For many time-challenged New Yorkers, dressing up means getting to the dry cleaner before going to dinner at a restaurant with a velvet rope at its door. Lucky for the fashion world, a select group of young New York women have wardrobes that transcend the dictates of dry cleaners' hours.

Several weeks ago, Brooke de Ocampo, one of the youngest women named to the most recent International Best Dressed List, asked her friend Willy Lima to help her find the perfect dress to wear when she co-chairs the Winter Ball, a benefit for the New York Botanical Garden, on Dec. 10. Ms. de Ocampo said the dress needed to be special both in its design and its politics. No overt vote of favoritism. Michael Kors over Oscar de la Renta, say, or Badgley-Mischka rather than groovy Gucci. Mr. Lima, a fashion director who recently left Bergdorf Goodman to inspire the movement of merchandise at Jeffrey's downtown, recommended the new design team Velasco Andersson.

New, yes, but not new to fashion. Rogelio Velasco handled private clients and special projects for Isaac Mizrahi for 10 years before Mr. Mizrahi closed shop in September 1998. Annica Andersson-who is known socially as Annica Andersson-Paganakis-directed Mr. Mizrahi's sample room for the 11 years the designer was in business.

"I didn't know what to expect," Ms. de Ocampo said recently. "Willy was so excited, and he was right. These dresses aren't like anything out there right now. They are so simple, but so elegant and luxurious. And the colors! The dresses are like ice sculptures."

Mr. Velasco and Ms. Andersson-Paganakis, in business for only four months, are the New Big Thing in town. Bergdorf Goodman has bought their spring 2000 collection and will launch it in February with window displays and a trunk show. Jeffrey's is negotiating to sell the collection as well. Editors from Vogue , W and Harper's Bazaar have assessed the Velasco Andersson collection at Greg Mills Ltd., 230 West 39th Street, where the designers have desks in Mr. Mills' 10th-floor showroom. Mr. Mills, a fashion industry consultant who represents several clothing and accessories designers, was the first president of Isaac Mizrahi.

"Rogelio and Annica are very special," observed Elizabeth Saltzman, the fashion director of Vanity Fair . "Who do they compare to? Beene and Blass, maybe. Beene for the construction, and Blass for who the customer is: women who love elegant clothes."

"Ice sculptures was my line," laughed Mr. Lima at his office at Jeffrey's. "It doesn't mean cold and aloof. It's the construction, the colors, the attention to detail and the architecture of the dresses that make them clean, not minimal. Young and fresh. There is something about the dresses women find soothing and, at the same time, whimsical."

"Our dresses are about curves. Circles on top of circles on top of circles. I don't think you have a side seam here," Ms. Andersson-Paganakis explained at Mr. Mills' showroom earlier this month.

There were lunar shades of lavender, pink and silver, and other crystalline colors. Like figures frozen on a carousel, the mannequins seemed stopped in time. Mr. Velasco raised the hem of a long, ice pink duchesse satin dress he said was similar to the dress he and Ms. Andersson-Paganakis have made for Ms. de Ocampo. The lining was a floral silk.

"We're focusing on the cut of the fabric, trying to manipulate different lines. The manipulation of straight grain with bias cuts melts into the body. I prefer the word sculptural to describe the clothes, not architectural," Mr. Velasco said. "We try to make the woman feel comfortable in her clothes. Give her an inner confidence. Our dresses do not make huge statements. They do not wear the woman. The woman wears the dress."

After Mr. Mizrahi closed, Mr. Velasco unenthusiastically took a job at another company, and Ms. Andersson-Paganakis consulted at several firms. One afternoon about six months ago, they met for coffee and happened to bump into Mr. Mills that day on a street corner. "You've got to get out there and do it yourselves," Mr. Mills told them.

He offered to help them create a business plan and gave them space in his showroom. Without salespeople, backers or a publicist, Velasco Andersson is a small business of three people including Mr. Mills. The designers have orders for about 125 spring 2000 dresses, which will retail for under $3,000 each. Prices for made-to-order evening clothes begin at about $10,000. They recently made a wedding dress embellished with silver chains, "like a medieval princess," Mr. Velasco said.

When they convened in Mr. Mills' showroom to design their first collection, Mr. Velasco and Ms. Andersson-Paganakis did not begin with a high concept. "We didn't sit down and exclaim: 'It's about Courtney Love in Locust Valley,'" Ms. Andersson-Paganakis laughed.

"We began by draping the fabric on the model," Mr. Velasco recalled. "The draping lead us in our direction, and we had one dress. That one dress began the collection."

Ms. Andersson-Paganakis, a Miami native, has two children, 10 and 5, and lives in Park Slope, Brooklyn. Mr. Velasco, born and raised in Mexico, lives in the East Village. They both are graduates of the Parsons School of Design. Ms. Andersson-Paganakis' interest in fashion began in high school when she started making her own clothes. "I was the New Wave girl," she said. "A lot of hand-painted things." An older sister studied environment design at Parsons.

Mr. Velasco was a young, professional dancer with a Mexican folkloric performance company. "I ended up doing the costumes, and realized I loved fashion design," he said. From studying engineering in college in Mexico, he transferred to a fashion college in the Dominican Republic. In his junior year, he won a scholarship to Parsons, where he finished school. Both took their first job with Mr. Mizrahi.

"They've sold to Bergdorf's already? My heart is bursting with delight," said Mr. Mizrahi who is planning a one-man show on Broadway next year and who recently optioned The Extra Man , a novel by Jonathan Ames. "We were babies in fashion together," Mr. Mizrahi said. "I taught them everything I knew, and they taught me everything they knew."

Zitomer's pet palace, featuring the first Manhattan outpost of Three Dog Bakery, a national chain based in Kansas City, Mo., will open in former gallery space two doors down from Zitomer's at 965 Madison Avenue. Then, in about 18 months, when the lease is up on another gallery at 967 Madison, Mrs. Sternheim plans to bridge the two stores and merge her animal kingdom into Zitomer's current, crowing marketplace. Her pet bakery and boutique will offer everything from yummy "$1.50 pet-it-fours" and "pawscriptions" for sick puppies to $4,800 mosaic animal beds.

As Mrs. Sternheim likes to say, "build it and they will come." And her pet emporium is quite an investment considering the cost of rent on Madison Avenue. But about three years ago, The Wall Street Journal speculated that in the near future national sales of pet accouterments–not including pet food–might exceed the billion-dollar profits of the beauty business.

"I see the way people treat their dogs here," said Mrs. Sternheim, whose father was a pharmacist in Brooklyn, where she grew up. "We started last year. We did quite a section of stocking presents for dogs and cats," she said. "At the end of the season, normally you have something left … Not one thing. I said to my husband, 'I don't know where I'm going to put it, but this Christmas we're going to do more.'"

A friend in Washington, Conn., where the Sternheims spend weekends, told her about the Three Dog Bakery in West Hartford. With her two Shih Tzus, Mrs. Sternheim visited the bakery last winter and saw Zitomer's future. "'Howie, this is it,"' she said she exclaimed to her husband, and a deal was struck with Three Dog.

Earlier this month, Mrs. Sternheim spent a week in Kansas City training at Three Dog's headquarters. She learned how to make "pooch pretzels, rollovers, pup tarts … I learned how to do all these things. I'll be able to direct if the cook should up and leave. At least, I could bake the cake." The difference between the various Three Dog bakeries and the franchise here is that Mrs. Sternheim is allowed to have a boutique. "Other Three Dog vendors aren't allowed this," she said. "I explained to them that my rent will not pay for the front end. Their bakery is my draw."

Already, Zitomer's is Bergdorf Goodman in Mayberry. On a Monday afternoon in November, customers dripping in Gucci this and Prada that bellied up to the cosmetics counters for the latest blush and treatment. Early afternoon, you get the post-ops, the recovering cosmetic surgery patients under Hermès scarves who stop in the week before–so the nutritionist could suggest what natural elixir to take to reduce swelling. Midweek, after the nip and tuck, it is about pharmaceutical-strength pain relief and concealer–scented candles and sleeping aids. Later in the afternoon, it is the children in Zittles, the toy shop, being treated after trips to the pediatrician.

"It's a little tight in here, but people like that," said Mrs. Sternheim who does the buying for Zitomer. It was her idea to sell pashminas years before they became the rage. Her idea to sell cigars, videos, electronics, Halloween costumes, Godiva chocolates and Dr. Grip pens. Diptyque candles, cameras, ye olde Dr. Harris shaving products from London, homeopathic youth dews and other natural promises, foreign magazines, children's clothing, ladies' lingerie, $4,000 Baccarat makeup mirrors and men's socks and underwear, including the 2xist line.

"All men leave their socks and underwear at home when they travel. That's why we got into the men's category. If you press a button on the phone in your room in the Carlyle, the Surrey or the Mark hotels, you get the store. We deliver. We're here to serve the neighborhood. We'll even wrap gum."

The Zitomer family opened its drugstore, with soda fountain, in 1950 at 75th Street and Madison Avenue. The Sternheims bought the business in 1977. When the Givenchy boutique took over that space, the drugstore relocated in what is now the Mark Hotel at 76th Street and Madison Avenue. When the Mark wanted the space for its dining room, Zitomer moved to 969 Madison. In all that, the Sternheims never wanted to exchange the name Zitomer for theirs.

"Zitomer's was known. I didn't need the name Sternheim up there."

Mrs. Sternheim wasn't sure if she typified the Zitomer customer. "Some yes, some no, because I work for everything," she said. She wakes up at 6:30, makes breakfast for her husband and son, 13, and does her makeup in "20 minutes, max." She cuts and sets her own hair. She favors Cellcosmet treatment products and Chanel makeup, "for color." She likes fashion, "but I'm not a label freak." She lunches at her desk and works out with a trainer at the David Barton Gym before she goes home and does homework with her son. She used to work four days a week and went full time in 1991. "I did a 360 here the minute I took over. I knew my needs, the needs of the neighborhood, the pulse of what was going on. As the neighborhood grew, as the yuppies, me included, started having kids, there was a need for this range of product."

Two new floors were added. Zitomer's launched its own makeup line. Started selling designer children's clothes and jeweled evening bags. Expanded the home fragrance category when perfume sales started to stall, as they have nationwide, with upscale consumers. "Perfume has gone down," Mrs. Sternheim whispered. "Aroma, yes. Scents, yes, but not on you. In the room." The boom in e-commerce beauty doesn't worry her. "We have a Web site," she said. "Our customers are into the computer, but they want to shop. They want to go to the store.

"Build it and they will come," Mrs. Sternheim repeated as she passed the "H.B.A." section–health and beauty aids–and headed toward her chic, small office behind the pharmacist's counter.

"I'm never surprised by what people buy," she said. "But I surprise my employees, I think. 'Oh my God! What is she buying?' I think they wonder sometimes."

Like this fall when the mink bustiers were unpacked. Mrs. Sternheim kvelled. "Eight hundred dollars each. Gorgeous . They're blowing out of the store."

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. In what vehicle has model Marcus Schenkenberg landed a major part?

a. Martin Scorsese's film of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

b. A character called "Mr. Bigger" in HBO's series Sex and the City.

c. He'll play the manager of a nightclub on As the World Turns.

2. According to a recent survey published in Italian newspapers, what do Italians think about when making love?

a. Soccer.

b. Naomi Campbell.

c. Gucci shoes.

3. Why did Tommy Hilfiger buy three pairs of Marilyn Monroe's jeans for $37,000 at the Christie's auction?

a. For Marilyn impersonators to wear at his New Year's eve party in Mustique.

b. For Patricia Arquette to wear in his new ad campaign shot by Mario Sorrenti.

c. As inspiration for future collections.

Answers: (1) c; (2) a; (3) c.

An enlightened, good-neighbor state of family affairs hardly seems possible in an age long ago sacrificed to the triumph of the individual and the accommodation of the ego. Money no longer is the means to culture, it is culture. Self-actualization, fetishized child-rearing rituals, isolationism and serial divorce have replaced philanthropy as the leading form of expression for the moneyed classes.

The upper classes used to meet to roll bandages. Now they meet to roll in yoga classes, and blame the press for the chronic harsh treatment they say has hastened their retreat from public life. But how can you resist when, as witnessed the other day at that great Upper East Side anthropological center, Zitomer's Pharmacy, you find the Zoloft father, the Prada mother and their 10-year-old son barking orders for sundries at the checkout counter while yelling down the mouthpieces of their cell phones?

Once upon a time, a great effort was made by privileged families to insure their demeanor and unity as upstanding citizens. To that end, in the extreme, Consuelo Vanderbilt's mother insisted that a metal rod be placed at the back of her daughter's corset so she would sit properly. Consuelo Vanderbilt never forgot the pain of the metal rod jabbing her as her carriage coursed a rough patch on the road to Blenheim Palace in 1894, home of the Duke of Marlborough whom she married in 1895.

The Vanderbilts are the subject of two new books by first cousins Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney Conner and Flora Miller Biddle, granddaughters of Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney, the founder of the Whitney Museum. Ms. Conner, a talented painter, has written and illustrated Those Early Years , published by Turtle Point Press. Ms. Biddle's memoir, The Whitney Women and the Museum They Made , will be published next month by Arcade Publishing. Different as these books are in genre, they are united by their depiction of a world of American aristocracy that seems like ancient history compared to the brusque standards of today's meritocracy.

Ms. Conner, or Gerta, as she is known to friends, has painted landscapes since she was 15. An exhibition of her work took place at the New York Studio School this past spring. About five years ago, Ms. Conner felt called to paint images from her early life. A friend who saw this initial work encouraged the artist to paint her memoir, examining her solitary childhood, her adolescence and early adulthood, and one especially nightmarish episode. About 40 years ago, Ms. Conner's first husband kidnapped her young children, a son and a daughter, and took them to Spain where, because of Napoleonic laws, he was able to keep them from seeing their mother until the oldest child escaped to the United States at the age of 16.

Those Early Years is told in few words, and two dozen lyrical illustrations, bright and colorful. On the other hand, The Whitney Women and the Museum They Made narrative might remind some readers of Katharine Graham's memoir, Personal History . Ms. Graham tells about her inherited role in the newspaper business; Ms. Biddle writes about inheriting the Whitney Museum, which grew from a small studio on Eighth Street to the institution it is today under the direction of her, her mother and her grandmother.

"It's the story of a journey from childhood to age, from illusion to reality. It tells of a change in an institution and a change in me," writes Ms. Biddle.

To compete, or simply stay afloat, the Whitney has had to expand its community of supporters beyond the family court. Ms. Biddle tells of several of her calls to raise funds and make new museum friends.

"One spring day in 1987, I went to lunch at Susan Gutfreund's magnificent home on Fifth Avenue," Ms. Biddle recalls. "Alfred Taubman had called me, after John Gutfreund had left Salomon Brothers, suggesting it would be a good time to show warm feelings to these acquaintances we'd never brought close to the museum. They'd be pleased, and the Whitney would be the beneficiary. So I called Susan. She showed me up the curving staircase, past a gorgeous Monet, into a vast living room overlooking Central Park. Turning left, she seemed to await a special response, and suddenly I noticed my favorite chair, formerly in my parents' yellow library, covered in the same fabric we'd used for" a book about her mother compiled after her death in 1986.

"Surely she thought I'd be delighted to see it again," Ms. Biddle writes, "but it was hard to be polite, imagining Mum's reaction, wishing I could have kept that particular chair."

The chair, along with much of her mother's things, had been sold to pay estate taxes.

Followers of the trials and tribulations of the Whitney Museum have awaited Ms. Biddle's book to see how she would regard Leonard Lauder, now president of the Whitney. He had been instrumental in ousting in 1990 museum director Tom Armstrong, whom Ms. Biddle continues to champion in her book–including her account of Larry Tisch's wrongful charge that Mr. Armstrong blackballed one of his children from entry into a New York co-op building because the Tisches are Jewish. Despite Mr. Lauder's position against Mr. Armstrong, Ms. Biddle writes fondly of the gentleman, his commitment to the Whitney and his inspired ability to "unite the board and raise the funds necessary for the museum's survival."

But she also includes a recollection of a breakfast at the Plaza Hotel with Mr. Lauder at which she was "feverish with incipient flu." She writes, "All with a smile but devastating nonetheless" Mr. Lauder told her "I had no clout like Blanchette Rockefeller [the president of the Museum of Modern Art] … the collection was terrible, curators inept … the board didn't have enough contributing trustees or the right ethnic balance, the museum had no status or quality–but great potential!… I thanked him, and tried to respond, but as I said later to Tom one shouldn't have a meal with Leonard unless one is feeling perfect.

"Tom said, one shouldn't pass Leonard on the street unless one feels perfect!"

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. Why are people talking about Quillacas in Bolivia?

a. Calvin Klein has rented a ranch there for the holidays.

b. There seems to be some evidence that scientists have found the lost city of Atlantis there.

c. It's where Evita Perón's vast collection of couture clothes has been kept in cold storage since her death, auction pending.

2. The May issue of Interview will be devoted to:

a. Pets.

b. Barbra Streisand.

c. Bruce Weber's houses.

3. What is the "Bodyguard Bra"?

a. Sean (Puff Daddy) Combs' slang for a black, stretch Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt.

b. Puff Daddy's slang for a dog collar of "ice," meaning diamonds.

c. A "smart" bra being developed to trigger an alarm when the wearer's heart rates rises because of danger.

Answers: (1) b; (2) a; (3) c.

Phyllis Stine this and Phyllis Stine that, all because of the hoopla over Mayor Rudolph Giuliani pulling funding from the Brooklyn Museum of Art. Big whoop. The Sensation show includes a painting of the Virgin Mary adorned with elephant dung. Really?! I've worn worse with the highest ideals, and heels, and no one pulled my funding–although Mr. Stine certainly wanted to sometimes. (I've also had lamb embryos shot into my fanny so I'd feel like the Virgin Mary. We deducted this as a medical expense. Lock me up.)

I mean, does anyone know how a girl feels when she crawls to the door of her room at the Ritz in Paris at the crack of dawn with no other mission than to take her copy of the International Herald Tribune back to bed to read Suzy Menkes' fashion reviews and your eyes can barely focus anyway from– whatever –the night before, and there's your name in the paper? That searing glow of scandal is no fun suntan.

To wit, from today's Herald Tribune under the headline, "Nothing Like Naked Ferocity to Make Junk Sell," I quote a writer named Denis Horgan. He writes, "Break a leg, but get down there before the philistines"–a frequent misspelling of moi nom –"try to clamp on the muzzle of suppression." What does this mean? That amusing Mugler hat with veil and bit for the mouth I featured last spring was no muzzle of suppression. I bought it wholesale.

I'm not even close to finding Ms. Menkes' page, and here's another mention of my name in an article headlined "The Mayor Is an Astute Art Critic but a Misguided Censor." The author is that man from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Philippe de Montebello, the one with the voice you hear on all those recorded tours of the exhibitions and, I think, he also does the voiceovers for the Volvo commercials on TV. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that's Ronald Reagan. All these men eventually have the same careers. Anyway, Mr. de Montebello writes, "In the end, what remains terribly disturbing to me is that so many people, serious and sensitive individuals, are so cowed by the art establishment or so frightened at being labeled philistines"–again, misspelled–"that they dare not speak out and express their dislike for works they find either repulsive or unesthetic or both."

What is this man talking about? Does no one understand how much I don't buy? How much I refuse? That I express my dislike at every occasion and place from Zitomer's to Saks? This whole Brooklyn thing, well, I'm beginning to worry that nobody but me thinks art is fashion. So this fellow who does voice-overs at some fancy museum also writes, "That is a crucial issue here, yet it seems to have been mostly drowned out by the clarion call for avant-garde art which cries out to be seen no matter what (translation: unexamined) and to be deemed (again, unexamined) a meaningful challenge to the turpitude of quotidian existence." Do you know how stranger-in-a-strange-land a girl feels in bed at the Ritz Hotel at the crack of dawn having her name taken in vain in a newspaper story that includes sentences about "the turpitude of quotidian existence"? I mean, when I couldn't get through to Liz Rohatyn at the American Embassy, I had the Ritz concierge call W.H. Smith Ltd., the English bookshop on Rue de Rivoli. Information, s'il vous plaît . Neither "turpitude" nor "quotidian" get a mention in my little English-French dictionary.

Meanwhile, found Ms. Menkes' review. Suzy loved Michael Kors' show for Celine. So did I. The mighty duffel bags, the beached denims, well, I mean, it was like a dose of liquid sunshine. Breakfast was served, dieter's delight, warm water with lemon, and six croissants. Concierge called with definitions for "turpitude" and "quotidian." Oh, really? I have one thing to say to that: Yohji Yamamoto. And that's who I'll wear when I go to Gayfryd and Saul Steinberg's drinks party for the campaigning Mayor Giuliani on Park Avenue Nov. 1. I hope Mr. de Montebello is there, too. Because I'm going to march right up to the Mayor and give him a piece of myself, and by the time I'm done he'll be like a whole new shoe, transformed from a heavy flat into a purring crocodile mule.

It takes a woman.

Wonder if I should add a "de" to my name to distinguish myself from the current Phyllis Stine confusion? Phyllis de Stine. Sounds … very L.V.M.H. vice presidential. No?

Everything is getting so existential in 1999. I feel like the great French writer Jean-Paul Satire. Wonder if the Mayor will pull city funding from the Met when he hears how elitist that Ingres show is? It is the other side of the coin of the Sensation controversy in Brooklyn, isn't it? The Ingres show? Taxpayers' dollars supporting a museum showing art about people (Ingres' subjects) who never wanted you, meaning yours, to join their club? More tears have been spilt because of society people like Ingres' than faith has been fiddled away under a frock with elephant dung.

7 P.M. Busy, busy. The new job? Editor at large for Luxurygiveme.com, an on-line shopping network. Fabulous! All I have to do is see some terrific item in a store, shoot it with my little digital camera and give it to the concierge to scan into the "system." I feel so totally modern, I think I'll start going to New York cocktail parties again, where everyone works for luxury on-line sites. For instance, today after the Chanel show, it was loaded with the news from the Paris collections–return to romance–I stopped at the good little shop Colette, where they were selling faux-mink Kleenex box covers. Faux-mink Kleenex box covers! Catch me, I'm plotzing! About $420. Made a picture and by the end of the day the whole of the free world could call Colette for it. I think.

We've certainly come a long way to get where we got to: the end of the 20th century. It was tough, and now everyone is going shopping. On line, or in stores. I'm certain it is an indicator of myriad values, but most importantly this booming, collective hoarding instinct–which I find dandy as candy and Yahoo is quickest, whee! –signals, in the very least, the end of minimalism, which, although I loved it at first, I came to loathe.

Someone like me never knew where to hang her Kelly bag.

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. Who or what is Mrs. Tependris?

a. A children's book, written by Diane von Furstenberg, which Simon & Schuster will publish in May.

b. Enchanting character created by artist Konstantin Kakanias on view until Nov. 13 at the Postmasters Gallery, 459 West 19th Street.

c. Robin Williams' film opening in December.

2. Oye is a new magazine. Who is the readership?

a. Hip Jewish baby boomers who want an alternative to Vanity Fair .

b. People who read shelter magazine Nest .

c. Upwardly mobile Latino men, ages 21 to 39.

3. Which architect did Michael Kors hire to design his new store at 974 Madison Avenue?

a. Peter Marino.

b. Dan Rowen.

c. Charles Gwathmey.

Answers: (1) b; (2) c; (3) b.

O.K., maybe the query was a bit inappropriate for Ms. Newhouse, a founding editor and fashion director of the original Details magazine in the 1980's and former creative director for Barneys and advertising creative director for Calvin Klein. Recently, she opened her own creative consultancy in London with clients such as Comme des Garçons, Shiseido and Top Shop, a British chain of fashion-forward stores.

But New York needs new social leaders, and here Ms. Newhouse was taking tea at the Hotel Carlyle and talking about a fund-raising event for the organization called Career Transitions for Dancers which she and her husband are co-chairing on Oct. 25.

Since 1995, when she married Jonathan Newhouse, the chairman of Condé Nast International and cousin of S.I. (Si) Newhouse Jr., Ms. Newhouse has called family the very people who fired her after they bought Details and relaunched it as a men's magazine in 1990. The couple lives in London where Mr. Newhouse is based, but they are taking a twirl on the New York society stage this month.

The event is dedicated to Mr. Newhouse's late uncle, Theodore Newhouse, a longtime patron of Career Transitions for Dancers, which provides counseling services and educational scholarship funds for dancers whose careers have come to an end. The evening will begin at the Sylvia and Danny Kaye Playhouse with a performance of a new piece choreographed by David Parsons and danced by Susan Jaffe and an award presentation honoring Gwen Verdon and Rolex Watch U.S.A. Afterward, there will be a dinner at the Essex House.

Ms. Newhouse cautioned against reading any significance-corporate changes for Jonathan Newhouse at the behest of cousin Si-into the couple's frequent visits to New York lately. Although they keep a house in Greenwich Village-still unresolved in terms of decoration-it seems Oct. 25 is a one-night-only Gotham gig.

"We see ourselves based in England for some time now," Ms. Newhouse said. "We're doing this because Aunt Caroline," Caroline Newhouse, widow of Theodore Newhouse, "asked us to. The more involved we've become with the event, the more important I think it is. Dancers in this country have a short career span. They've spent their lives dancing, and they haven't been educated to do anything else. But then they are in their 30's. What can they do? They don't have the advantages athletes have when they retire. Dancers aren't wearing names on their leotards."

Ms. Newhouse poured more tea. She wore a Michael Kors turtleneck, a long, corduroy skirt by Katayone Adeli, and honey-colored tinted eyeglasses. Ms. Newhouse normally mixes and matches clothes by Comme des Garçons. "You can buy sweaters, pants, suits, because you can deconstruct it, and it looks great," she said as her polar opposite-a pulled, blonde New York society women of a certain age-walked past the table.

"That mask," Ms. Newhouse exclaimed in a whisper. "That's the whole thing for these ladies, isn't it? To get the mask. The padding. And more padding."

Although associated almost exclusively with "downtown" cool and cutting edge chic- the stuff that fuels her ad campaigns-Ms. Newhouse is not allergic to uptown. "In fact, when Annie Flanders," Details ' founding editor, "wanted to say something mean to me, she said, 'You're the only one on this magazine who can work uptown!' I don't think that's such a bad thing."

Ms. Newhouse grew up on Long Island and received her master of fine arts degree at the University of Illinois. During a brief first marriage she lived in Chicago. "But that whole starving artist, grad school thing didn't fly," she said. "I think Andy Warhol had imprinted my life already. Plus, during graduate school, my father was living in London. When I visited, I discovered I was very partial to Manolo Blahnik shoes," Ms. Newhouse smiled.

In 1980, Ms. Newhouse moved into a loft on Front Street near the South Street Seaport. Among the new friends she met in New York was Ms. Flanders, who had been the style editor of The SoHo Weekly News . Ms. Flanders asked Ms. Newhouse to help her start Details in 1982. "I said, 'Why me? What do I know about magazines?'" Ms. Newhouse recalled. "You know what you know. You are. You be," she said Ms. Flanders responded.

To finance her life while working for Details , Ms. Newhouse also "did different things in advertising." After Details , she went to work at Barneys. Her most memorable ad campaigns included witty Steven Meisel shoots with Linda Evangelista and, later, the pairing of illustrator Jean-Philippe Delhomme with writer Glenn O'Brien. "I figured, why not do for the adult fashion world what Disney did for children?" Remarkably, the illustrations even moved merchandise.

"I wished I'd been amazed," Ms. Newhouse commented when asked what she likes in the current fall fashion ads. "Advertising is stuck in the 80's. Most people just look and see who is doing well and copy that. Book the photographer. Book the model," she shrugged. "The body language, the nuances in many of the ads seem indicative. The idea is not to empower women, but go backward-I hate seeing women, and men, looking dumber and worse than they do in real life."

Fashion, or at least the possibilities of communicating ideas and emotions with fashion, does inspire Ms. Newhouse. "I'm especially struck by it this trip to New York: I haven't seen New Yorkers so out of uniform in a long time. It hit me intensely. The idea that people are trying to express themselves with fashion. Internationally, young designers are beginning to get attention. The celebrity, front-row thing," she said, is waning. "Even Nicole Kidman went to some Eyes Wide Shut event wearing some obscure trend designer from Australia. She's a big barometer in that community."

In early October, Ms. Newhouse attended some of the recent fashion shows in Paris where the news wasn't so much on the runway as off-in the boardrooms boiling with fashion mergers and acquisitions. Who cares about hemlines when there's a war between Prada and Gucci for Fendi? All the more reason, Ms Newhouse suggested, "for creative people to consider Warhol and Picasso as their pioneers.

"Great artists. Great businessmen. Nowadays, you cannot be one without the other."

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. The va-va-va-voom, 19-year-old Brazilian model Gisèle Bündchen is the toast of the catwalk these days. What did Ms. Bündchen really want to be?

a. A plastic surgeon.

b. A professional volleyball player.

c. A schoolteacher.

2. What is Jacobson's Organ?

a. Will Self's droll new novel about a penis running for President.

b. Two tiny tubes inside the nose that supposedly are the triggers for arousal.

c. The trendy Belgian design collection inspired by the idea of Pat Benatar in Dresden.

3. What is Logo-a-Go-Go?

a. John Galliano's nickname for the mania for logos in fashion.

b. A new trend page in W, edited by Joan-Michele Frank, great-granddaughter of French interior designer Jean-Michel Frank.

c. A new theme restaurant on the Rue Pierre Charron in Paris.

Answers: (1) b; (2) b; (3) a.

The true story of Mizer, the late, mild-mannered publisher and photographer of Physique Pictorial , a magazine begun after World War II that featured nearly nude men in the name of good health, was one of the subjects of the 1996 book about physique magazines called Beefcake and published by Taschen. The book has inspired a film by former New Yorker Thom Fitzgerald, whose first feature film, The Hanging Garden , won awards in 1997.

Mr. Fitzgerald, who moved in the late 1980's to Halifax, Nova Scotia, jokingly described his film as the history of "our forefathers and their struggle to take their clothes off."

The look of Beefcake ? Think Gucci. Think John Bartlett. Think of any major recent men's underwear campaign, taut with crotch shots and pec-sploitation. Think Beat-generation clothes. Khakis and white T-shirts. Box-cut stretch bathing suits. In scenery, think neo-Egyptian-esque architecture. Campy Hollywood 1950's design. Cocktails! Beverly Hills rococo. Hustler whites.

"For interiors, we found everything we needed rather easily, even in Halifax," said Beefcake designer D'Arcy Poultney. Mr. Poultney, who teaches costume history at Dalhousie University in Halifax, sought secondhand 50's furniture–the look that every hipster now wants most in clothes and interiors. "The stuff is ending up in thrift shops. Isn't that the way? What's in fashion is what's available in secondhand clothing stores. Whatever your parents are throwing out is hip."

Combining material both dramatic–Neil's story–and documentary–interviews with Jack LaLanne and Warhol superstar Joe D'Allesandro–blending fact with fiction, Beefcake was made for about half of what the average aforementioned underwear ad campaigns cost. In a telephone interview, Mr. Fitzgerald estimated his total expense at about $500,000 to make the film over a 15-day period on a set built in a warehouse in Nova Scotia, followed by several days of shooting on locations nearby.

"Bob Mizer left an archive of about a million stills, as well as films made by his agency, which he called the Athletic Model Guild. We knew what his house and studio looked like," explained Mr. Poultney. "First thing we needed, of course, was a pool. We borrowed an above-the-ground pool and built Mizer's house and studio on two levels around the pool." The film was shot in winter. Mr. Fitzgerald recalled directing naked, sunbathing actors as they frolicked around Mizer's fictional pool. Off camera, a Canadian blizzard blew his way, and the crew shivered in their snow parkas.

James Worthen, Beefcake 's costume designer, said he worked with a $5,000 budget. That's limited indeed, although, according to the plot, the costumes were skimpy. Besides khakis, jeans and T-shirts, the costumes consisted of bathing suits and posing pouches (basically codpieces with G-strings) for a few dozen actors, and dark suits for the actors who played censors and Federal agents.

Mr. Worthen's tour de force were the costumes for actress Carroll Godsman, who played Mizer's mother. In the film, she makes the posing pouches for Mizer's models and serves them cake and cookies as the barely dressed studs wait for their next close-up. Ms. Godsman gives a great performance as a doting mother who is eventually wrecked by disappointment.

"You'll notice," Mr. Worthen said, "that every outfit I made for her incorporates bits of tea towels. Five thousand dollars is one reason for the tea towels. The other reason is my grandmother. Growing up, every time I saw my grandmother she had a tea towel stuck in her pocket."

In the beginning, Mizer honestly believed he was doing good work by publishing "health" magazines that appealed to bodybuilders, women and, although he never dared say it, gay men.

"Photographs of men in the near-nude were common in the health and bodybuilding magazines, but readers were constantly reminded that those men were there to inspire ideals of health–mental and moral as well as physical–and not for anyone's mere enjoyment. There was the unspoken agreement that men never took their clothes off just to be admired for their looks," wrote Beefcake author F. Valentine Hooven III.

Mizer and other physique photographers did not have an easy time, especially during the McCarthy era. Police harassment and investigations by the United States Postal Service were frequent. "I think Bob Mizer believed he was producing health magazines and helping star-struck wannabes. If you lie enough, you believe those lies," said Mr. Fitzgerald. "But in 1949, people who admitted they were homosexual could be lobotomized. Or chemically castrated," as was the great British mathematician Alan Turing, who made the mistake, in 1952, of reporting a burglary by a street hustler. "The Post Office in the U.S. enforced the obscenity laws," continued Mr. Fitzgerald. "They could open your envelopes, after all. You used to not be able to show a male body with any hair. Slowly, the laws changed. First, underarm hair allowed. A penis was allowed in the mid-60's."

Mizer never photographed full-frontal nudity. But the authorities eventually got him for running a male prostitution ring. For years he had been referring his models to other photographers and artists. Whatever else they did for those photographers, or what those artists got for their $5–or whatever the rate was by the mid-60's–didn't concern Mizer, who died in 1991. It should have.

"One has an impulse to judge Bob Mizer by today's standards, said Mr. Fitzgerald. "But what I got out of making this movie was a good amount of respect for previous generations of gay artists who went to jail so I don't have to."

There will be a benefit premiere of Beefcake at Anthology Film Archives, 32 Second Avenue at Second Street, on Oct. 7; the proceeds will go to the New York Lesbian and Gay Experimental Film/Video Festival. On Oct. 13, Beefcake will open to the general public at Film Forum for a three-week run.

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. "Dawls" is?

a. According to Out magazine, drag-queen slang for hits of Ecstasy.

b. A fashion line designed by Ryan Rush.

c. The Off Broadway musical version of Valley of the Dolls , written and performed by Joey Arias.

2. The Dress Lodger is a new novel by Sheri Holman. What is a "dress lodger"?

a. A large Victorian credenza made in cherrywood.

b. A fashion victim who kills for dresses.

c. A prostitute who rents a dress to attract a higher class of clientele.

3. Who is Adrian Nicholas?

a. The man who helped perfect the "wing suit," made by Bird-Man International.

b. The British soldier credited with inventing khakis in 1896 when he traded his red felt uniform in India for cooler cotton pajamas dyed with yellow saffron dust.

c. The young decorator from Little Rock, Ark. who was chosen by Hillary Clinton to do the new house in Westchester as a "chintz-free zone."

Answers: (1) b; (2) c; (3) a.

But people noticed Candy Pratts Price in the noonday sun on Sept. 22. Towering in ankle-high black suede Manolo Blahnik boots, a black cashmere sweater and skirt by Hussein Chalayan for TSE, and a black denim and silver Kelly bag made especially for her by her friends at Hermès–inscribed "Candida" on the bottom–Ms. Price waited outside the Viacom building at 1515 Broadway. Purring into the handset of her Omnipoint World Phone–and sounding not unlike Diana Vreeland channeling the impresario Mike Todd–she was talking not about the latest John Galliano frock but about the riggers from Las Vegas who wired the flying act at Alexander McQueen's New York fashion show on Sept. 16.

After nearly a decade as Vogue 's high-profile accessories director, Ms. Price's new title is creative director of the 1999 VH1- Vogue Fashion Awards, to be telecast live from the 27th Street Armory on Dec. 5. The job opened when Gabé Doppelt left VH1 to become editor at large at Talk magazine in January and VH1 officially joined forces with Vogue to produce the awards show.

"Didn't we always know we'd land up in a place like this?" laughed Ms. Price. Unlike many at Condé Nast, who can't quite get their vision around Times Square, Ms. Price is pleasantly astounded.

"Let's go to Sardi's for lunch" she suggested. "Sardi's needs a resurgence. Sardi's could be the new Four Seasons, especially if they took all the photographs of Broadway stars off the walls and replaced them with photographs of the media people in the neighborhood. But I suppose they'd have to do something about the food," she added. "Right now, aren't they famous only for their cheddar-cheese ball and Ritz crackers?"

Ms. Price made her way through the bustling crowd to the restaurant on West 44th Street. Sardi's is red and black, very red and black, but not Diana Vreeland red and black, at least not yet. We were shown to a tight corner table. The restaurant was packed. It was a matinee day. Would a great meow summon everyone to be on time for Cats ?

"Good God, what's that?" Ms. Price asked, looking over at a Crayola-bright concoction being consumed by a lady in a blue suit two tables south. "She's eating one of Karl's patisserie hats!" Once an accessories editor, always an accessories editor: Ms. Price was referring to Karl Lagerfeld's big hat moment about 15 years ago. The woman was actually eating a heap of cottage cheese dressed with fruit salad and a strawberry crown.

Ms. Price ordered cannelloni.

"John Sykes is a very cool boy," she said, describing her new boss, the president of VH1. The combined forces of Vogue and the music television network intend on a really big show. British artist Damien Hirst, Mayor Rudy Giuliani's current nemesis, is designing the award statue; Isaac Mizrahi is creating the set; and Robert Isabell is "creating the environment."

"I want The Ed Sullivan Show up there," Ms. Price exclaimed.

A spokesman for VH1 said that last year's fashion awards show, the network's fourth, had 4.9 million viewers–about 24 percent more than the year before. The show is also shown in reruns, which attract even more viewers. So many millions of viewers at the intersection of music and fashion appeal to market-savvy designers. It's great exposure, and it's free.

Among the 1999 nominees: The women's wear designer of the year contenders are Gucci, Calvin Klein, Donna Karan, Giorgio Armani and Ralph Lauren. Avant-garde designer of the year nominees are Antonio Berardi, Ann Demeulemeester, Comme des Garçons, Alexander McQueen and Yohji Yamamoto. The most fashionable female artist nominees are Lauryn Hill, Jennifer Lopez, Courtney Love, Madonna and Gwen Stefani. Most fashionable male artist nominees are: Sean (Puffy) Combs, Lenny Kravitz, Ricky Martin, Mark McGrath and Will Smith. The nominees for "Visionary Video" are Fatboy Slim, Garbage, Lauryn Hill, Jamiroquai and Alanis Morissette. Female model of the year nominees are Carmen Kass, Maggie Rizer and Angela, Audrey and Gisele, who work without last names.

One might think television would be a departure for a fashion-magazine personality like Ms. Price. Not really. Her work always had an entertaining edge. Before Vogue and a stint as fashion director for Harper's Bazaar , Ms. Price was in charge of the windows at Bloomingdale's stores throughout the United States; her windows were such show-stoppers that Queen Elizabeth II asked to meet Ms. Price when she visited the department store in 1976.

Ms. Price grew up in uptown Manhattan and attended private Catholic schools and the Fashion Institute of Technology. After F.I.T., she worked at Bergdorf Goodman and Bachrach, the society photographers. Her big break came when the Charles Jourdan shoe salon opened on Fifth Avenue in the early 1970's. Ms. Price started as a saleswoman; "Eleven percent commission, plus wearing the shoes; I was in heaven," she said.

When the window-dresser quit, Ms. Price asked for the job. "They were reluctant. I told them, 'If these aren't the best show-stopping windows in New York, you can let me go.' Then I went straight to [the Museum of Modern Art], where they had a lending art service, and I borrowed paintings for the windows. That was only the beginning. We were a sensation."

Ms. Price is married to artist Chuck Price. Mr. Price's work is currently on view at Homer at 939 Madison Avenue, and his studio was the inspiration for the room designed by Richard Mishaan for the American Hospital of Paris' 1999 French Designer Show House at 34 East 69th Street.

The couple was married in Egypt 20 years ago. "At the American Embassy in Cairo," she said. "I was display director at Bloomingdale's, and I was working in Israel with three days off before I had to go back to Tel Aviv."

The bride and groom wore jodhpurs. "We went riding after the ceremony," she said, finding the cannelloni to her liking.

"My mother, when she was alive, always wanted to know why I looked so unattractive for my wedding," said Ms. Price. "We're Spanish. Where was the veil and the tulle?"'

Quiz time!

1. Who once said, "I'm not offended by all the dumb-blonde jokes, because I know I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not blonde."

a. Donatella Versace.

b. Dolly Parton.

c. Marilyn Monroe.

2. What is Fogdog?

a. The on-line sporting goods dealer that will sell the Nike line

b. The name of the fictional narrator's fictional dog in Edmund Morris' memoir about Ronald Reagan.

c. According to Details magazine, "slang for male member limpness induced by too many Bud Lights."

3. Who is Jack O'Neill?

a. The name of the fictional narrator's fictional guy Friday in Edmund Morris' memoir about Ronald Reagan.

b. The lawyer hired by Damien Hirst to investigate if the artist has any legal recourse against mayoral censorship.

c. An inventor of the wet suit.

Answers: (1) b; (2) a; (3) c.

Still am a hullabaloo of unemployment, oy vey . Thank God for alimony and the Carlyle Hotel. Ostensibly, I've been listening for Hillary, as you may recall, but I can't get a handle on what message I can channel for her. All I'm getting for Hillary is, "No denim." Even if denim is the big thing in fashion right now, I think Hillary should stick to blue skies not blue jeans.

Obviously, it's fashion week. Am off to a late start as I have just returned from spending Rosh Hashanah in Antwerp, which is in Belgium. Don't ask. The whole of Europe is riveted to the news from London concerning the revelation in The Times of London on Sept. 11 about an 87-year-old great-grandmother named Melita Norwood who, for like 40 years, was a spy for the K.G.B. I've read everything about this woman so far and have decided fashion must be taught to children at a much earlier age. Copies of Vogue should be placed under their mattresses-boys too-so the message of fashion seeps upward. I mean, there was not a drop of pizzazz in Melita Norwood's childhood, so no wonder she wanted to help Russia build the bomb. The poor thing was starved for dynamic accessories.

For the John Bartlett and Tommy Hilfiger shows I decided to dress "ghetto fabulous," as Puff Daddy says. Mixed high street with low street. From the bottom up: lavender silk and paillette Prada mule (high street), Diesel jeans (low street), Michael Kors cashmere tank top, and five Bulgari gold necklaces. O.K., six Bulgari gold necklaces.

Mr. Bartlett's concept was to mix "Che," as in Che Guevara, and Charo, the singer and onetime wife of Xavier Cugat. "Who?" the foreign princess sitting next to me asked.

Cut to Mr. Hilfiger's show at Madison Square Garden. Suffice it to say, Tommy did a big production, which included the performance on stage by the rock band Bush while models took the runway. (Cowboy shirts; denim.) The fashionistas did not applaud Bush-which didn't go over very well with Bush. I applauded. For his hair. When the show was over you could just hear the lead singer of Bush, whose name is Gavin Rossdale, I believe, saying into his microphone, "Fuck you. Fuck you very much. Fuck fashion." And I responded, "That's the problem. It's physically impossible. We've all tried."

Stopped at show of Miguel Adrover-no, he didn't change his name from Michael Andover-on the Lower East Side. Miguel's the real McCoy, the trendy designer of the season. His inspiration was a woman living in the South American jungle. (Che? Charo?) Was taken hostage by his razor-etched tops. Then stopped at the party for Kate Betts at Fressen, where I was overcome with mixed feelings-remember I aspired to become the editor in chief of Harper's Bazaar -but actually my feelings had more to do with the fact that I hadn't eaten all day.

Back at the Carlyle: three rice cakes with cottage cheese, two Golden Girls reruns, glass of San Pelligrino with Kava Kava drops. Good night, dear diary.

Sept. 15. Played hard to get today. Only went to Michael Kors- j'adored his "Palm Bitch" theme-and Anna Sui. Yesterday's "Ghetto Fabulous" look replaced by Gucci leather dress and black alligator Manolo Blahnik stilettos. Plus pink shatoosh. Speaking of which, can you believe I'm up on criminal charges for having sold shatooshes to a few friends a couple of years ago? With all due apologies to animal lovers, but I find these charges highly discriminatory. I was only trying to launch a career.

Sept. 16. Midnight. Don't think a lot is going to happen this fashion week. No big ideas. Women are left to their own devices, but there are worse fates. (Hot pants, for instance.) Meanwhile, can't help but wonder how the course of my life would have been different if I had worn Bill Blass clothes all these years rather than searching for foreign fashion gods.

Well, the beginning is always a place to start, and today started with my masseuse Melinda announcing at 8 A.M. that she was changing her name from Melinda to Merlinda because she has decided to become a magician.

I said, "Disappear my sore feet."

Then I called my car service and was informed there were no cars today because of the hurricane. Hurricane? Who knew? I watched TV last night, but no one interrupted the Golden Girls reruns on Lifetime to say there was a hurricane acomin'. Go to my window, open the curtains. Look west toward New Jersey, which I don't like to do because I firmly believe one should never look back, but there it is like an explosion of skunks: storm and tempest. Turned on TV for weather news. Began to panic. Felt overwhelmed by the prognosis; claustrophobia set in considering chances of being washed away without a car and driver, and I cried. (No big whoop; smudge-proof mascara.)

Knew what to wear: Marni's sea blue and sea green silk top and wool felt skirt, which already looked splashed with blue and green watercolors like the colors of the day. A Louis Vuitton rubberized logo raincoat. Black Hanro panties and satin-piped, cotton-knit camisole in case I had to bail or swim. Two large gold and pearl bangles, circa 1875, around each wrist to help me float. Gold leather Celine boots with heels.

Outside the sky slathered like wet gray flannel. Perfect day to reconsider cosmetics offerings at Zitomer's pharmacy-but no. Took a bus down Fifth Avenue. A bus! I took a bus. A packed tin bus. Like sardines swimming downstream. Got off at 42nd Street. Soaked by the time I got to the tents for the Bill Blass show at 11. After 40 years in business, this was his last show. The last show from the man who made American fashion not just respectable but profitable. J'adored so much, especially the spangled skirts and hooded jackets. Compared with a career like Blass', the hurricane seemed like an accessory.

Then they closed down the tents. Had to get to SoHo for Helmut Lang's show. Not go to Helmut Lang? Are you crazy? Rather die.

Took the subway. (Let me write that twice, dear diary.) Took the subway. Something called the B train, although I would have preferred the A train because, well, I was dressed for first class. Whatever. The next thing I knew, I was on lower Sixth Avenue. The rain has almost stopped. J'adore the fashion cycle. Felt like I was the twinkle in the eye of the storm then, walking toward Helmut Lang in SoHo where there's always hope.

Quiz Time

1. What's "Trippy World"?

a. An on-line service selling travel accessories created by the Boardman sisters, Samantha and Serena.

b. A psychedelia-inspired exhibition at Baron-Boisante Gallery.

c. Name of Leonardo DiCaprio's new house near Big Sur.

2. Who is the talent behind the much-anticipated fashion Web site www.show.uk.com?

a. Alexander McQueen

b. Nick Knight

c. Hussein Chalayan

3. Around what conceit does the plot of Warner Brothers' The Big Tease revolve?

a. A prom queen (Sarah Michelle Gellar) promises her virginity to the first of four high school football stars who write her the best love poem.

b. Based on Jack and the Beanstalk , it's about a town called Tease, Ohio, where Robin Williams plays a friendly giant.

c. A hairdressing competition with a cameo appearance by Naomi Campbell.

Answers: (1) b; (2) b; (3) c.

New York fashion week is unfolding with the speed of an exploding hemline. More than 100 fashion shows are scheduled to showcase the New York spring 2000 collections between Sunday, Sept. 12, and Friday, Sept. 17. Of course, no one has had time to explain to me when fashion stopped being Jewish. Maybe they were scrambling to find a way to cram Rosh Hashanah (beginning at sundown on Sept. 10 and ending at sunset on Sept. 12) into one small, chelated tablet you could swallow, and still worship at the shrine of New York fashion week.

After New York, the fashion action shifts to London from Sept. 21 to 26, Milan from Sept. 24 to Oct. 2 and finally Paris from Oct. 3 to 11. Spring clothes already. And you've barely had the strength to lift Vogue 's 704-page guide to fall. Help! Fast, what's the one certain fashion status item for fall? "Prada, Gucci, Calvin Klein," reported Vogue editor at large Andre Leon

Talley via a rushed voice mail message. "Maybe one of the big, glamorous, hand-knitted sweaters," suggested Katherine Betts, who officially begins work as the newly appointed editor in chief of Harper's Bazaar after Labor Day. (Of course, there's a party: a dinner for Ms. Betts Sept. 14 at Fressen.) More specifics about the season's sweater? Marc Jacobs' chunky striped cashmere turtleneck sweaters. About $1,400 at Bergdorf's.

Indeed, we live in fast times. But New York is a great stopwatch.

"What can you do?" asked Nicole Farhi, the French-born, London-based fashion designer. Peaceful as a pond on the road to Lourdes, she shrugged and smiled. Remarkably calm, really, all things considered. Wearing modern but simple black trousers and black top from her fall 1999 collection with a soft, purple leather jacket, Ms. Farhi stood among the chic glimmers of what, when it is finished, will be her 20,000-square-foot flagship store and restaurant at 10 East 60th Street, formerly the Copacabana. That morning, the crew employed to work in Nicole's, the restaurant, arrived to begin testing the kitchen equipment, but it couldn't. The place wasn't ready. Nor was the store, designed by architect Michael Gabellini. "We were meant to open in January," said the designer, who speaks British English with a soft, French accent. "I'm told delays are often the case in New York, even more than Europe."

There are several new stores and boutiques in New York this month, including DKNY and Chloe on Madison Avenue, Stream, a cool new spot on Mercer Street, Janet Russo at 262 Mott Street and shoe designer Christian Louboutin's store at 75th Street and Madison Avenue. Mr. Louboutin's shop, filled with colorful fabrics and furniture, is a highly personal departure from the minimalist trends in store design of late.

"I didn't want minimal. I wanted something modern," Ms. Farhi said. "With some soul. And I think Michael got it." That request also sums up Ms. Farhi's esthetic. "You know, I never felt at ease in disguise. I never liked a fancy dress party," said Ms. Farhi who, if not wearing her own designs, will wear clothes by Yohji Yamamoto. "I don't change that much," she continued. "Hemlines, etc.? If I'm not changing dramatically as a person, why should I dramatically change what I design?" Instead of fashion hoopla every season, "the clothes move on ," said Ms. Farhi, who has had her own label since 1983.

Mr. Gabellini's store–soft blue hues, organic metals, extraordinary detail and dramatic use of natural and artificial light–will be a compelling new destination for serious interior design people. "For that reason alone, the store already is a success," Ms. Farhi said. For the purposes of her backers (the French Connection group headed by chief executive Stephen Marks), the store, the first of several conceived for the United States, will be a great setting to acquaint American consumers with Ms. Farhi's low-key, sophisticated, medium-priced women's and men's clothes and home designs. On the evening of Sept. 9, Ms. Farhi, who is married to British playwright David Hare, will host a small dinner in Nicole's. She will show her spring collection on Sept. 15 at the Altman Building at 135 West 18th Street.

Leaving the workmen to their devices, Ms. Farhi took 30 minutes away to experience some of the city's cultural offerings before she returned to London the following day. She visited Uniformity: The Uniform and New York , an exhibit of 50 historical photographs on view at the Municipal Art Society space at 457 Madison Avenue. Ms. Farhi stopped next at The Un-private House , an exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art examining 26 contemporary, unusual living spaces. Through the window of the museum looking out onto the street, Ms. Farhi saw a yellow taxi with her name advertised on its roof. "Brilliant," she whispered. Of the 160 taxis driving around town with her ad, this was the first she had seen. The tranquil Ms. Farhi, a 20-year-plus devotee of yoga, was entertained by the radically different houses on view in the exhibition. "I don't think design is utopian," she said. "I think design is a record of time, a mirror to what we are and what we are becoming."

Ms. Farhi and Mr. Hare live in a comfortable, informal house in north London. Someday, Ms. Farhi said, they might like to find a small "shack" by the sea.

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. Much ado in the decorating world over a Sept. 15 sale at Christie's, an homage to which 20th-century figure?

a. Elsie de Wolfe.

b. Billy Baldwin.

c. Pauline de Rothschild.

2. The 16th Minute is:

a. Christopher Buckley's next novel, in diary form, about the first woman President's hairdresser, a bisexual Chicagoan.

b. According to Candace Bushnell's column in The Economist , when a woman becomes more famous than her spouse.

c. According to Maureen Dowd, a talk show being developed by Kato Kaelin about people living beyond their allotted 15 minutes of fame.

3. Which of the following actresses is developing, and will star in, a movie about Babe Paley for Lifetime Television?

a. Rita Wilson.

b. Sharon Stone.

c. Ann-Margret.

Answers: (1) a; (2) c; (3) a.

"There was no way Dior would risk incurring the displeasure of some of his most elegant clients by allowing his dresses to be put on vulgar display on the screen," wrote Dior biographer Marie-France Pochna in 1996. In 1997, however, the House of Dior didn't blink when given the opportunity to dress Nicole Kidman in a lime-green embroidered couture concoction by John Galliano for a big night in Hollywood. It was Dior's chance to steal at least one movie star from the globally televised Giorgio Armani Annual Fashion Show, also known as the Academy Awards.

Apparently, fashion is the greatest thing to happen to the entertainment industry since Technicolor, and vice versa. At least until the mood swings, and actors tell their managers they want to be "serious" artists, not models with talking heads, and until the press agent for Gwyneth Paltrow realizes that in the pages of InStyle magazine there's not sufficient demarcation between her, Salma Hayek and Jennifer Aniston.

So formidable a marriage have fashion and celebrity forged that, in 1995, USA Today stopped covering fashion shows here and in Europe. Was fashion editor Elizabeth Snead upset by the newspaper's decision? Hardly. She suggested the idea to her bosses and then requested a transfer from New York to Los Angeles, where she covers celebrities and movie stars through a fashion lens.

"I just couldn't justify going anymore. It didn't make sense to call the shows fashion 'news' when they weren't anymore," says Ms. Snead in The End of Fashion (William Morrow and Company), a splendid new book about the mass marketing of the clothing business, by Teri Agins.

Despite the chilling title, The End of Fashion is not intended as a polemic. Ms. Agins writes in an informed and lively style about the phenomenal changes she has seen in the fashion world as a reporter covering the beat for a decade for The Wall Street Journal . She sees an industry challenged and, in many cases, in denial. Consumers have rejected fanciful fashions, she argues. "Today, a designer's creativity expresses itself more than ever in marketing rather than in the actual clothes … Image is the form and marketing is the function."

The End of Fashion isn't for fashion enthusiasts who live to be buried in Yves Saint Laurent dress boxes. The End of Fashion does not bubble with fashion moments. (There's no fainting for Gucci's $6,800 beaded silk jeans; just acknowledgment of Gucci's marketing brilliance.) Ms. Agins isn't sympathetic when she includes this passage from Christian Lacroix, writing in his fashion show program in 1997: "I believe I have not given into systems, whatever they might be … A Lacroix style has been born and even if it doesn't appeal to everyone, so much the better. The barefooted, jewelryless woman, skimpily dressed in worn-out togs creates a ghostlike vision that only satisfies the most pessimistic, of which I am not one …"

Mr. Lacroix's attitude, in Ms. Agins' view, expresses a lot about the end of fashion. Old century versus new century. Fashion today, says Ms. Agins, has shifted from "class to mass, elitism to democratization, from art to commodity." In other words, the Gap. The author cites four megatrends that propelled fashion into its new direction. "Women let go of fashion … People stopped dressing up … People's values changed with regard to fashion (consider Target's tagline: 'It's fashionable to pay less') … Top designers stopped gambling on fashion." Especially for publicly traded companies, such as Polo Ralph Lauren Corporation and Tommy Hilfiger Corporation, with shareholders to please, she says, "the big guns can't afford to gamble on fashion whims."

Of course, these megatrends already might be painfully apparent to fashion industry people. These ideas may seem foreign to New Yorkers who need therapists to help them wait out a late arrival of the new Miu-Miu shoe. But Ms. Agins isn't writing for them. The Wall Street Journal doesn't rely on fashion advertising, and Ms. Agins isn't rushing to play Florence Nightingale to the fashion business. "By the 1980's, millions of baby-boomer career women were moving up in the workplace and the impact of their professional mobility was monumental. As bank vice presidents, members of corporate boards and partners at law firms, professional women became secure enough to ignore the foolish runway frippery that bore no connection to their lives," writes Ms. Agins.

She provides a descriptive context and researched chronicle of the evolving industry trends, the cultural and economic changes they represent, and the challenges the fashion business faces at the turn of the century–financing, manufacturing, retailing, licensing and, last but not least, marketing an image that keeps pace with consumers' desires. "At the end of fashion," Ms. Agins writes, "it takes a whole lot of clever marketing to weave ordinary clothes into silken dreams." The author does not focus on fashion connoisseurship, the agenda one hopes to find in the best fashion magazines, inspiring readers to regard fashion the same way a wine aficionado appreciates wine or a cook great food. After all, if Americans can learn to make tiramisù, why can't they learn to dress well?

The End of Fashion investigates the fall of Paris and the rise of Milan as the center of the fashion business in Europe; the competition between Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger; Giorgio Armani and the Hollywoodization of fashion; the failures of department stores such as Chicago's Marshall Field's; and Donna Karan's ruffle on Wall Street. As an example of how a designer thrives outside of the bubble of fashion, Ms. Agins includes a portrait of the designer Zoran–"proof that a niche player could survive in a cutthroat marketplace, where affluent women were buying fewer designer clothes and were most likely to trade down than up when they did."

How successful is Zoran, whose simple, expensive, one-size-fits-all clothes change little from season to season? In 1997, he took Bill Blass to lunch at Da Silvano and asked if he could buy his business; he was thinking of expanding. Although intrigued by Zoran's fiscal display, Mr. Blass wasn't selling. At least not yet.

Billy's List: Quiz time!

1. Who is Niki Sachs?

a. The lawyer who did the Condé Nast-Fairchild deal.

b. The chief executive and U.S. president of Hanro of Switzerland, the underwear purveyor that dressed Nicole Kidman in Eyes Wide Shut .

c. The newly elected president of the Council of Fashion Designers of America.

2. In fashionspeak, what are "biscuits"?

a. According to Vogue , those trendy little evening purses from Fendi.

b. According to Barneys' new catalogue, the store's little bargains.

c. According to Out magazine, an insulting reference to the overhang of a manly foot crammed into a delicate mule.

3. Clothes from which outfitter feature heavily in the Broadway play Voices in the Dark ?

a. Eddie Bauer.

b. Celine.

c. Vivienne Tam.

Answers: (1) b; (2) c; (3) a.