Victor Cruz, Italo Zucchelli and Justin Theroux at the Calvin Klein show in Milan. (McMullan)

Shindigger is simply mad about all things Italian: the food, the language, the people, the clothes, the midday naps! And so we had no choice but to jet off to Milano to take in Men’s Fashion Week, one structured cashmere blazer at a time. Shindigger was front and center at shows including Ermenegildo Zegna, Dolce & Gabbana, Burberry Prorsum, Versace and Salvatore Ferragamo. Being “Gli americani,” we were sure not to miss Calvin Klein Collection’s runway show and after-party, with appearances by English pop songstress Ellie Goulding and a rare live deejay set by Hercules and Love Affair. The brand had flown in Victor Cruz and Justin Theroux to add to the abnormally attractive chaos in Calvin Klein’s opaque, modern showroom at Viale Umbria, 37. 

The line itself was wearable and innovative, with painstaking craftsmanship that wasn’t too flashy. We were especially struck by the techno outerwear in black cashmere and herringbone heather wool.

Italo Zucchelli, Calvin Klein Collection’s creative director of menswear, said that this season’s fabrications were particularly challenging to execute. “Complicated in a good way,” he said in his delicate Ligurian accent.

Shindigger headed over to perennial front-row Calvin Klein fixture and Giants wide receiver Victor Cruz, in from New York for the show and a lavish weekend of shopping with his girlfriend. “It’s fun!” said the handsome player known to American football fans for celebrating touchdowns with a little salsa dancing. “We ate our faces off. We went shopping. I went shopping at the Calvin Klein boutique. My girlfriend went to Giuseppe Zanotti, YSL ...”

Mr. Cruz lit up when asked about Milano nightlife, explaining that he was staying at Hotel Principe di Savoia, Fashion Week’s party headquarters. “The Principe is always another world all to itself. It’s always fun being there,” he confessed. “I just wanna have a good time and leave Milano with a bang.”

Mr. Cruz undoubtedly deserved one, considering that the Giants did not finish the regular season with any sparks whatsoever. “I’d prefer to still be playing right now,” he told us. And suddenly our football star was shuffled away before Shindigger was able to ask him if he ever dared salsa without a helmet. Oh well—on to the party!

AND A PARTY IT WAS! After enjoying healthy pours of amarone at an earlier Roberto Cavalli penthouse party, Shindigger was driven in a Ford Fiesta to Pier Lombardo, 14. It was as if we had been transported to industrial Williamsburg: brick, rust, wooden beams and all. We beelined it straight to the bar, where poor yet dashing bar twinks (uniformed in Calvin Klein One) were kept at a grueling pace.

“It’s my first time for the men’s shows,” enthused Norwegian model and Calvin Klein “it” girl Hanneli Mustaparta, who had also been flown in from New York to attend the festivities. She was raving about Mr. Zucchelli’s intricate designs and color palette when Ellie Goulding took stage. “I’m excited to see her,” Ms. Mustaparta yelled over the dance tunes.

“Who’s gonna get me a drink?” blurted Ms. Goulding into the mic after a sultry rendition of Elton John’s “Your Song.” About four songs later, she ended with her hit “Lights,” which really got the energy up.

Afterward, we were in hot pursuit of Mr. Theroux when we bumped into the blond songstress of the evening. “You look amazing in that Calvin Klein dress,” Shindigger screeched over the blaring beats. “It feels sexy and I like what it does to my boobs,” she yelled back.

This festa was rowdy compared with our habitual Park Avenue fetes. Bodies swayed, the band was stupendous and attendees furiously continued to pillage the bar.

A few rounds later, Shindigger was still chewing the fat with old Italian friends and New York editors.

“It’s a great party! I’m happy to be here,” exclaimed our old friend Mr. Cruz, who proved to us he could hit the dance floor sans uniform. We asked him how he had passed the rest of his day after the runway show. “We just took the day to relax, hang out, get a massage; we ordered room service and then got dressed and came here.”

Not bad for a whirlwind VIP weekend, we thought, while he added that he was a big “sneaker advocate,” which Shindigger certainly could figure out ourselves, noting his pairing of a slim-tailored suit with Nike Air Jordans, which, to our surprise, worked charmingly. Eyeing a refill of our toxic champagne/vodka potion, we asked Mr. Cruz his cure for the inevitable Fashion Week hangover.

“Fluid. I drink tons of water, tons of juice ... anything I can get my hands on. I gotta stay on top.”

With that, Shindigger finally had to let our favorite Milano date salsa away from us.

When the Cruz-less Calvin Klein blowout finally ran dry several hours later, we migrated with the in-crowd to Plastic for more mayhem, awakening a few hours later to find ourselves rushing to the much-too-early Armani show. È la dolce vita!

DvF and Mitch: lovers once, buddies forever!

As we sloshed, caked with snow flurries, into the Mandarin Oriental for the 2012 Phoenix House Fashion award dinner last Wednesday evening, we couldn’t determine whether it was the way-too-early winter outside, the Sandy-forced relocation or the early start after an endless election season, but at first glance, things looked a bit quiet. (In retrospect, we appreciated the venue upgrade, considering it was originally slated to take place at Pier 60.)

“Well there’s Linda Fargo, at least ...” we uttered to a weary-eyed publicist as she sashayed passed us in a crisp black sheath dress, before we sauntered downstairs to cocktail hour.

Below, on the 35th floor, the considerably more lively and notable fashion crowd imbibed, heedless of the blizzard-like winds that howled without mercy on the commoners struggling to get around Columbus Circle.

With the exception of Glenda Bailey, this didn’t feel like a typical fashion event; nay, it was considerably more corporate—a bit cliquey, but not necessarily in a bad way. Dashing executives (well mostly dashing) in flamboyant tailored suits sipped scotch and red wine, while a more demure population of women squawked about recent highs and lows.

This reeked of powerful retail and media industry figures rather than overcompensated stylists and over-photographed fashion mavens.

The Observer wasn’t feeling particularly social, but we decided to meander aimlessly about the lobby, gorging ourselves with vegetable spring rolls every time they passed.

Eventually, someone had the brilliance to ring the dinner gong and get the show on the road.

“You’re stuck with me,” laughed Rose Marie Bravo, the fashion branding and commerce star, as she welcomed the Phoenix House patrons now enjoying their first plating around candlelit tables. She apologized for emcee Ali Wentworth, who was “lost somewhere in the city.”

“This past week has been a tragic one,” she continued. “Many of our friends have been left homeless or without power.” She went on to explain what Phoenix House does: it helps thousands of people struggling with substance abuse and addiction through its pioneering treatment program. For a second or two, The Observer stopped sipping. But only a second or two.

Seated before us was honoree Jim Gold, president of The Neiman Marcus Group; Tory Burch, evasive and on high alert with her pending lawsuit against ex-husband Chris Burch still ablaze; and Calvin Klein’s Francisco Costa. The weather was most likely to blame for the empty seats, and there was substantial mention of Hurricane Sandy and its affect on the Phoenix House community.

“Substance abuse is an epidemic that plagues the USA,” began Phoenix House CEO Howard Meitiner.

He was followed by a young client of Phoenix House, who spoke of his history with drug abuse, dealing and violence. It was simple, honest and very effective. He said he is now rightly on track, working toward a degree in social work.

“Drug abuse can happen to anyone’s child,” said Mr. Meithner, then diving into the politics and ethos of the drug culture in America.

“But recovery is achievable and sustainable,” he concluded, just as Ali Wentworth, our long-lost emcee, finally stampeded in.

“I’ve got a husband who said, ‘I’ve just done 36 hours of ABC election coverage! You’re gonna get into bed with me!’” she blurted to our disbelief, about her hubby, George Stephanopoulos.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, not only was the fabulous hostess late because she was having a roll in the hay, she announced it to us all! Our kind of gal. And poor George, election aside, he must have still been shell-shocked by his co-host’s odd drunken-like behavior on election night—Cheers, Diane!

“They messengered this to me,” Ms. Wentworth continued, exposing a shiny Olivier Theyskens for Theory blazer that kept her décolletage in check.

“I thought I was chic, but maybe I’m just a shoplifter!”

We decided right then and there that we all wanted to leave and go home with Ali Wentworth.

Our hostess extraordinaire thankfully kept the pace brisk as we cruised into the awards segment. Monsieur Theyskens gave a poignant and astute speech before plopping a Phoenix House award in the hands of Andrew Rosen. The CEO of Theory then delivered a heartfelt personal story of his own family’s struggle with addiction and praised the Phoenix House for its wonderful work.

Tina Brown, editor in chief of Newsweek/The Daily Beast, made an anticipated handoff to Diane von Furstenberg. We never got to pester her with our gossipy questions about her publication’s demise.

“Diane is a vision broker,” Ms. Brown professed.

Once DvF accept her award, she dove into a tale of how she first met Phoenix House Founder Mitchell S. Rosenthal. Apparently Ms. von Furstenberg had mistaken the addiction innovator for ’80s star Chris Sarandon, whom she mistakenly referred to as Chris Rock. “He was hot,” she said.

“Then I got to know more about Mitch Rosenthal. I’ll spare you the details ...”

The romantic jaunts of the fashion queen brought the crowd great delight.

“This young, smashing man who looked like Chris Sarandon—created this place where shame was not an issue,” Ms. von Furstenberg gushed.

“I really want to make sure that we all raise our glass to this special man!”

At that flawless declaration, we lifted our glass, emptied it, and dashed downtown, to partake in rowdier action at Le Baron—alas, without Ali Wentworth.

Kara Laricks with Broadway star Montego Glover at her presentation last week.

As New York shovels up the Fashion Week embers around town after the onslaught, The Observer still has a few loose ends. One thing we wanted to know in all the ruckus was how the new comers had fared.

Kara Laricks, the winner of NBC reality show Fashion Star, is certainly a new face in the crowded sea of designers. Under the tutelage design mentors Jessica Simpson, John Varvatos and Nicole Richie, Ms. Laricks convinced the buyers' judging panel from H&M, Macy's and Saks Fifth Avenue that her creations were worthy of the $6m capsule collection award. The show was a hit: Nielsen TV Ratings Data reported 4.81 million viewers for the finale, and NBC has already renewed Fashion Star for a second season and begun casting. We caught up with Ms. Laricks after her first presentation at Runway@Pier 57 last week to get all the buzz about her début. Were her masculine-feminine-meets-1920s-Japanese matchbox looks a triumph or did she she fall flat?

What did it feel like to finally present your first bona fide fashion week presentation?

I felt vulnerable!  In the past, if my collection was not well received, I was under the protective wing of The Academy of Art University, NBC, Saks Fifth Avenue, Macy's, H&M ... this time, the pressure was all on me.  However, there was never any question as to whether or not I would continue designing post Fashion Star and I knew "sticking my neck out there" would be worth the risk no matter what the response. Now that my first collection has been shown at New York fashion week and the reviews are rolling in, I feel exhilarated, proud and accomplished. Can't wait for the next!

Any dramas or disasters leading up to the big day?

Of course - wouldn't be fashion without a little bit of drama ... one of my models was stuck at a Calvin Klein fitting until minutes before my presentation - thank goodness for my talented (and speedy) hair and makeup team.

What did you do to keep calm?

I am always amazed when people remark that I appear calm, as I am usually a ball of nerves on the inside. However, I instantly calm down when I pause and take a look around at all of the incredible people who support me.

So now that Fashion Star is over, what has been your biggest struggles?

Putting together my first collection hasn't been a steep learning curve, but a right angle. For the first time, I have had to figure out how to produce an entire line, secure PR, a venue, models and the list goes on. The biggest challenge is keeping my fans and consumers informed of the process. Fans of Fashion Star were used to seeing a garment one evening and buying it the following day.  In the "real" world, it takes six months to develop a collection, show the collection to buyers and take orders—then add on another six months for production and delivery to stores.  It's tough not to get the people what they want when they want it!

Are you still tight with the cast?

Absolutely! Nzimiro, Nikki, Sarah and Edmond were at my presentation, cheering me on. I also received well wishes from the rest of the cast that wasn't able to be there. I had no idea a reality competition would turn into real friends, real support and real dreams come true.

What’s one thing you absolutely hate about fashion week?

The fact that when I am presenting my own collection, I do not have time too see other designers' work—I am still catching up— so grateful for Style.com!

Screengrab. From left: Andrew Warren, Serena Marron, Peter Brant II, and Nick Gruber.

Friday, opening night at pop-up club Chez André at The Standard, East Village, found teenage dandy Peter Brant II and ex-porn star Nick Gruber, who was apparently taking a night off from writing a book and developing a TV show about his two-year relationship with Calvin Klein, on stage. The duo, joined at the mic by Andrew Warren and model Serena Marron, sang and mumbled their way through a live-band karaoke rendition of "Born to Be Wild." We have the video evidence. Arguably, it is the best version of the song ever performed. Arguably!

It made sense that Ms. Mara, blandly pretty in her Social Network days, would hitch her rising star to her character’s signature look. Trish Summerville, the Dragon costume designer, had already capitalized on the best-seller heroine’s appeal with a capsule collection at also-Swedish H&M.

But who would have guessed that when Ms. Mara showed up for the Oscars last month in a lacy cream Givenchy gown, Lisbeth’s weird baby bangs—short, black and severely straight across her forehead—would stay in the picture?

The look was created for the film by Danilo Dixon (Gwen Stefani’s hairstylist), with the logic that Lisbeth would need her hair out of her eyes during those all-night hacking binges. Kind of like the DIY crop Angelina Jolie wore as Acid Burn in Hackers, but with a minimalist precision suited to a chick who has probably hacked Ikea.

Since then, bangs have shortened on stars as diverse Zoe Kravitz, Krysten Ritter and indie music It girl Grimes. High-fashion magistrates have given baby bangs their seal of approval in back-to-back seasons.

In October, John Galliano juxtaposed fresh-cropped baby bangs with sheer boudoir gowns adorned with ruffles, ribbons and beads. The effect: Barbiturate-addled silent film star locks self in bathroom with scissors.

In February, Versace models walked in kinky mesh boots, fitted leather dresses embroidered with Christian iconography, and uniformly baby-length bangs. (There are reports of clip-ons.) Were the fringe a half-inch longer, it would have been your standard Opus Dei bondage thing. As it was, the stunted bangs gave the models alien ovoid foreheads and the look evoked a conspiracy of femme cyborgs in the Vatican.

Generally, bangs are too functional to be trendy. Zooey Deschanel’s brow-grazing Françoise Hardy bangs are part and parcel of her She & Him ’60s songstress act. When Nicole Kidman wears bangs, celebrity blogs wonder if she’s trying to conceive. (Botox is discouraged during pregnancy.) For others (Olivia Wilde, Rose Byrne) bangs may simply be the fastest way for a starlet to differentiate herself from the herd of identically proportioned brunettes.

But baby bangs are different. For one, they flatter no face shape. On the contrary, they can make even the most golden ratio-adherent beauty look a little off. We might have mistaken Ms. Ritter for Penelope Cruz’s other sister until she adopted the baby bang. She was prettier then, but now we can’t stop looking at her.

“Short bangs can be flattering if it is professionally done and the person really owns it,” Jennipher van Bogart, a stylist at Woodley and Bunny in Williamsburg told The Observer, adding that the girls coming off the L have been asking for short bangs more frequently since January, many citing Michelle Williams. Women with square-shaped faces especially should seek professional guidance, she cautioned.

“It’s a major commitment,” agreed celebrity stylist Sally Hershberger. “That is going to be your look, you know? It’s like a piece of art.”

Despite having hit the runway, baby bangs remain a DIY hallmark. Laia Garcia, a 20-something stylist and fashion writer, accidentally got the look back in September when she overdid it on a home trim. “But once I remembered the late ’90s Raf Simons portraits of dudes with asymmetrical haircuts, I decided to embrace them,” she explained.

Ms. Garcia said she pulls out the scissors every two weeks or so. Her bangs usually end up crooked, which she also embraces. Failing that, she side-combs. Around Fashion Week, she said, she shortened them even more, to a length she called “fetus bangs.”

“Looking at the pictures where I am sporting them, I can see that I went over the line,” she said.

But according to Calvin Klein, she hit the mark. That week, creative director Francisco Costa sent Patricia van der Vliet and Tatiana Krasikova down the runway with full fetal fringe. Ms. Mara sat in the front row.

The baby bang is not to be confused with the curled and bowed bangs Beyoncé Knowles wore in videos for “Video Phone” and “Telephone.” Those were Bettie bangs, an homage to ’50s dominatrix pin-up Bettie Page. Or were they a reference to Page’s ’90s Third Wave revivalists (Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction; Janeane Garofalo in Reality Bites)? Or, worse, the fetish-y hybrid sported by Katy Perry?

No, unlike last year’s “Bettie” bang, the baby bang ends before the middle point of the forehead, Louise Brooks length or shorter. While Bettie bangs lend the wearer a touch of childlike surprise, alarm is often in the eye of the beholder of baby bangs. When coupled with a little eyebrow modification—the lines penciled on Mariacarla Boscono in Yves St Laurent’s spring print campaign or Die Antwoord rapper Yolandi Visser’s bleached brows, for example—it’s downright freakish.

This is the critical distinction between Bettie and baby bangs. Page’s dominatrix pics seem to subvert pin-up objectification, but she was still posing for the pleasure o f a male audience. Salander’s bangs were defiantly unattractive, like a dare not to fall in love with her long neck and high cheekbones.

Could baby bangs be a move to overthrow the male gaze? Is this what an apathetic generation’s political haircut looks like? Is ugliness the only remaining expression of sexual empowerment?

Leandra Medine, whose fashion blog The Man Repeller specializes in such topics, likened the baby bang to “a cross between Isabella Blow—who stands for most everything I do—and Jim Carrey’s Dumb and Dumber character. A shroom groom, if you will.”

So that’s a yes?

The look betokened “a crucial-to-mankind personality,” she said, “but most certainly not the person you intend to take home at night’s end.”

Like Ms. Hershberger said, big commitment, these bangs. Depending on your audience, you could be projecting associations as disparate as “melancholy milliner” and “mentally handicapped chauffeur.”

"To have baby bangs is to enter a weird world of associations that you just gotta be able to run with," Ms. Garcia explained. "Although I did make sure to tell everyone who commented on my bangs that they were Raf Simons bangs and not Girl with the Dragon Tattoo bangs.

But all of the baby bang associations seem to coexist harmoniously in Montreal electro-pop artist Grimes, a.k.a. Claire Boucher.

The 23-year-old’s music is often described as “post-Internet” because her influences are so apparently random (she has named Nine Inch Nails, Outkast and Christina Aguilera, for instance).

Her personal style might be called post-Internet too. She resents being cute, and her style icons include Marilyn Manson, the graphic novel Tank Girl, Leeloo from The Fifth Element and Princess Zelda.

It probably goes without saying that she cuts her bangs herself.

Ms. Boucher said the look’s reception varies geographically. “Like, people in Miami will try to have sex with you, people in Mexico want hugs,” she explained. “Phoenix was like 60 percent bros and I got tons of love letters and there was a fight. San Francisco was like 80 percent girls and all the guys were gay and everybody was dancing.”

That said, her baby bangs have evolved over time. She wore a black Mia Wallace bob in her self-directed video, “Vanessa.” In a follow-up, “Crystal Ball,” the bangs were cropped to Lisbeth length with the sideburns shaved, a kind of modified Chelsea. On the cover of April’s Dazed and Confused (shot by Hedi Slimane), they’re shorter still and natural brown—so as not to distract from her massive Givenchy septum ring.

“Everything I do is about empowering myself,” she explained. “Not as a female or anything, but just in general. I’m realizing that the way one is marketed is directed primarily by visual presentation.”

But if one were marketing the baby bang, it’s never looked better than in the video for “Oblivion,” the single off her latest album, Visions. Trimmed halfway between a Bettie bang and the YSL microbang and dyed bubblegum pink, the cut completes a look that involves a baggy sweatshirt, a tulle skirt and combat boots. Grimes interpretative-dances her way through a football stadium, singing about finding someone to hold her hand in a breathy, lispy falsetto.

“I love putting together an image that I think is really beautiful, feminine, even sexual,” she said, “but it’s also very important to me that I don’t feel exploited and that I feel tough.

“So I dunno, yeah,” she added, “it’s a fine balance.”

kstoeffel@observer.com

We braced for the worst on the last day of New York Fashion Week, when Calvin Klein (and KCD) sent The Observer this alarming email warning:

“As a reminder, you are confirmed to attend the Calvin Klein Collection Fall 2012 Women's show today at 2PM.  We have been made aware that the Occupy Wall Street movement has plans to stage a non-violent demonstration in the vicinity of our show.  Please note that we have taken extra security efforts to ensure the safety of our guests and that the entrance process into our venue is as seamless as usual.  In light of this, all guests will be required to show email verification of a seat assignment and a form of photo identification. Please bring both with you this afternoon.

The event will be held at 205 West 39th Street and your seat assignment is L-2-2.”

Duly noted!

The rain that day didn’t justify an umbrella (besides which we lost ours at Michael Kors…) Turns out—the PR precaution, while wise and considerate, was unnecessary as well.

“Occupy fashion week!” one pitifully quiet and tattered protester yelled as we marched past him.

Well-accustomed to the photo I.D. process by now, we dutifully cooperated before entering the pitch-black showroom.

Only two rows of seating boasted an impressive roster of fashion bigwigs, whose names were perfectly printed in each spot. Calvin Klein Eternity eau de parfum accompanied the name placards… perfect for re-gifting!

Patrick Demarchelier, Mario Sorrenti, Vinoodh Matadin and Inez van Lamsweerde sat directly in front of us!

“Tout va bien?” Mr. Demarcherlier greeted Ms. van Lamsweerde.

A quick span of the room, revealed even more glitterati. The arrivals of Lara Stone (supermodel/spokeswoman for Calvin Klein), Emma Stone and Rooney Mara gave Billy Farrell and cohorts plenty to do…

Creative director Francisco Costa has evolved the brand’s signature aesthetic to an unparalleled level of ultra-refined, minimalism. Mr. Costa didn’t disappoint for winter 2012/13 either.

The click-clack of the models’ heels was still audible over the austere soundtrack...

They wore firmly structured, glazed wool/mohair collarless coats with hammered silver belts--in exaggerated proportions. There was a weightlessness with the severity, however. On the lighter end, were shades of poppy and sienna on wool tweed shift dresses, with strong pleats. The texture of the fabrics easily conveyed their value.

Leather skirts, tops and dresses were balanced by soft cashmere—some in bold tones. What really made a statement, were the onyx embroidered, laser-cut wool separates and knotted silk embroidery bodice dresses (that glistened as if beaded appliqué).

Beautiful!

As we slowly sauntered out, it seemed that the fashion frenzy had sobered… Calvin Klein Collection was a peaceful end.

Images: Dan Lecca and Patrick McMullan.

Office casual

I’ve always been a great lover of fashion. I own a range of ball gowns and multicolor high tops, which can be pressed into duty as day or evening wear. I have at least four pairs of jeans, a few from recognized labels. (Well, someone would probably recognize them.) I even went to Bloomingdale's last year after watching that Oprah episode and found out my bra size. It turned out I was wearing 36B when I was actually...larger than that. Double-letter larger.

I don’t even own a mirror; that’s how confident I am of my look.

Admittedly, my sense of style is somewhat singular. I'm creative, funky. I pair pieces that the “fashion world,” as it’s called, would label a "Don't"—but then I'll wear them for weeks at a time. Who says a $200 black cocktail dress can't be worn with a lumpy blue grandma sweater, some purple Uggs, and a cape? Who says that maroon doesn't go with red? People with mirrors, I bet.

It might not be to every taste, but it has worked for me. And at least I'm not drowning in credit card debt from Tiffany's, right? (Question: Can you buy clothing at Tiffany's?)

I'm so secure in my attire, I had no problem polling a select group of friends and ex-boyfriends about my personal style (the former since I thought they'd be nice; the latter because I knew they'd be honest). A certain theme emerged in their replies: "A six-year-old told by parents she could wear whatever she wanted to school that day,” ”A sloppy vampire,” “Ketamine casual,” “Loosely laudanum-inspired,” and “Erratic” were among the descriptions.

Much as I appreciated these compliments, I could tell I needed help if I was going to continue the campaign of self improvement I began in a column months ago. Having tackled walking and eating, I was getting ambitious. My plan was to storm the barricades of the upper crust: I was going to become a socialite. And I had just the event in mind at which to start my ascent.

For several weeks, a creme-colored invitation had lay on my desk, requesting my presence at a Monday morning "Celebration of Life" ceremony for Evelyn Lauder, the late social powerhouse and cosmetics executive. Now, I have never owned an Estée Lauder product in my life—for good or for ill—but Ms. Lauder's biography has always fascinated me: a childhood escape from the Nazis, marrying the son of a makeup matriarch, earning the begrudging respect of her formidable mother-in-law by helping to turn their family business into an international success, and going on to become one of the biggest names in beauty and philanthropy.

I might be fashion "special," but even I know the meaning of the ubiquitous pink ribbon she help cook up in the early 1990s. Evelyn Lauder didn't just raise awareness for breast cancer: she took a disease that one never mentioned in polite company and helped erased the stigma, raising global awareness and millions of dollars to find a cure. There was no way I could attend an event in her honor sporting my signature "I don't give a crap, and am possibly on drugs" look.

Especially not at 10:00 a.m. on a Monday.

For assistance I turned to Mary Alice Stephenson, one of New York’s preeminent celebrity stylists, who has dressed everyone from Scarlett Johansson to Michelle Obama. Red carpet? Fashion Week runways? Vogue, Harper's Bazaar, W? It's hard to think of a venue or fasionista that Ms. Stephenson's hasn't left her signature mark on...including Estée Lauder models. It may seem a bit odd to ask someone for clothes simply because you can’t dress yourself, but apparently celebrities do it all the time.

Dress by Rachel Roy, necklace by Lanvin

On Sunday evening, Ms. Stephenson greeted me at the front door of her beautiful three-story brownstone in Cobble Hill, looking like a model herself—even in weekend sweats. "One of the reasons I agreed to do this was to honor all the good Ms. Lauder did with fashion and beauty," the gorgeous blond told me soberly, as she led me to her personal closet. "She was  such a special women who changed the world. She was so philanthropic, and really believed in the idea of paying it forward."

The rug was soft, white, and furry. Even after doffing those purple Uggs (uggggh), I was terrified of stepping on it.

"I've seen so many girls in beautiful dresses, but what makes someone special, what makes them a style icon, is what they do in life and how they help to make a difference in the world," Ms. Stephenson said while flipping through her racks of Michael Kors, Alexander Wangs, and vintage Chanels. "To me, it takes more than a pretty dress to make an 'It' Girl. Remember, I'm not dressing you so you can become a socialite. I’m dressing you to honor Ms. Lauder, and in return I'd like you to pay it forward and assist me with the Make a Wish event that I'm throwing in March."

Wow, fashion was serious business. I decided to ask Ms. Stephenson her advice on a few burning questions. "What do you do for teeth and tummy control?" I wondered. She smiled, handing over a package of Spanx and a little sample of Rembrandt teeth whitener. “It's all about your confidence and openness," Ms. Stephenson told me. "But you need to find a balance. While it's okay to be casual, sometimes it's time to say bye-bye to the hipster."

So belly in, shoulders back, and stop slouching.

"Also," she said, "your sisters need to be pushed up higher." Ms. Stephenson yanked up my bra straps. "You want to show off your curves," advised the stylist, who began her career as an editorial assistant at Vogue. "Accentuate what you like, and hide what you don't. Like show off your beautiful eyes, don't hide behind your bangs!" (Lucky for me, I had burned off half my bangs the night before while I was trying to light a cigarette.)

I needed some help with the first dress Ms. Stephenson suggested: a black Balenciaga cutaway, with a seemingly endless amount of holes through which to stick various body parts. (The dress retails at Barney's for $1,895.) We decided against it, since it would need to be altered, and Ms. Stephenson's tailor was at a friend's house uptown for the day.

Another black number—it's is my color, since it goes with everything (and hides messy spills, in my experience)—from New York Vintage was reminiscent of something Joan Holloway would wear on Mad Men. Unfortunately, it also needed to be taken in, and was thus ruled out. Styling was 10 percent inspiration, it would seem, and 90 percent sewing clothes directly onto your body.

It came down to two of Rachel Roy's volume sleeve dresses—pink and black. I settled on the darker number with the bateau neck and asymmetrical hem. The poofy shoulders weren't anything I would have picked out for myself, but then I usually wouldn't think to pair a dress with a jewel-encrusted Lanvin necklace, since before yesterday I didn't know what Lanvin was.

Then, disaster. As I was trying on a pair of bondagelike Jimmy Choo python peep-toe sandals, one of the zipper pulls broke off. I was trapped in a shoe I couldn't afford! I had a moment of panic, imagining myself walking around like a gimp with one very expensive torture shoe strapped to me for all time. Pinhead from Hellraiser was whispering through the heel, "We have such sights to show you! We'll tear your sole apart!"

Fortunately, Ms. Stephenson was a pro. Brandishing a pair of pliers and a baby pin, she quickly extracted me from the footwear. "Happens all the time, don't worry about it," she said, going on to explain the benefits of always keeping a baby pin around.

"Next time..." the Jimmy Choo hissed at me.

The final look

A buttery black Pierre Hardy bag, a camel colored Calvin Klein cape, midnight blue Bruno Frisoni stilettos (with ruffled ribbon trim), Kendall Conrad snakeskin clutch, Donna Karan ultra-sheer black tights, and Sally Hanson Plum Luck nail polish completed the look. As Ms. Stephenson tucked my loaned items into a garment bag, I wondered if I would find the nerve to actually put them on without expert assistance. There were a thousand things that could go wrong. Like my new pair of Spanx could rip open, or I could leave my whitening stuff on too long and lose my ability to chew.

Monday morning I awoke unusually bright and early (well, 8 a.m.—early for me) and tried to recreate the confidence I felt in Ms. Stephenson's walk-in glamour room. But it was dreary and overcast out, and by the time I got to Lincoln Center for the event, I had worked myself into a state of frothy agitation over the thought of tripping and breaking a heel that would cost me my monthly salary.

Luckily, no standing was necessary as we took our seats in the full auditorium. As I watched the speakers memorialize Ms. Lauder—including Mayor Bloomberg, Barbra Walters, Elizabeth Hurley, and Dr. Larry Norton from the Sloan-Kettering Breast Cancer wing which bears her name—I had a sudden realization: This wasn't about me. No one was watching to see if I looked comfortable in my control-top, or if my teeth were yellow.

In the course of the two-hour memorial, which also featured reminiscences from Ms. Lauder's two sons and four grandchildren, the word "fashion" was mentioned only twice. Instead, this larger-than-life figure was remembered for her love of food (particularly pancakes and pot roast); photography; her laugh; and the inspiration she brought to cancer survivors. We weren't there to mourn the loss of a style icon or a socialite. Sure, Ms. Lauder had a lot of wonderful friends and wore beautiful clothes with great panache, but she did so in the service of something much greater.

As a result, if she was remembered for a garment at all, it was not a gown or a cocktail dress, but a small pink ribbon with a very big impact. And lucky for me, pink goes with everything. At least in my book.

Tokyo-based Onward Kashiyama distributes a number of men’s and women’s apparel lines, including preppy men’s clothier J. Press. The Connecticut-born retailer is perhaps best known for selling sweaters emblazoned with the logo of Skull and Bones, Yale University’s most notorious fraternal organization. Onward also owns top ballet shoe makers Chacott and Freed of London, and designs custom clothes for brands such as Calvin Klein and Sonia Rykiel.

Tokyo tunes into 530 Seventh Avenue.

Billed as “the Fashion District’s preeminent showroom property,” the Savitt Partners-owned building boasts 560,000 square feet of showroom space housing fashion tenants from New Balance to Babyphat. Onward inked 7,250 square feet—the entire 19^th floor—at the 30-story art deco tower. Asking rent was $55 per square foot.

Tatsuru Konno of Cushman & Wakefield represented the tenant while Savitt was repped in-house by Marc Schoen and Bob Savitt.

Guelda Voien, Writer, is reachable at GVoien@Observer.com

Mr. Weber and long-time partner and agent Nan Bush will take 11,152 square feet for 10 years on the 10th floor of 205 Hudson Street. "He's an internationally known photographer, which lends a lot of prestige to the building," Trinity Real Estate's Tom Lynch told The Observer. As an added bonus, considering the industry's diva-ish rep, "They are extremely nice people," he said. 

Mr. Weber's previous office is located just a couple of blocks away, according to Mr. Lynch, but it's going condo. His new spot at the intersection of Hudson and Canal streets is on the southern tip of Hudson Square and technically in Tribeca. "It attracts tenants looking for off-beat, eclectic space," said the broker. The 12-story building dates to 1928, with airy loft-like spaces, but we're most intrigued by the possibility of sneaking some yummy victuals from Tribeca Rooftop catering, located in the building. 

Mr. Weber's Little Bear is the most recent addition to Hudson Square's growing list of visual arts, creative and entertainment companies such as 3.1 Phillip Lim, Splashlight Photographic and Digital Studios, Atelier Fashion, and New York Magazine. Online home retailer One Kings Lane's also recently signed a deal at 205 Hudson. The building, where the asking rent is $43 a foot, is now close to full, with just two floors available. 

lkusisto@observer.com 

Sky Ferreira, the 18-year-old singer on the cover of this month's Vs., tweeted the following at 2:12 p.m. yesterday afternoon: "At calvin klein obviously waiting for lara stone. Duh!" The Observer saw this on Twitter and then checked the program. Yes, the Dutch supermodel, famed for her contribution to the slight-gap-in-teeth meme, would be closing the show, and when she did she pursed her lips into the knowing smile that celebrities are obliged to produce if they agree to a special runway appearance. Sky Ferreira had a seat in the front row next to Andre Leon Talley, who was wearing a barber shop smock. It looked awesome of course. Later, Terry Richardson shot pictures of Sky Ferreira against a white wall.

Kate Bosworth, the actress, doesn't have a Twitter but told The Observer these Twitter-length quotes: "I flew in last night. I'm here with Calvin happily and then I leave tomorrow morning early. To London! I'm going to London and then I'm going to Paris. I'm working with a French filmmaker so I'm gonna go over and see her."

The Observer, the exhausted writer, tweeted the following at 3:43 yesterday afternoon: "Fashion week: almost over, sanity waning."

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234