“This is so glamorous, this is really the jet-setting opera lifestyle that people think I lead,” said Renee Fleming, the world-renowned American opera singer with the enchanting voice that is in such high demand, she never seems to take a vacation.
Ms. Fleming, a luscious 49, was speaking over the phone after getting off the Read More
A lot of people have a lot of faith in Karole Armitage. They see her as bold, inventive, indefatigable. America isn’t working out? There’s always Europe. Ballet? No? Go modern. Keep going! Show ’em!
I see her as trendy, imitative. Try this, try that—dance is a smorgasbord, a salad bar, so stick a Read More
Holly Dunlap, who wears a perma-tan, gold and exclamation marks, grew up in Scottsdale, Ariz., where her mother forbade her to wear black. “I grew up wearing basically all pink and green until I was a teenager,” she said.
Dad was a real-estate developer; Mom covered the house head to toe in Lilly Pulitzer. “It Read More
Welcome to the second and final installment of “Unscathed
Broads,” my probing tribute to the gutsy, hand-bag-swinging chutzpah of the
collective New York psyche. Last week, we put Susanne Bartsch-party-promoter,
mom, Nivea devotee and Chelsea Hotel resident for more than 20 years-under the
microscope and found out how she survived the last two decades, and Read More
Denise Rich has yet to lose one single bugle bead from her Christian Lacroix bustier, or even to break a sweat. This saxophone-totin’ songbird is clearly a survivor, à la Richard Hatch. The multifaceted heinosity of her current situation, and the press coverage thereof, would undoubtedly have reduced a lesser mortal to a doll-gobbling shut-in. Read More
In 1955, when the producer of Pierre-Gaspard Huit’s La Mariée Est Trop Belle wanted Christian Dior to design a scene-stealing wedding dress for his star, Brigitte Bardot, the designer refused to even meet with him. Instead, he sent his financial manager, Jacques Rouet, who was told how much publicity Ms. Bardot’s wedding dress would create Read More
Dear Diary:
Jan. 15: C’est moi, c’est moi , Phyllis Stine. En route to airport for Paris and spring-summer 1999 couture shows. J’adoring the New Year, after considerable dread. Realized I’ve been pushing myself much too hard lately to become someone of more substance, not just style, especially during the demise of my marriage to Read More
