Revlon campaign!" To replace anyone? "No, no! Just … an addition, I guess ."

Fonzworth Bentley, P. Diddy's umbrella-wielding manservant, was clad in a stupendous ensemble of pinks and yellow and tweeds. "He's basically saying: 'This is it! Just try to outdo me!'" he said of the line.

Hope Atherton, the taxidermy-loving artist, raved about the shoes. "They're like your mom's shoes, the ones you looked at longingly," she said. "They have a magical quality, like big yummy candy."

Mr. Jacobs said his collection was inspired by his late grandmother. "There were no references in particular-certainly no historical ones," he said, sitting down briefly. His hair was tousled. "I just wanted it to be sexy, young and fresh-the colors and prints ought to suggest that. It all felt very right to me. And once again, it was that idea of anonymity I tried to recreate." We left him sitting and watching the crowds-wearily, but not unhappily.

- Jessica Joffe

tuesday · september 14

Michael Kors , 10 a.m.

Animal skins, beachy chic: a kind of nautical-stripe thing going on. Fluttery, floral-print dresses. Sherbert colors.

In the audience, curvaceous designer Shoshanna Lonstein Gruss was wearing jeans and a black top from her own line and leaning across two chairs talking to socialite Serena Boardman. "Michael always interprets a different part of Americana in a most luxurious way that just makes you want to move into that lifestyle, whether it's the jet set or Wyoming," she said. "Of course, you always feel like someone will be shooting your animals or chopping your wood for you!"

"Michael's clothes are just so easy," added CeCe Cord, of the Kieselstein-Cord belt empire. "You can pick them up and put them on years later. I still wear Michael's clothes from before he had his own company."

Powder-puff heiress Aerin Lauder Zinterhofer said she wasn't ready for fall, let along spring. "I'm going to miss the beach!" she moaned. And she's not alone.

- N.H.

With demand accelerating for clothes that fit just so-clothes that no one else has -tailors from Milan to Savile Row are flying in from their overseas showrooms and whipping out their tape measures in Park Avenue parlors and Hollywood haciendas. Not only do the clothes look great, the client also gets to fancy herself as muse, recalling the days when Audrey Hepburn inspired Givenchy.

Patricia Ward Kelly, the widow of entertainer Gene, is one reveling in the return of that era. Ms. Kelly fondly remembered what her husband used to call "a conceit": a special detail, like the satin peek-a-boo amethyst lining in a garnet gown she commissioned. She recently switched loyalties from high-end ready-to-wear to a private dressmaker on La Brea Avenue in Los Angeles, around the corner from her house. "The results are magical," she said.

Young society babes on this coast are also eagerly taking part. Nadja Swarovski's family company sells crystals to Versace and other major labels, but Ms. Swarovski recently consulted Princess Diana's former private dressmaker, Catherine Walker, for her own private wardrobe. "You can always spot a woman who does custom," she said, "because it always looks best."

Naturally, name-brand design houses want a piece of what might be dubbed the New Couture. Witness Helmut Lang, who began offering made-to-measure tailoring last autumn (the appointments are booked solid for several months); Gucci, now offering "made-to-order" handbags and shoes; and Isaac Mizrahi, who is offsetting his foray into mass-market retail at Target with a custom business. At the end of July, Mr. Mizrahi sent 100 private invitations to ladies around town, which made clear that the recipients of these cards were his personal choices as custom clients. Socialite Helen Lee Schifter said she was looking forward to her fitting. "It's more about supporting the designer," she said. "It's a creative process, and you can be clued in. The end product is unique."

Ms. Schifter demurred when asked to name some of Mr. Mizrahi's other secret clients. "I know they didn't send these cards to too many people. It's very quiet," she said. ( Shhh .) Introducing the latest breed of urban outfitters:

Raffaella Curiel

"I create luxury door-to-door," said Raffaella Curiel.

Ms. Curiel, a 60-year-old designer based in Milan, felt the pull of a legacy to fulfill. Her late mother, Gigliola Curiel, was the first Italian designer to be carried "exclusively" at Bergdorf Goodman in the 1950's and 60's.

Gigliola's daughter explained how she introduced her own demi-couture line of classically cut suits and dresses to America. "The moment I realized that people didn't want to go out and meet each other wearing the same Chanel suit or dress, I put my samples in a suitcase and came to Manhattan," she said in a raspy lilt. That was 11 years ago, when she had two clients. Now she's got 200, including society dames Susan Soros, Brooke Astor, Lee Thaw, Catherine Cahill and Michelle Herbert. They keep her so busy that she flies from Italy to a suite in the Surrey Hotel every three weeks.

"I think she's fabulous," said Bea Guthrie, a board member of Save Venice Inc. and a client for a decade. "The materials are real haute couture fabrics. By and large, the fabrics you see in the stores-with the exception of Armani-are not high-quality. Raffaella designs the classic clothes that people used to wear 20, 30 years ago. The couture-which can run at $45,000 a dress-is expensive, but not as expensive as Valentino or Givenchy. And you can get a nice suit from the ready-to-wear line for $2,500. Women are not used to having clothes that fit. Raffaella will take a piece apart and put the seams back in. I don't think I've ever thrown out anything she's ever made for me."

"Look," Ms. Curiel said. "I think the Italian labels are the best, but there is an imbalance between price and quality. These women don't want to spend as much money on something that is not as good or exclusive as it used to be. They want a personal designer-someone to say, 'This is good for you.'"

(Suits-wool and silk-from $3,000 to $6,000 apiece. Dresses range from $2,500 to $3,500. 011-39-02-76002872 )

Juanita Sabbadini

Juanita Sabbadini, sister of Milanese jeweler Alberto Sabbadini, follows on Ms. Curiel's well-cobbled heels. At the urging of her brother, she starting periodically packing up shop last year for Gotham, where she does fittings at a friend's Park Avenue apartment.

Known predominantly for her Armani-esque suitings, she won't reveal her uptown clients (nor her age), but claims she books appointments from morning until evening each time she visits for a week, in September, January and March.

Harriet Weintraub, the publicist for Burberry and Hollywould shoes, said she prefers Ms. Sabbadini's suits to Prada, once a staple in her closet. Ms. Weintraub estimated that she's accumulated three or four jackets and skirts, silk pants in different colors and sweaters. "There is something in women's psyches that wants an original," she said. "Juanita brings a new mid-range of custom design. We live in a cookie-cutter world. You find yourself with someone at the same occasion in the same dress. You don't want to see yourself coming and going, where what you're wearing is just a copy .... And I like something that fits me properly, that doesn't have to be altered to death."

(Dresses and suits start at $2,000. 011-39-027-602-0171 )

Alvin Valley

With her long, perfectly straight golden hair and white teeth, Tinsley Mortimer looks like Barbie and coordinates her wardrobe just as expertly. When she needed a dress to identically match her Kenneth Jay Lane turquoise, orange, green and violet chandelier earrings, she called Alvin Valley, a Cuban designer who moved to New York from Miami two and a half years ago.

Although his clothes sell in Bergdorf Goodman and Kirna Zabete, Mr. Valley's custom clientele reads like a Social Register of both mothers and daughters: the Fanjul clan, the Hiltons-Kathy and daughters Nicky and Paris-Serena Boardman, Elizabeth Kieselstein-Cord, Natalie Leeds, with a dollop of Hollywood thrown in for good measure (Sharon Stone, Angela Bassett, Brittany Murphy).

Carolina Gutierrez, the stepdaughter of sugar baron Alfie Fanjul, was among the first of this clique to note the designer's keen eye and Latino mothering instincts. She and her sister-in-law, Emilia Fanjul, discovered Mr. Valley's personalized touch eight years ago when visiting his store in Coconut Grove. They told two friends, who then told two friends, and together the traveling Palm Beach set persuaded Mr. Valley to pack up his Southern locale for a New York showroom.

"If I have an event, I pretty much think I'll go to Alvin as opposed to going to Valentino," said Ms. Gutierrez. "Alvin knows what I Iike. He'll make something for me, and it's exactly what I'm looking for. I prefer getting something made through him, whether it's evening wear, a little dress or a pair of pants. I go to him because he gets it right."

Call him the modern-day Halston. Like the couturier prince of Studio 54, Mr. Valley, 29-who laughs easily and sports a consistent wide grin-often extends his personal attention to taking gals out on the town after fitting them.

He escorted Ms. Mortimer to so many events, her husband Topper got his dander up. "He is an amazing date," Ms. Mortimer said. "An amazing dancer. Always the life of the party. Also, it's nice to have the designer there with you. It makes you feel a little more special. Like a muse. But I know he has several.

"At first Topper was saying, 'You're spending a little too much time with him,'" Ms. Mortimer added. "But they had a long talk, and now Topper loves Alvin."

(Alvin Valley, off the rack/samples: trousers, $300 to $700; jackets, $450 to $900. All can go up to $2,000 to $3,000 apiece when customized, depending on fabric and fittings. Custom dresses: $2,000 to $4,000. Couture: $4,000 to $8,000. 212-253-0095 )

Gabrielle Carlson

The South African-born Gabrielle Carlson, with her short, shagged brown hair and wide grin, seems to have cornered the market for the over-40 and beyond-size-six set.

Ms. Carlson, who doesn't reveal her age, was handing out champagne flutes recently at her small West Village shop to about 30 of her "ladies," including Ronnie Eldridge, the former Upper West Side Councilwoman; Kathy Landau, vice president of Halston; and Grazia D'Annunzio, U.S. managing editor of Italian Vogue .

Wearing her own black taffeta hoop skirt, she was hosting one of her custom cocktail parties, where clients peruse samples that they will subsequently have fitted-through private appointments-to their bodies.

The event had the air of a high-class Tupperware party, with several suited women in pumps (some rather zaftig ) chatting in circles. They explained that Ms. Carlson's reputation had spread fast because the designer encouraged clients to bring friends to witness fittings, like a private girls' club.

The pieces themselves, which some of the guests compared to Jil Sander, include simple shifts, camisole tops, tuxedo jackets, scoop-neck blouses and wraps in various silks. Despite the individualized sewing, at only a few hundred dollars an item, they are much cheaper than Sander.

Ms. Eldridge, a neatly groomed CUNY-TV talk-show host, pointed to the violet silk chiffon jacket she was wearing. "As baby boomers age, the body doesn't spring back. We need comfortable, beautiful clothes for changing bodies," she said. "Now I don't wear anything else."

Ms. Landau and Ms. D'Annunzio were just as enthusiastic-even though, as slim, professional fashionistas, both can also get designer clothes on the cheap. Ms. D'Annunzio, a petite brown-eyed lady in a black Alberta Ferretti knee-length skirt and matching Prada T-strap shoes, enthused about the quality of the silk. She excitedly bum-rushed the racks, grabbing four pieces at once, including a black ruched shift. "I'll wear this every day with ballet flats and a sweater," she said, winking.

(Silk chiffon T's: $225; jackets: $525 to $795. 212-929-0234)

Stella McCartney

Ms. McCartney, whose signature line is owned by Gucci Group, is not only a custom enthusiast but a fashion feminist. "I think women have been quite dictated to," she told The Observer with brisk righteousness.

When opening her London store last spring, she mulled over how American women were always shopping for full looks- What ready-made top goes with these ready-made trousers? -and decided they had been brainwashed.

"I think women should put their own pieces together," she said. "And I think bespoke is a way to do it." Ms. McCartney, 31, has hired Henry Rose, a tailor from Savile Row with 43 years of experience, and is flying him first-class to Manhattan in the fall for fittings of 30 suitings she's sketched. And she hopes to be present as often as possible.

"I really want to have a hands-on relationship with my clients," she said. "If you're going to spend x amount on a suit, I don't understand why you wouldn't get something especially for you."

Ms. McCartney apprenticed three years herself with a Savile Row tailor. But an even bigger influence was the special three-piece bespoke suits commissioned by her parents, musicians Paul and Linda McCartney, in the 1960's and 70's.

"I remember, when I became a teenager, how it felt when I tried them on," she said. "There was a quality of stiffness to them-fitted, tapered, structured. Very Helmut Newton."

Don't expect her to be completely traditional, especially in her choice of fabrics. She likes to scan antique shops and flea markets for colorful old curtains, gross grain, twilled silk, chenille and 19th-century cotton Union Jack flags.

Ms. McCartney is thinking about hosting her own private measurement party with pals Liv Tyler, Gwyneth Paltrow and Madonna so that Mr. Rose can keep their exact proportions on file. "I think Henry would really enjoy it," she chuckled.

(Stella McCartney bespoke suits: Prices vary depending on the work and time

involved, averaging from £1,000 to £2,000. 011-44-207-518-3100)

Danielle Gisiger

About four years ago, Danielle Gisiger saw a sudden uptick of business at her eight-year-old Chelsea custom atelier. Soon after Nicole Kidman wore an ice-blue gown to an awards show-"I saw four actors in the same dress," she said-she had to hire 15 additional seamstresses for what was once a one-woman shop.

Ms. Gisiger, 44, who looks to be in her 30's despite an ingenue's high brown ponytail, was born in Bern, Switzerland, and arrived here after winning a Swiss design contest that landed her a loft in the East Village.

She currently outfits first niece and former Tommy Hilfiger spokesmodel Lauren Bush; Tiffany Dubin, the founder of Sotheby's fashion department; and Liya Kebede, Estee Lauder's first African-American "face." Ms. Gisiger also makes complete seasonal wardrobes for a variety of uptown ladies.

"It's worth it," said Ms. Dubin, who collaborates creatively with Ms. Gisiger on several candy-colored jumpsuits-$800 to $1,500 apiece-each season. "It fulfills my creative fantasy. A very 19th-century concept-the way women used to get new clothing before the rise of the dictatorial fashion designer." Earlier in the summer, they were working on a black-and-white-striped Elvis Presley-themed ensemble.

Close to 600 muslin templates fill the back corner. A black-and-white photo of Diana Vreeland-fashion's ultimate individualist, and the lady she calls "my hero"-sits on the wall above her aluminum desk.

"The people who come here have the Gucci, the Dolce in the closet." Ms. Gisiger told The Observer . "And they want something that you can't find anywhere else. We work around the clock."

(Evening wear from $3,000 to $10,000; trousers and skirts range from $500 to $1,2000 an item. 212.352.0447)

Ali Rahimi

Los Angeles interior designer Suzanne Rheinstein often visits New York City for a change of pace and to see her daughter, a recent New York University graduate. And sometimes she attends the same social gatherings as our local design talent.

At a recent wedding in Mississippi, Herve Pierre, the design director for Carolina Herrera, was so taken with Ms. Rheinstein's skirt, in black lace silk gazar fabric, that he ran across the dance floor to tell her. "It's Mon Atelier," she whispered. She wasn't being pretentiously French. Mon Atelier is the actual name of a custom shop in Los Angeles where Persian tailor Ali Rahimi anonymously toils. It's a favorite with the aforementioned Ms. Kelly, as well as bicoastal stars like actress Reese Witherspoon.

Mr. Pierre was quite impressed by the rare fabric, since it originated from a French company called Abraham, which had once supplied silk gazar and chiffon to both Claude Montana and Yves St. Laurent couture a decade ago.

"It was gazar-very, very fun," Mr. Pierre said, fairly gasping with the possibilities. "It's very hard to weave. A bubbly, nervous fabric, like a jellyfish. It is a disaster to manipulate and a disaster to travel with. It is usually destroyed after 30 seconds. You can't even sit in a Rolls Royce-you have to rent a van and stand in it, because it's only troubles and beauty. But it is an extravaganza, if you can afford or understand it."

Mr. Rahimi, 38, who opened his custom salon with partner John Barle seven years ago, was born in Iran, grew up in England and studied his craft at the Virginia Marti College of Fashion in Cleveland, Ohio. He finally landed in Los Angeles, following his parents' move from London.

But inspiration for Mr. Rahimi-whose short dark hair is as sharply maintained as his fitted pastel shirts-came much earlier. His mother, a jewelry heiress, would take him on custom appointments from the moment he could walk.

"We went to Dior and Balenciaga in Paris, a lot of different ateliers," he said. "She brought photos from magazines and had specific ideas of what she wanted. So I would see how she would accept or reject different materials."

Ms. Rheinstein has commissioned grand frocks as well as more low-key jackets and trousers. "These things are timeless," she said. "I love old Bill Blass, but I am now working on a uniform with Ali. At night I love to have these beautiful clothes, but I just need tailored, simple things every day. I say what I'm thinking, and he sketches."

(Prices: day dresses, on average, $2,000 to $3,000; evening gowns from $1,800 to $40,000. 323-937-1189)

Ah, to be young and punk.

"Fashion is fake, beyond superficial. You can convince someone shit is caviar if you spread it thin enough," he said recently over breakfast at Café Orlin on St. Mark's Place. With his round glasses, blond hair the color of hay and soft, cherubic features, he looks like a cross between Harry Potter and the musician Beck. "I didn't want the applause, the CFDA Award," he said. "If I wanted that, I would have hung out. There's an element to those people …. It's kind of gross."

He said he wants to start a quarterly magazine of social criticism, called The Way We Speak About … . The first issue would be about stupidity. "Everybody's stupid," he said. "Some people are stupider than others. When you're making art, you're trying to elicit a response. And if you're not eliciting a response, you're a decorator."

Time will tell if Mr. Damhave made the right move. After all, the things he's doing now-playing guitar in a band, writing movie scripts, working as a D.J. alongside Paul Sevigny, brother of Chloë, at Sway in Soho on Saturday nights, living on the Lower East Side-are the sorts of vaguely hip things a lot of young, social aspirants-with-an-edge do in New York. And most of them would probably trade it all in for the perch Mr. Damhave so nonchalantly left last fall. Meanwhile, his ex-partner, Ms. Subkoff, is reportedly looking for a financial backer to help expand IOC into art, film, a shoe line and a perfume. She and Mr. Damhave were courted at one point by the French luxury-fashion behemoth LVMH.

"I think Tara calls herself a 'fine artist' now," Mr. Damhave said with a grimace. "I heard she slagged me as 'one of many collaborators' of IOC."

Ms. Subkoff declined to be interviewed in any detail about their former partnership; she sent a brief statement saying that Mr. Damhave has not been involved with IOC for over a year and that many others continue to contribute to the label's work.

One of two siblings (he has an older sister), Mr. Damhave grew up predominantly in Pensacola, Fla. His father worked as a respiratory therapist, and his mother was an emergency-room nurse; Mr. Damhave said he grew up surrounded by "blood and guts." He attended the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, before dropping out his junior year to follow a girlfriend to Los Angeles. One night outside a rock show, he was chatted up by indie actress Chloë Sevigny ( Kids , Boys Don't Cry ) and Ms. Subkoff, who has appeared in The Last Days of Disco and The Cell . He had only been there a week.

"They just came up and started talking to me," he said. "And I kept trying to pawn cigarettes from Chloë. My girlfriend accused me of flirting."

The girlfriend left Mr. Damhave several months later. He ran out of money. "I slept on a friend's floor in Silverlake and wasn't eating," he said. "I don't have a good work ethic." He bumped into Ms. Sevigny and Ms. Subkoff again at a club. A few months later, Ms. Subkoff asked if he wanted to start a T-shirt line. "She wanted extra money; I just wanted money, period," he said.

During the first few months, Mr. Damhave and Ms. Subkoff rummaged through Salvation Army bins. "Tara's a very good shopper," he said. "She's been shopping her whole life. I've always embraced mythology-and the first night we started working, I came up with the IOC manifesto: We wanted people to stop making uniforms which were so processed, so refined." They did their first show in an L.A. subway.

"I took this original Y.S.L. Oxford and wrote across it, 'Bring Me the Head of Tom Ford,'" he said. The prank got a fair amount of coverage in fashion magazines. Mr. Damhave said that from the start, he already started to turn off. "I hated having my photo taken," he said. "And I never wore our clothes. Only once, for Surface Magazine , and it was a disaster. It's like wearing your own band's T-shirt."

Although IOC's men's jackets were soon selling for an average of $800 and its dresses for $1,500, Mr. Damhave said he personally didn't cash in.

"I knew Imitation was a one-trick pony," he said. "It was a Trojan horse. Whenever the troops busted out of the horse, they got hugs. I got to meet a lot of people, but I was living on $20 a week."

Mr. Damhave and Ms. Subkoff made a short anti-sweatshop film featuring their friends, including actresses Reese Witherspoon and Lisa Marie, who played troubled, pill-popping rich kids wearing IOC garb. Mr. Damhave believed that members of the bourgeois class, like themselves, could have a profound impact.

"Godard, Fellini-all came from privileged backgrounds," he said. "That's something Tara and I tried to say in our film."

Their fashion shows during New York's biannual Fashion Weeks were anticipated as "hot tickets" for the bohemian crowd and a curiosity for fashion editors who wanted to see if there was any substance behind the fanfare. As a label that produced "one-offs"-retailored vintage schmattes -the originality of the presentations often counted for more than the garments themselves. For example, in lieu of a traditional runway, IOC once staged a fake funeral, with a repressed WASP side of a "family" opposed by wailing Italians. And IOC received a slew of press in September 2001, when they turned the tables on editors by having them unknowingly walk down a runway while M.C. Tracey Ullman and models critiqued their outfits.

"Nobody wants to embrace class clowns," said Mr. Damhave. "I think Tara wants it to be art. I had a problem with that. Art should explain the process. Tying your shoelace involves art. Everything is conceptual."

While he credits Ms. Subkoff-now also living in Manhattan-as "a really talented stylist," he said most of the label's design ingenuity came from Marcella Mullins, who has been with IOC as an assistant since the first show.

Mr. Damhave said his final act in fashion was their high-concept show last September-the one where fashion editors were ushered into a hall, cattle-call style, while models dressed in IOC sat in the audience jotting notes. "The night after that last show was the end of fashion for me. When we reversed the runway. That was my closure. It was the wizard behind the curtain."

And so he quit, and spent three months in Toronto, hanging out with his then girlfriend, actress-model Jaime King, while she made a movie called Bulletproof Monk . During his time there, he penned a screenplay about a group of art brats as pranksters. Ms. King gave him a platinum pinkie ring for Valentine's Day, but the romance didn't last, though they still remain friends.

His romance with fashion, however, is not totally finished: He styled the Y&K show during the recent spring 2003 collections.

"I wanted to use fashion as a building block to show how systems work," he said. "I've never been a subscriber to Situationalism. When you smash the structure, there has to be a new one. Now I'm looking for opportunities to have fun."

He said one such opportunity was developing image books with Neville Wakefield, an art curator and writer and the husband of Vogue editor Camilla Nickerson.

"He's a curveball," said Mr. Wakefield. "He has this kind of anarchic sense that is informed and ridiculous at the same time. And a capacity for improvisation that is always good news."

Mr. Damhave is living on Allen Street with a guy named Matt Jones, a friend from when they were teens in Florida.

"We're rednecks," said Mr. Jones, who like Mr. Damhave doesn't have a day job but supplies the vocals for the pair's two-man rock band. "Our parents thought enough to give us a good education. But we're rednecks."

Mr. Damhave's 24th-birthday party was held on a recent Saturday night at Sway. He took a break from spinning records to sit on a red velvet couch and chug a Heineken. He was wearing abundantly patched Levis, a black T-shirt and blueberry-colored Nikes. He pointed to his sneakers and said, "They were probably made by 6-year-old children with bloody fingers. But the big fashion labels are worse. They're selling clothes to people who have exploited other people. If you have billions of dollars, you've done something wrong."

Carrie Imberman, a stylist in a long black peasant skirt and matching lace top, gyrated in front of him. She boasted that the skirt was a thrift-store find.

"Yeah, it's never been washed," he shouted back.

"He's nasty, but in a good way," she said.

Natasha Lyonne, the actress, came bounding in like a golden retriever and started some playful fisticuffs with Mr. Damhave. His roommate and bandmate, Mr. Jones, showed up. Their band has played at Spa, and Mr. Damhave takes music seriously.

"I'm a music snob," he said. "A lot of these rock bands now … it's been done. Nostalgia is one of the most dangerous things in the world, because you forget the bad stuff. It's romantic. Like J.F.K.: He was not that great of a President. But he got shot in the head. Or Marc Jacobs, who is bringing Mod clothing into an era where it shouldn't be in the cycle. Or trying to create the scene of Max's Kansas City in 1975. I wasn't even living in 1975. To me, it's history."

character Hedwig Schmidt may have had a rough life-as a German man who, as a

result of a botched sex-change operation, was left with a "one-inch mound of

flesh where my penis used to be" and whose former lover is now a huge rock star

while Hedwig wobbles on heels singing in sleazy dives-but one thing is never in

question: Hedwig loves to perform. Singing, dancing, telling stories of his

cold East German mother, tossing his blond wig, there is no doubt that Hedwig

lives for the nights when the lights go down and the spotlight is on. The show,

which opened in February 1998 at the Jane Street Theater, has done well, with

critical raves and a solid downtown following. And when it was announced in

August that indie movie actress and former Brat Packer Ally Sheedy would be

taking over the title role on Oct. 13, advanced ticket sales increased by about

$50,000, according to Tom D'Ambrosio, the publicist for the show. Not only was

Ms. Sheedy famous, she was the first woman, after three men, to play the role.

There's one problem: Ms. Sheedy does not seem to share her

character's love for the spotlight, at least in this show. As of Oct. 13, after

35 preview performances, Ms. Sheedy had performed in only 17 of them, after

pushing back her preview debut by a week. The other 18 have featured her

understudy, rock singer and former Calvin Klein model Donovan Leitch. Although

Ms. Sheedy certainly intends to perform on opening night, Oct. 13, and

throughout her scheduled run through the end of January, the fact is that, if

the preview performances are any indication, audience members hoping to see Ms.

Sheedy may very well end up with Mr. Leitch. While Mr. Leitch, the son of 1960's

folk singer Donovan, arguably turns in a better performance than Ms. Sheedy,

it's not his picture that the producers have been using to sell tickets.

Newspaper ads for the show do indicate in small print, "Special appearance by

Donovan Leitch as Hedwig at certain performances." Originally scheduled to do

the Wednesday evening 8 P.M. show, he is also doing the 11 P.M. show on

Fridays, as well as any performances Ms. Sheedy happens to miss. It seems Mr.

Leitch anticipates being on stage fairly often: he lives two hours upstate in Woodstock, N.Y., with his wife,

supermodel Kirsty Hume, and said, "I need to find my own place in the city,

because I keep crashing with friends."

Ms. Sheedy was not available for a formal interview. "Ms.

Sheedy is not talking to the press," said Mr. D'Ambrosio. "I talked to her

publicist, and when Ally found out that there was a journalist wanting to speak

to her, she freaked out. She's in rehearsal mode right now, and she got so much

bad press from the Brat Pack days. And I can't let you talk to the producers,

either, because then it could get really ugly."

But the Brat Pack days, when Ms. Sheedy starred with Molly

Ringwald et al., in The Breakfast Club ,

would seem to be safely behind her. After a decade of dissing Hollywood and

battling the usual personal demons, Ms. Sheedy emerged in sure-footed comeback

mode with her role as Lucy Berliner, a heroin-addicted lesbian photographer, in

this year's indie film hit, High Art .

She received best actress awards from the Los Angeles Film Critics' Association

and the National Society of Film Critics. Her next film, a comedy titled I'll Take You There , directed by

actress Adrienne Shelly, will be featured at the Hamptons International Film

Festival. Cozily ensconced with husband David Lindsay, an actor, and their

5-year-old daughter in their Upper West Side home, the 37-year-old Ms. Sheedy

has no shortage of fans in the city in which she grew up.

Then came Hedwig. Ms.

Sheedy was first introduced to the show in January at the Sundance Film

Festival, where she met John Cameron Mitchell, who wrote Hedwig (with composer Stephen Trask) and starred as the first

Hedwig. According to The New York Times ,

Mr. Mitchell showed Ms. Sheedy a videotape of the musical, and she replied,

"I'd really love to do a show like that." Mr. Mitchell said, "You know I really

want a woman to do that show. Do you want to do it?" According to the show's web site (Hedwig.com), Mr. Mitchell's

first female choice, Sandra Bernhard, turned it down, and Martha Plimpton, whom

he also considered at Sundance, told him, "Oh, my God, I couldn't!"

Ms. Sheedy accepted, but in early September there were signs

of trouble. She told The Times , "I feel like going out of my mind. I

don't know whose idea this was. I can't dance, can't sing, and I can't act. I'm

waiting for them to fire me." At the time, it seemed like false modesty.

Ms. Sheedy missed the first night of previews. She missed

the next seven performances. Jennifer Phillips, an usher, told The Observer , "Ally was supposed to start

on Sept. 13, but she pushed it back a week. She said she wanted to save her

voice. In the beginning, she was shyer with the audience, and a lot of people

weren't into her in the role. She was nervous."

Mr. Leitch, lead singer of the downtown rock group Nancy

Boy, was originally scheduled to make a weekly special appearance on Wednesday

nights. "They came to me to do a couple of nights a week to take the pressure

off her," he said. "The first week, I ended up doing all the shows.

Back-to-back shows are hard [for her], especially without a singing background.

She just wasn't there yet, rehearsalwise."

Mr. Leitch, who refers to himself as "the underdog," was

optimistic about the leading lady. "She's definitely going for it. She got the

vocal coach, and she's working her ass off. I know there are a lot people going

to see her. She's definitely selling the tickets. Maybe it's a little easier on

me than it is on her."

On Friday evening, Oct. 8, six nights before opening night,

a hip crowd milled toward the door of the Jane Street Theater for the 11 P.M.

show. Ms. Sheedy had done the 8 P.M. performance that night, but Mr. Leitch

would be doing the late show. There were several female couples in the crowd.

According to Ms. Phillips, the usher, "Ally has had a huge lesbian following."

Danny Goldstein, a young Off-Broadway director, walked up

with his date, Michelle Franklin, a dark-haired woman in knee-high boots and

miniskirt. He said he had seen Hedwig before.

"I had seen it with the first guy," he said, "and I specifically want to see it

with Ally Sheedy." Told she wouldn't be performing, he said, "Really? That's so

sad. Seeing her play this role, that's what I found so interesting." Ms.

Franklin said she had called early that week about the late Friday show. "They

said nothing," she said in a huff. "Which is sort of not cool," said Mr.

Goldstein, adding he had "no idea" who Mr. Leitch is. "He's Kirsty Hume's

husband," said an annoyed Ms. Franklin.

When Chris Ercole, an ad salesman in a black corduroy

jacket, discovered Ms. Sheedy would not be performing, he shook his head and

said, "Are you kidding me? I've seen Hedwig

three times before and wanted to see Ally Sheedy's interpretation. I asked

when I called for tickets on Tuesday, and they said she would be doing it."

A young woman who had come with three friends overheard Mr.

Ercole and angrily demanded a refund, which she was given. But most of the

ticket holders decided to take their seats. Jane Smitts, a public health worker

attending with a girlfriend, said, "I'm a little relieved it's not Ally Sheedy.

Can she sing? Can she dance?"

Some, such as hotelier Andre Balazs, came specifically to

see Mr. Leitch. "Ally Sheedy?" said Mr. Balazs. "I just found out two weeks ago

that Donovan was doing it, so I tried to fit it into the schedule. I'm actually

really curious to see him. I think he's hugely talented, so I'm dying to see

it."

Although a sign by the

box office reads, "No Refunds. No Exchanges," Anthony Zelig, the house manager,

said, "If anyone wants refunds or exchanges, we give it. If someone's name is

above the title, people are entitled to a refund. It's a rule, Actors' Equity."

Asked if the publicity for the show was misleading the public, he said,

"Donovan doing the late show was only official a week ago, last Friday.  If people call, we tell them."

The four-piece rock band

that backs Hedwig on stage had made some adjustments for Ms. Sheedy. "She's a

woman. He's a man. It is kind of odd for us," said Jon Weber, the drummer. "It

is definitely brand-new, and we never considered it until we were actually

doing it. There were some technical musical adjustments that we made. Other

than that, a few extra rehearsals, two or three, three or four."

Chris Weilding, who

plays guitar and sings backup vocals, said, "Ally approaches it more as an

actor. That's the biggest difference. It was a big adjustment. We tend to

change keys for some of the songs. Her voice is, it's different, because it's a

woman's voice. She's working with a vocal coach, a lot. Since she's started rehearsals,

her voice has gotten a lot stronger. Donovan was used to singing, because he

was in a band, and I don't think she's used to singing, you know, a lot."

On another night, nine

autograph seekers were in the lobby of the theater waiting for Ms. Sheedy. Six

of them hadn't even seen the show. Nat Bloch, a 49-year-old self-described

"bum," clutched a head shot from The

Breakfast Club in his hand. "I didn't see the show, I don't wake up early

enough," he said. "Since St. Elmo's Fire ,

I thought she was hot. Some friends mentioned that she was here. I'm not a

stalker, not obsessed. I just wanted to meet her and get her autograph."

Sharon Owens, a 44-year-old Philadelphia insurance agent,

did attend the show. "I just love how she rises out of obscurity," she said of

Ms. Sheedy. She added that while in the ladies' room, she met an elderly woman

who asked, "Who was a man, and who was a woman in the show? Who is this Ally

Sheedy? Is she a man or a woman?"

Ms. Sheedy emerged, looking tiny in a baggy neon green sweater.

The fans pulled out programs and photos for her to sign. "I've seen St. Elmo's Fire 20 times," Mr. Bloch

told her. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you," said Ms. Sheedy.

The Observer asked Ms. Sheedy why she took the role of Hedwig. "Because it's stimulating

and challenging in every single way," she said. "It is the biggest thing I

could take on. And I love singing." Asked if she was nervous about opening

night, she started walking quickly to the exit door. "I'm terrified," she said.

"I'm just getting my footing."