The front row of Honor (Getty)

During our continued observance to bring you everything non-fashion-related to Fashion Week, here is what we overheard on the front row of today's Honor show at Lincoln Center.

Don't ask us what the models were wearing: we were focused on the socialites and stars.

Organizers had lavished as much attention on setting the scene at the ball as on the art. Guests were able to adorn a wire-frame sculpture with crepe paper, and an energetic accordionist (his accordion labeled "Caligula") moved from room to room, performing Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" accompanied by a belly dancer wearing bells.

Actress Parker Posey, wearing neon-pink vintage, was engaged in discussion with her boyfriend, the artist Scott Lenhardt, and a group of clowns in glow-in-the-dark hats and rings. "Should we go up? Should we start down and go up?" The actress decided to ascend the five flights of stairs.

"I loved the clowns--their hats!" Ms. Posey told The Observer, once we'd both arrived safely at the fifth floor. Could she herself be an artist? "I could never do that--I'm in awe of that. I think--if you can make it alone," gesturing at her artist boyfriend. "He's alone in his studio. I need collaborators. I go to actor camp." Ms. Posey plans to make a documentary with former MTV News-woman Serena Altschul about the death of etiquette--oh no, is it really dead? The actress assured us it wasn't, and that her belief in common courtesy was reinforced that morning while listening to NPR.

The Observer wandered a floor down. On the fourth floor, the smell of a certain medicinal drug wafted through the air, though the source was unclear. The student artists' work was all for sale; one artist set out a plate of homemade chocolate-chip cookies. Fabiola Beracasa, in cream eyelet and two-tone spike heels, was on the hunt: "I'm always looking for art to purchase-but if I tell you which art, someone else will buy it!" She knew the game. "This all has me inspired to go to art school. I'm interested in making art out of things other people consider useless or garbage, making it useful." The Observer stepped to the stairs, dodging a pair of roving saxophonists blaring away in the stairwell.

Actress Jena Malone, donning an oversize blue blazer and white floor-length gown, was totally covered up compared to her scantily clad character in Sucker Punch. She said she wouldn't be willing to put paintbrush to easel: "I don't put that kind of parameter on it. Creation is creation." The accordionist roved through again, with his belly dancer jingling behind him.

Yet one more floor down, sitting in the second-floor bar, was Sally Singer, editor of T. "It makes me realize, I couldn't be an artist. I couldn't do what anyone here does." Ms. Singer twirled her hair. "They're training in deeply unironic ways. There's a kind of magic to that."

Ms. Singer had convinced The Observer of the power of art-sadly, we were sitting in black upholstered armchairs, with no art around, save for the bartenders' black feathered wings. (When asked why he wore the wings, the bartender gestured at the gothy décor and declared, "It's the room.") Still, there was something greater here! We had to return to the irony and pettiness of fashion, though: what Ms. Singer was wearing. "It's Marco Zanini for Rochas," she sighed. We apologized for the shallowness of our question, and were cut off. "Listen. I live in that world. It's a spring dress from Rochas."

Ms. Singer's predecessor at T was wandering a floor above. "Oh, it's good. It's like being an extra on Work of Art," declared Stefano Tonchi, now of W. What kind of art would Mr. Tonchi produce? "I'd make conceptual art--I like to make people guess what it is." Would W become conceptual? "No! I want people to know what it is right away."

The actress Leelee Sobieski had surpassed Mr. Tonchi--she already is an artist. "Well, I do paint." And what from the news inspires her? "When one would think inspire, you would think in a positive direction-I don't know what to say to that. Everyone's going through tough times right now." Ms. Sobieski gazed at a painting by a New York Academy student of chickens pecking one another to death. She only looked for a few moments before stepping away, but she looked as though she were inspired.

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_

Edited by Daisy Prince

Click here to see photos from the week's best parties.

When we happened upon the Mayor's youngest daughter, 27-year-old Georgina Bloomberg, we congratulated her on another formidable equestrian season -- Ms. Bloomberg took home $30,000 last month after winning the Bluegrass Festival Grand Prix in Kentucky. Did she have any time to follow the midterm elections between horse shows?

"I follow it as much as I have to, but I tend to stay out of politics as much as I possibly can," Ms. Bloomberg said. "I think as a politician's daughter, I have more of a sensitive side to it, and I sympathize a little bit more with them as people, not politicians. And it's hard to kind of watch that and see the negative ads, and things like that -- I don't just see the politicians, I see their families, and I see the way it affects their kids or their wives." Sounds reasonable to us!

In the spirit of the cause, multiple notables came prepped with their best doggie tales. American Ballet Theater principal Marcelo Gomes, who took the stage later in the evening with his dachshund, Lua, told us a slightly harrowing one: "I once pulled on my dog's tail really, really hard, and it broke. Well, it fractured," he said, which didn't seem much in keeping with the night's program. How long ago did this happen? "I was very, very young. I didn't know my strength at that moment. But it healed, thank God, and we're all very happy," Mr. Gomes said. "I was crying for about, like, a month or so." Thank goodness he's channeling his strength more productively these days.

Socialite and Interview magazine contributor Fabiola Beracasa currently owns three "death-row" dogs, whom she rescued from being euthanized at the eleventh hour. She promised to tell us a lighthearted anecdote about one in particular, Savannah, but it started out on a rather sobering note: "His temperament is, he's just the nicest dog in the world. And he had been shot in the mouth," she explained, then insisted, "This is a funny story!" And it was, eventually! Apparently Savannah needed to have a metal fixture put into his jaw for a few months to stabilize it while it healed. "So I'm walking down the street with my dog Savannah, who looks like Lady Gaga, because he's got this thing, right?" Ms. Beracasa continued.

"And I run into Terry Richardson, who I know... and he's like, 'Do you mind if I take a picture of your crazy Lady Gaga dog?' and I said sure. And then I'm flipping through French Vogue a few months later, and there's my crazy Lady Gaga dog, in French Vogue!" Ms. Beracasa laughed. "I told you it was worth it. So I run into Terry and I'm like, 'So listen. I've been trying to get into French Vogue my whole life!'"

French Vogue, listen up: it must be noted that Ms. Beracasa looked stunning in a knockout silver-spangled Valentino minidress with a bolero blazer covering her shoulders. "It's like a really strapless dress, and I believe in only showing one body part at once, at a time, you know?" Ms. Beracasa said. "A long sleeve, a short skirt, or vice versa. You know who taught me that? Margherita Missoni's a really good friend of mine, and her grandmother told her that." (Margherita's grandmother is Rosita Missoni, who co-founded the eponymous clothing line in the 1950s with her husband, Vittorio. We'd take her sartorial advice, too.)

The musician and committed animal-rights activist Moby, who emceed the event, insisted he had the best dog story of all. "When I was about ten years old, I was walking by my town dump in Darien, Connecticut... And I heard a little mew. And I looked in a box and in this box were five dead kittens who were about ten days old, and one barely-alive kitten," Moby explained. "So I picked up this barely-alive kitten, eyes closed, just mewing, and I ran home. My mom and I took it to the vet, and the vet said, 'Look, don't get attached to this cat, because he's very young, he's very sick, he won't survive.' And so we took him home, prepared for the cat to die. And our dachshund, George, became the mother to the cat and nursed the cat back to health... Where literally like, the cat would pee and poo all over itself, George would clean it up."

"So George became the cat's mom, and the cat lived to be 19 years old," he finished triumphantly. Awww.

There is a generally accepted practice among New York women that the bathroom is still a place to tell secrets; whether it is the best place is not something they devote much thought to. Women go into the bathroom to gossip about someone spotted at a party, divulge something to a confidante during a dinner party, or complain about a co-worker in the office stalls. One needs to only check the stalls for feet before launching into this or that.

"I think because you've already busted through the boundaries of privacy just by having the sham of a metal sheet between you while you're peeing," explained Ms. Crosley of the ladies' bathroom culture. "What's the harm in then having a little verbal sharing?"

Around 2:30 p.m. one day last week, two young, heavily-made-up women entered the restroom on the ninth floor of Barneys in midtown. "I still can't believe Dad said that, that is so funny," one of them said. "He goes, 'Lily, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you eat like a horse!' I've always eaten that way though...I'm always eating mine and yours."

Also last week, the Transom dropped by a party at the Standard's newly-opened roof bar Le Bain (meaning The Bath). Around midnight, two women were waiting in line for the bathroom: 'it girl' Becka Diamond and an older woman with long blond hair and a beige off-the-shoulder dress.

"I can't deal with that anymore," Ms. Diamond told her companion.

The music pumped louder making it difficult to hear the rest. Next thing the Transom heard, Ms. Diamond's companion was saying, "Unless you are friends, no fucking way."  

Next door at the Boom Boom Room's bathrooms--unisex structures famous for large windows that make you feel as if all New York can see you doing your business--two other women were lingering.

"He's cute, isn't he?" said the taller woman.

"Obsessed. Want to marry," the shorter woman replied.

The Transom spotted socialite Fabiola Beracasa back at the roof party, who recalled a conversation she overheard in the bathroom at The Mark Hotel recently while powdering her nose.  

"It was these two ladies [and one was saying,] 'You know, I heard that Joanna's husband is cheating on her with I don't know who,'" said Ms. Beracasa. "I was applying powder and leaning in to hear more of the gossip. And she was like, 'I know, she hasn't stopped crying for weeks. I feel so bad for her.'"

Model Agyness Deyn said she is always overhearing bathroom secrets, but feels that there is a responsibility to never repeat them.

"I've heard everything in the bathroom because everyone feels like it's so secret and the rest of the people feel like they can never tell anyone because it's a bathroom," said Ms. Deyn.

Seeing Chloë Sevigny approach in an elegant black evening jumpsuit, with black gloves covering her forearms and wearing scarlet lipstick, we asked, "True opera fan or just here for the socializing?"

"I came to hang out with [YSL chief designer] Stefano Pilati, but he missed his flight and he didn't make it so I'm kind of disappointed," the actress said. "He wanted me to wear this outfit, so I wore it and I'm here to see him and he's not here!" As for Armida: "I don't even know what it's about," Ms. Sevigny admitted. "I went to the opera years ago with my mother once, but I don't remember what I saw." A photographer asked Ms. Sevigny to turn around to get an over-the-shoulder shot. The actress turned around and said, re the back of her outfit: "It's not that interesting."

A traditional opera-goer might also be irked by the emerging trend of the dressy pants that have replaced the floor-sweeping opera gowns. "I feel most comfortable in pants these days," said actress Ginnifer Goodwin, who arrived in a corset top and high-waisted black slacks. But is she comfortable discussing coloratura? "I'm a true fan, but I don't have much of an opera education," Ms. Goodwin said. "In fact, they make it so accessible these days printing the entire story in the program and giving us all subtitles. I love the music, like I'm a big Puccini fan, but I don't understand a word of it! I was raised in America"-Memphis-"so I speak English."

Wearing a feathery YSL minidress, the socialite Fabiola Beracasa said that she appreciated opera partly because of how much she used to protest going when she was younger. "Since I was little, my paternal grandmother took me," Ms. Beracasa said. "I hated it. I would fall asleep or say, 'I have a stomachache, I can't go!' But as an adult, I have an affinity for it. For me, it's just this nostalgia for my childhood."

Shortly before curtain, actress Christine Baranski arrived, clad in a ruffly black-halter gown. She said she had been to 10 opera productions this season. "Opera-goers are a passionate group. I was in the audience opening night of Tosca, when everyone was booing. And I just thought, 'How wonderful! How passionate!'"

Molly Sims called her elaborate gold Dolce & Gabbana minidress “fashion-forward, taking a chance, shorter than short, short, short.” She was also wearing a necklace by jeweler-of-the-moment Tom Binns. “I kinda push fashion tonight!”

“We’ve gotten our due for a long time,” she demurred when asked whether it was nice to be the center of attention for once. “But it’s nice.”

Short was the order of the evening: One of the last standing supermodels, Kate Moss, had arrived 35 minutes in advance of the start time on the arm of honorary gala chair Marc Jacobs, clad in a miniscule gold toga and matching turban.

Mr. Jacobs was uncharacteristically buttoned-up in tuxedo and slicked-back hair; he placed his hand stiffly on Ms. Moss’ back and the duo posed for a few photos before exchanging whispers and rushing past crushed television crews to the entrance atop the stairs. (Mr. Jacobs’ fiancé, advertising executive Lorenzo Martone, would later arrive on the arm of Posh Spice.)

Vogue editor at large André Leon Talley, resplendent in an Isabel Toledo cape, was more voluble: “I gave a lot of advice to a lot of people, but they shall remain nameless because they don’t want me to say who I’m giving advice to,” he was telling a reporter nearby. (Last year, he’d dressed Venus Williams).

Russell Simmons looked on admiringly. “I once sat with André Leon Talley,” he said. “He’s the host of the event”—actually, it’s his boss, Anna Wintour—“he’s the inspiration for the whole thing, he’s got such good taste and everyone looks to him; he’s like fashion royalty, isn’t he?”

Mr. Talley was now telling a photographer who asked him to back up for a photo to “just take Obama!”, slapping an Obama button he’d pinned to his massive gold heart chain Roger Vivier necklace. “I had a good time,” he told The Observer of last year’s gala. “We went to the after-party, Venus and I, and Kimora [Lee Simmons] and Karl [Lagerfeld]; we had a fabulous time, it was at some restaurant, Phillipe …”

He declined to comment on how he planned to potentially get Mr. Obama to the ball in the future: “Ask Anna Wintour! I don’t answer those kind of questions, I have a mortgage to pay!”

Co-host Justin Timberlake appeared on the carpet in nerdy glasses with a Versace-clad Jessica Biel on his arm, and the photographers’ chorus of shouts reached a high pitch (rivaled only by the one greeting Posh Spice soon after, and, much later, Madonna).

Then came the moguls: Harvey, Donald, Rupert.

“How are you, my little beauty, are you still married?” Mr. Trump was asking a petite blond Fox News reporter as wife Melania posed for pictures down the carpet.

“I’ve been here many times, yes,” he told The Observer. “You just meet a lot of great people.” Who did he want to meet tonight? “I hadn’t thought about it, ask me after dinner!” Would that we were invited to dinner, sir!

The carpet was filling up with ethereal, slow-moving Russian and Eastern European mannequins, most wearing smoky eyeliner and messy hair and clutching the nerdy-looking young fashion designers who’d designed their outfits.

“She was lovely enough and gracious enough to ask me to be her date,” said designer Richard Chai of the Amazonian Karolina Kurkova, standing to his right in a, yes, short blue dress he’d designed. “I’ve known Karolina since she first came to New York, when she was 16, and I was the director at Marc Jacobs, so it’s an ironic sort of full-circle moment for us, that Marc’s hosting it. She came in for a casting and we took her for the show, and she was the same exact person then as she is now.”

In the car, bracing themselves for flashbulb impact before braving the carpet, they’d discussed “absolutely nothing about fashion,” he said. “Just what have we been up to, what are we doing, where are we going afterwards” (to Mr. Jacobs’ party at Monkey Bar and then to knitwear heiress Margherita Missoni’s bash at 1Oak).

Soft-spoken Michelle Obama clothier Jason Wu, meanwhile, making his Met debut after exploding from obscurity into household-name-dom in the past year, described how he went about getting a date with Jessica Alba. “We met each other last year, we were at a photo shoot. It was really great,” he said. “So when it came to the Met, I was like, ‘You know what? I’m going to ask Jessica.’ We’d seen each other a couple more times, and when it came to this event, I thought, ‘Well, Jessica would be the perfect muse.’ She’s really down to earth. These things can be daunting at times.”

Hey! There was Cheryl Tiegs, wearing a blue sequined, actually floor-grazing vintage Norman Norrell. “When I was starting out, nobody really knew who models were or what they were doing or whatever; they certainly didn’t know my name,” she said. “Today, I think girls are much more recognizable, and that puts more pressure on them. They get more money, it’s a bigger production. But there is no right or wrong, good or bad. When I started out, it was simpler.”

Nonetheless: “It was a thrill,” Ms. Tiegs sighed. “I love my Vogue covers. They’re some of my favorites.” 

Dominant fashion trends in evidence to this point included braids on the head—like those stacked on the noggin of Tyra Banks, resembling nothing so much as a shiny bird’s nest—and jumpsuits, like the ones encasing Jimmy Choo founder Tamara Mellon (Halston), model and Andy Roddick better-half Brooklyn Decker (Derek Lam) and Stella McCartney (her own).

British Rag & Bone designer Marcus Wainwright was squiring actress Lake Bell, wearing a tight black Rag & Bone pantsuit and side-leaning top hat, up the carpet. “It was her idea to wear a suit,” he said. “This is traditionally a very dress-oriented thing, and she was like, ‘Yeah, I want to wear a suit!’

“It’s quite an overwhelming evening; there’s a lot of people you read about a lot,” he continued. “I met Karl Lagerfeld last year, which was pretty fun. I said, ‘That’s a nice jacket,’ and he just goes”—Mr. Wainwright lowered his voice to a throaty whisper—“‘Chanel Homme.’ And that’s it. That was the end of our conversation.”

Tonight he would sit with countryman and Topshop chief Sir Philip Green, whom he’d never met, but who had presumably purchased a table at this very New York party to honor his new New York store. “It should be fun!” Mr. Wainwright said, almost giddy.

Suddenly, newlywed Gisele Bundchen appeared, toting Tom Brady and wearing Versace again. And even less of it than last year! A few blue sequins covered her torso, stopping short of her legs.

Donatella Versace appeared soon after to take responsibility for this. “Once you dress Gisele, what is left?” she said in her thick Italian accent.

An Olsen twin had taken the alternative route, appearing in what looked to be a white sheet, the kind children wear on Halloween (it was from the twins' label, the Row).

Actress Emmy Rossum tried to put in perspective what the famous people might be feeling at this chaotic moment: “A, why does it always rain, and B, don’t trip! If you trip, you just roll down, and down, and down …” She gestured at the long distance from whence she’d come from her Town Car.

Then it was actress Diane Kruger (arriving with boyfriend Pacey, er, Joshua Jackson), in a white, wedding-cake-looking Chanel—“It was a one-time wonder, it fit perfectly without having to do anything to it! But I did my own makeup, so it took me a little longer to get ready than usual, maybe an hour and a half,” she said.

Socialite Fabiola Beracasa was also in Chanel Couture, but longer and more ornate; she’d flown to Paris to pick it out. “It’s ridiculous,” she’d told The Observer before the event. “I’m so happy with my dress, and I think it’s beautiful, and it’s so fun just to go. I could be sitting in the bathroom and it’s cool. Actually, the bathroom is where it all happens, to be honest! The bathroom is where everybody goes to smoke, and you run into, like—I have run into everybody from J. Lo to Jessica Simpson in that bathroom. I remember really distinctly Jessica Simpson in that Roberto Cavalli dress that was beaded and down to there, and up close it was a lot to take in. …”

Late-night talk show host Jimmy Fallon, meanwhile, was gamely working the carpet nearby with wife Nancy Juvonen. “This is like a normal night out for us, this is not a big deal!” he shrieked. “This is like, I mean, to us this is not a big deal. We always have a red carpet, we always wear tuxedos and designer dresses …”

“It’s actually really fun,” piped in Nancy, more seriously.

“It’s a really good party inside,” agreed Mr. Fallon. “There’s always a surprise musical thing, a Broadway show or something fun. … Anytime I can legally drink in a museum, I always agree to the invitation!”

Almost two hours after Mr. Jacobs and Ms. Moss had arrived, a shout rose from the paparazzi. It grew to hysteria. Vamping on the almost-deserted steps below were Madonna and Jesus (Luz, her boyfriend). The Material Girl wore Louis Vuitton, short and puffy, with leather boots encasing her thighs and two antennalike blue feathers sprouting from her head. Jesus appeared to be the shy type: She yanked him toward the photographers and wrapped her arms around him seductively, while he offered a tentative wave.

The duo encountered the Seinfelds, still making their way up the carpet. Madge dragged Jessica over to the photographers; Jerry stood in the middle of the carpet in glasses, hands folded awkwardly, looking bewildered, not appearing to exchange words with Jesus.

And then the famous carpet went quiet.

Inside, guests were treated to a surprise performance by Kanye West and Rihanna, who wore a Dolce & Gabbana pantsuit.

(The bathrooms, as predicted, were stuffed throughout dinner by nicotine-addled partygoers: One guest reported seeing Josh Hartnett and John Galliano in the ladies’ room puffing away with a clutch of models—“because nobody eats!”)

Most attendees then retired to Mr. Jacobs’ aforementioned party at the Monkey Bar, and then to late-night fetes hosted by Ms. Missoni (1Oak) or the Rodarte designers (SubMercer), or to Bungalow 8.

One spy reported that earlier, leaving the Met, she’d witnessed an “icy” encounter between two of the evening’s more recognizable models: Ms. Bundchen and Bar Refaeli, the Sports Illustrated cover girl and current flame of Ms. Bundchen’s ex, Leonardo DiCaprio. “They both looked away when they walked right next to each other. Then, “literally, I swear, Bar checked her out a thousand times up and down.”

mbryan@observer.com

And Fashion Week, necessarily about seeing and being seen, was still delivering. At Ms. von Furstenberg’s show, Diane Sawyer and Charlie Rose, both dressed in two-piece black-and-white suits, seemed amused by the commotion. Two seats away, Diana Ross’ big hair was being lit up by the dozen or so camera flashes. Ms. Furstenberg’s husband, IAC chairman Barry Diller, strolled in and gave Ms. Ross a hug and Ms. Sawyer a kiss on the forehead, and waved at model Natalia Vodianova’s two flaxen-haired children seated directly across from him. Meanwhile, French Vogue editor Carine Roitfeld, stylist Rachel Zoe, actress Julia Stiles and model Heidi Klum were still filtering in and doing rounds of mandatory hellos. It was just like old times!

It’s likely that everyone was breathing a collective sigh of relief; after all, the prognosis had been grim in the days and months leading up to this edition of Fashion Week. The fashion dailies and blogs assured us that the shows would be subdued. Celebrities wouldn’t come. The clothing would be basic, safe, boring. (And McDonald’s coffee would be served in the tents! What a comedown!)

Instead, as Ms. von Furstenberg’s was, many of the designs sent down the runway were imaginative, colorful, precise and inspired. It’s true that the celebrity factor was downscaled. But the ones who came were, for a change, actual fans of the designers they came to support—not C-listers on the prowl for free press (or shwag—the number of gifting suites and gift bags stuffed with hair products and nail files was noticeably down). Not to mention that those McDonald’s lattes and cappuccinos that the Transom spotted Vogue’s Hamish Bowles standing in line for on Monday morning were surprisingly tasty!

On Thursday, Feb. 12, the day before the tents at Bryant Park officially opened, Bergdorf Goodman fashion director Linda Fargo was already feeling giddy as she skimmed her color-coded, plastic-sleeve-encased fashion week schedule. 

“Already today, we’ve snagged—well, I’m not going to tell you who or what—but we’ve already snagged someone very, very young, someone we’re very excited about,” she told the Transom at a private dinner thrown by Fashion Week Daily at La Goulue.

The youth were back! The young designers, whom everyone had predicted would be the first to flop, have exceeded expectations; they ignored advice to go “simple” and instead went with their gut—the economy be damned.

Jason Wu, the 26-year-old designer whose profile exploded after Michelle Obama wore his one-shouldered white dress to the inaugural balls, was one of the first to impress with his floor-sweeping midnight blue and ivory chiffon gowns on Friday, Feb. 13. (Rumor had it that Anna Wintour displayed a slight yet distinct smile in the front row.) The Egyptian-inspired jewelry was designed by CFDA accessory design winner Philip Crangi.

“It’s got this feeling of exuberance and glamour, but with a dark edge to it,” said Mr. Crangi of the heavy sun-ray necklaces. “And in scale, we wanted to make things bigger.”

After the first round of shows that day, Roberto Cavalli hosted a party at his Madison Avenue store for the release of Fighters and Flowers, a fashion photography book that he collaborated on with Vanity Fair fashion and style director Michael Roberts.

“Fashion is fashion,” Mr. Roberts told the Transom. “If there’s a slight tremor of a recession, it’s secondary because what’s most important to fashion people is the fashion world.”

Nearby, Vogue creative director Grace Coddington, who had just arrived from the Rag & Bone show, was talking about cats with Mr. Cavalli—they both own several.

“Fashion people live in a fantasy anyway,” said Ms. Coddington. “A new season is always refreshing so everyone is inherently going to be very optimistic. The shows are the fodder that I will feed off for the next six months. It doesn’t even matter if they’re good or bad. It’s a whole restart, begin, re-look.”

A few days later, on Monday, Feb. 16, A-list editors—Ms. Wintour, Harper’s Bazaar’s Glenda Bailey, Elle’s Robbie Myers and Marie Claire’s Joanna Coles and Nina Garcia—and White House social secretary Desiree Rogers watched hungrily as Carolina Herrera sent out rich fabrics, lace and corset gowns.

“I think fashion this season is an expression of personal vision rather than trying to fit into an idea of what’s going to sell at retail because obviously that model is falling apart,” said Elle’s Anne Slowey from the front row. “And that’s a great place to be in.”

She added: “I can’t help but remember what it was like when I moved here, in the early ’80s, and no one had any money. We were making outfits out of flower pots and garbage bins to go out to Area at night, but you saw some of the most expressive, wonderful things on the streets. They went for it, and I’m a big advocate of that—the crazier, the better.”

On Valentine’s Day, socialite favorite Elise Overland showed a presentation called Shimmer in which the models wore gold Alexander Calder jewelry and crowns. (Despite being the ultimate counter-recession accessory, crowns seemed to be a theme; at Mr. Wu’s show, models wore playful, tiaralike headpieces.)

“Crowns can look very majestic and tribal,” Ms. Overland told the Transom. “It’s more an attitude than a look. It’s badass and that’s how I wanted these girls to be—the sophisticated rock ’n’ roll badass, princesses.” (Now there’s a look for the gloomy days ahead!)

Mr. Overland’s collection also featured lamé-colored lambskin in shades of emerald, turquoise and gold—hardly the understated palette of a somber fall collection.

“I always think, ‘What would be my black that is not black?’ Right now, I think of green as a black,” she said. “I kind of went the other way of everything going on—I have glamour and craziness and that indulgence in fabrics and shimmer and glimmer.”

Ms. Overland’s presentation was more of a party than a formal showing of a collection. The models laughed, posed and danced while standing on an elevated white platform as guests, sipping sugary cocktails, socialized.

“I don’t think anyone here is concerned right now, right at this moment, about job losses,” said habitual partygoer and jewelry designer Waris Ahluwalia, who arrived with girlfriend Chiara Clemente and socialite Arden Wohl.

“I love economic crises,” he continued. “Well, no, wait, that’s not what I mean! I can already see The Observer headline: ‘Waris Loves an Economic Crisis.’ It is horrible, I understand that, of course. But when I say it’s fantastic, I mean for creativity. It’s a fantastic time for art.”

Nearby, socialite Fabiola Beracasa, who had attended Alexander Wang’s much discussed show earlier that day, was chatting with Ms. Overland. (Mr. Wang’s show at Roseland Ballroom on Saturday had pre-show tequila cocktails for the guests and takeout from Hooters backstage; Sarah Jessica Parker sat next to Ms. Wintour in the front row.)

“Alex Wang was amazing. It was a party, but also a show and with tequila!” said Ms. Beracasa. “Fashion is always going to be around, and people will always have to wear clothes. So let’s be honest about it. It’s a viable business and all of us somehow live off of it. It’s more than just fun.”

ialeksander@observer.com

Ms. Overland had warned us that it wasn't going to be a typical presentation.

"I hate to say that my show is a presentation because that has such a feeling of stagnant models standing on boxes. It’s more of an event," she told us at the Fashion Week Daily dinner, two days prior to her show. "It will be three mini shows and the lights and the music will keep changing, so it will be a whole experience. And of course, a full open bar."

Some of the models were wearing crowns and oversized necklaces by the late artist Alexander Calder, which had been supplied by his grandson Alexander Rower. 

"We literally got the jewelry like 10 minutes ago and tried to figure out who’s going to wear the crowns and who’s not," said Ms. Overland.

This was not the first time the Daily Transom had seen crowns on the runway; Jason Wu had sent out models in crown-like hair pieces the previous day for his fall collection.

"I love crowns because if it’s the right collection, it looks very majestic and tribal," said Ms. Overland. "It gives more of an attitude. It’s sort of bad-ass and that’s how I wanted these girls to be. The sophisticated rock & roll badass, princesses."

Since Ms. Overland combined the elements of a runway and presentation for her fall '09 collection, we wondered which style of Fashion Week shows some of her guests preferred. The presentation in which you can come and go as you please, have a cocktail, and socialize? Or the carefully orchestrated runway show that requires everyone to remain in their seats for at least the 15 minutes it takes to show the clothes?

"I actually really love shows," said jewelry designer Waris Ahluwalia. "The high energy, the ceremonious peeling off of the plastic off the runway. I love moments--the lights going up, and the music going really loud. All that."

Meanwhile, Fabiola Beracasa, who had just attended the much-talked about Alexander Wang show earlier that day, was torn. (Mr. Wang's show at Roseland Ballroom on Saturday had pre-show tequila cocktails for the guests and take-out from Hooters backstage; Sarah Jessica Parker sat in the front row.)

"It was amazing. His collections are just getting better and better, and more wearable," she said. "I prefer presentations because of the music and the fun of it and the vibe. But today, Alex Wang was just amazing. It was a party, but also a show with like a DJ and tequila!"

But since Ms. Ronson, a successful designer, and Ms. Beracasa, creative director of the jewelry company Circa, have in fact taken steps to establish their domestic independence, they seem to contradict the magazine's argument that this sort of thing is on the rise. Instead the two ladies may be examples of trends more having to do with who they are--nouveau socialites--than their age group. 

Old money families in New York tend to follow the Old World order of things--prestigious schooling, followed by coming out balls, followed by dedicated charity work, followed by marriage to a hedge fund manager or an investment banker. The first residence for which a real twentysomething socialite will likely leave her parents' home may very well be her (first) husband's, typically a few Upper East Side blocks away.

After all, if they did choose to move out in their early twenties, their parents would likely be paying the rent anyway, since these young women used to not have careers or incomes of their own. But today, young society women like Ms. Beracasa and Ms. Ronson pursue hobby-like careers (and incomes)--Lydia Hearst models, Zani Gugelmann makes jewelry, Dylan Lauren does candy, Arden Wohl is a filmmaker, and list goes on. And then there's Olivia Palermo, who as a (rejected) newcomer on the high society scene seemed to understand all of this better than anyone.

A few months ago, Ms. Palermo moved out of her parents' home into a Tribeca apartment, gave a tour of the place to Page Six Magazine, hired PR representation, announced she'd like to be an actress, and landed a role (playing herself) on The City. 

“I don’t have to work—my parents have always supported me in everything I’ve wanted to do—but I want to," she said. "I want to be an actress and a brand, and then I want to do some producing.”

Among young socialites, Ms. Palermo's route is becoming an all the more common one. And Ms. Ronson's or Ms. Beracasa's leaving the comfort of their family's homes is simply a nod to their income-producing careers. 

Mr. Daldry's film is an adaptation of German writer Bernhard Schlink's bestselling novel starring Kate Winslet, Ralph Fiennes, and 18-year-old David Kross. The story focuses on an underage boy's brief affair with an older woman, who he re-encounters years later when she is tried for crimes committed while serving as an SS guard during WWII.

The Transom does not cry, but we noticed that a significant portion of the audience had, in fact, been moved to tears by the film's end. Post-catharsis, the small crowd moved upstairs to dinner, where Ms. Geahan encouraged attendees to "get literary with a little bit of glamour" (a new motto, perhaps?).

We quickly noticed Harvey Weinstein, who was making the rounds in between Blackberry dispatches. "Aren't there smart people you can talk to? I'm going to take you over to someone smarter," he said, leading us across the bar.

We suggested that he might also be smart.

"I'm not smart."

Rather than debate that point, we asked him how he had enjoyed the screening.

"It's my movie. I'm buying it. I love it," he said, depositing us next to Mr. Daldry, the director.

We asked Mr. Daldry how he felt the screening had gone.

"Good. We've only just finished the film, so it's a whole new experience... We're just showing it for the first time so, it's very interesting hearing peoples' reactions to it."

We wondered if he'd noticed all the crying, which seemed to indicate a pretty strong reaction.

"Well, good, I would say! I never know what to expect when people watch the stuff I make, so I'm always really interested to see whether it has an emotional relationship to other people or whether it's just me. Particularly a complicated, ambiguous story full of moral questioning that's hard to fathom. It's not a regular movie--it's a very strange story. It's just such a strange character."

We also asked him what he made of the potential Winslet vs. Winslet Oscar battle (she is also starring in the upcoming Sam Mendes-helmed Revolutionary Road).

"I hope that doesn't happen, but who knows. I mean, Kate's a wonderful actress. I think she's great in this, and she's great to work with. Awards are, you know...Awards are awards. You have to take them with a little pinch of salt."

Also present was the writer Francine Prose, who told us she had "enormous respect for them for doing this film at a point in history when Americans seem to want films about vampires, so it seemed courageous to be doing this now."

Later, Ms. Geahan thanked Mr. Weinstein (who eventually got up to take a call and never returned) for "making films I want to watch."

"He was the one who actually handed me The Reader," she explained. "He said, ‘You haven't read this?' and I read it and thought, ‘How have I not read this?' Literature, charity, morality, that's what we're all about, my nonprofit. But above that, I have to thank the beauty that we have in all of us today. We have so many great writers and authors and people who really believe in literature."

Included in that group were social people Fabiola Baracasa, who was proud she had called the film's final twist (we had not), and Emma Snowden-Jones, who, we learned, maintains a poetry collection on her Blackberry.