We have no way of knowing if a so-called "2000 Club" actually existed, but it doesn't really matter. That party Andy was talking about? The Observer went to it last night.

Well, we can't say we got an exact count on the bottles of bubbly, but there was certainly enough that the neck-tied men keep the stuff flowing from the moment we arrived on. Putting a cap on this year's Fashion Week, Dom Perignon hosted the wild affair at Villa Pacri, the five-story Italian chateau in the Meatpacking District.

The abundance of good champagne wasn't the only influence Warhol had on the event. The planners had meticulously placed Brillo Cream boxes and Campbell's Soup cans all over the villa. Even Dom Perignon got into the pop art game: Warhol-ized bottles were placed around the rooms, although attendees seemed far more interested in actually utilizing the Dom than appreciating it as art.

We saw a man escorting in Courtney Love, who had cleaned up her act a bit since her set at Don Hill's last Saturday. Vanity Fair photographer Todd Eberle bounced around the room, camera in hand. And as Guy Trebay at The Times knows, Russell Simmons is "guaranteed to attend your party if you promise him a free potato chip." So of course he was in attendance as well. Lucky for our friend Russell, the snacks at Villa Pacri were of a slightly higher grade: we sampled gooey mozzerella balls and green olive with melted pecorino cheese.

The 2000 Club was right about one thing: it turned out 2000 bottles was just barely enough champagne to numb the body and mind after ten long days of Fashion Week. Next year, though, we might need more. 2011 bottles, perhaps?

Diane von Furstenberg's studio sits in a blocky warehouse that lies in the shadow of the Standard Hotel. The main floor has some Diane-designed looks in its windows. Facades of silver and glass jut together to form a grand sleek staircase. Also, an oversized disco ball rests somewhat ominously on the floor. Even if you can't get invited inside, it's all over MTV's The City. We don't watch or anything, but apparently it's prominently featured.

We got ushered in to that bastion of high fashion to fête the launch of the heavy and expensive book. The bar was serving sweet tea and vodka, an odd choice of cocktail that we last encountered at the Kirna Zabete party on Fashion's Night Out. Trend alert!

Ms. von Furstenberg herself made an appearance at the party, fresh off her extended romp around the runway. Her tan pants were done up with impressionistic splatters, and on her wrist she wore a gold chain bracelet. 

"Did you like it?" she asked us about the show she presented last Sunday at Lincoln Center. We told her that we enjoyed it very much. 

Then we got to talking about Fashion Week in general, and how it would soon come to an end.

"New York has become very dynamic, and I'm very happy," she said.

The group of mostly young, mainly blonde and all-thin women gathered in the Hindmarch showroom.  Lured by the promise of a free bag whether they participated in the hunt or not, the ladies drank champagne and had their nails done as they waited nervously to see what their tasks would be.  Hindmarch had provided her patrons with special sneakers just for the occasion, knowing that the cobblestone streets of the meatpacking district are the natural enemy of the spike-heeled set.  

Kate Shelter, a photographer, wearing Daisy Duke leather hotpants and six-inch heels, gratefully took the proffered flats. The hosts of the event, Tarajia Morrell and Chessy Wilson knew the format of the event in advance and dressed accordingly in flats and cowboy boots.

There were a few quiet moans of, "Do we have to do this?" before the group split into teams and was given a list of assignments to complete. Some of the "challenges" were seemingly easy to complete, like getting a parking pass (100 points), and some were clearly going to be a little harder, such as "Have sex with a bartender after getting a free shot poured in your mouth (2000 points)."  

Setting off like a gaggle of sorority girls on rush week, The Observer accompanied a leggy blonde who worked in real estate called Josselyn who fell at the first hurdle trying to borrow a bra from the bartenders at Hogs and Heifers. "We'll swap you one of ours for one of yours," she pleaded.  The bartenders refused on the grounds that the bras were really only "decoration" and couldn't be removed.   "We'll pinky swear that no other team will get it," promised the toned-looking brunette bartender wearing what looked like a Superman-print bikini top.

Better luck at the Standard Hotel, where the concierge helpfully printed off Tom Cruise's signature, "famous autograph" (100 points) and agreed to pose with a photo proclaiming, "I love handbags" (100 points).  Josselyn ran into the rest of her teammates who were photographing each other doing handstands with no underwear (1000).

Before heading to the Score strip club on what could've easily been described as a suicide mission to try and persuade the strippers to lend the socialites their delicates, time ran out and it was back to the showroom.

Points were swiftly counted and Anya Hindmarch's team won the prize of the night, a gift certificate to the Standard. The only thing the guests were really concerned about was what was going to happen to all the photographic evidence.

Once the show began, models in swaths of tanned leather, frills and oversized bullhorn belt buckles trotted underneath the chandeliers. The entire show seemed hyper-conscious of its Western feel, especially as the shiny twang of Bob Dylan's "Everything is Broken" flooded the space with a sense of American nostalgia. 

We caught up with Mr. Lauren immediately following his glad-handing of the audience, and found him dressed in a tucked-in button-up, gold-brown leather pants and boots, and an outlaw-style necktie. "I feel strong about the American roots," Mr. Lauren told The Observer, before rushing back to his family and friends. 

On our way out we ran into André Leon Talley, who had by now ditched the overcoat in favor of a three-piece number. Again, he recognized us.

"Oh, you're the blogger," he said, dragging out the word like it was a trend that went out, like, a whole season ago. 

Mrs. Lauren walked up to us. "Oh, hi-eeee!" Andre exclaimed upon seeing Ralph's wife, Ricky. She was dressed head to toe in her husband's most recent collection. "Everything that looks like you was perfect!" Mr. Talley said to her, pecking her on the cheek. "Everything that looks like you was perfect. Perfect! Perfect!"

"Oh, thank you, thank you," Mrs. Lauren said.

"It was beautiful — beautiful," Mr. Talley told her again. "You look lovely. Fringe is one of my favorite things!"

André turned back to us. 

"I love Ralph Lauren because Ralph Lauren is a quintessential master of American elegance," he said to us. "It's an attitude of dressing. And this season it's about the fringe, and about being in the wild, wild, West without being a cowgirl."

With that, Mr. Talley walked outside, where two of Mr. Lauren's very svelte models were smoking cigarettes surrounded by an army of cameras. 

But we were most taken by an shirt that one of the Odd Molly models changed into after the show. And we weren't taken with it because it was expensive, or daring, or made by a famous designer. Rather, we liked it because it was none of these things (It's been a long week, OK?). Instead, her top won us over because it was dirt cheap, ultra tacky, stupid and, in the end, wonderful: a t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "NEW YORK FUCKIN CITY."

We recognized Ruby-Jean Wilson from across the plaza after spotting the distinctive pink streak in her hair — a trademark of the show we had just come out of. It didn't hurt that a mob of photographers hovered around her as she sauntered toward the street, fumbling with her lighter and pack of cigarettes. Nothing out of the ordinary there — you can't walk anywhere near the tents without bumping into a model with an entourage. But what caught our eye was that t-shirt, a shirt that rises to a giddy level of kitsch that we haven't experienced in what seems like months, even if it's only been 8 days.

"I got it from a tourist shop!" the Scottish-English model told The Observer, having finally fended off the horde of snap-happy cameramen. "In Times Square, somewhere. And then I cut it!"

She had cut it — it plunged down her neck way, way farther than these shirts usually do. (Thank God this sort of a cut is rare, as these types of shirts are usually worn by people with far less flattering figures than Ms. Wilson's.)

We told her how much we liked the look! Why, you ask? Because after a week of pricy parties for clothes you'd have to mortgage your house for, it was great to see a model rocking something so unabashedly trashy and dumb without even the faintest twinge of irony. 

Again, please forgive us for this. It's been a very, very long week, and this shirt brought us back to the reality of clothes that actual people wear. Well, actual tourists, that is.

Wait, a Lennon performing with his lover? Something about that sounds familiar...

"Yeah!" Sean Lennon told The Observer when we asked whether his musical relationship with the Charlotte, a model, parallels that of John and Yoko. "I'm a man and she's a woman, and there are not many couples that had bands. I guess it's The Mamas & the Papas, Sonny and Cher, uh — who else? Well, Blondie was a couple. So I guess we are like other bands that are couples, in that we're a couple." Charlotte stood by packing up some cords and gear from the stage, letting her reddish hair topple over the front of her face. 

The duo, which will release an album under the cumbersome moniker The Ghost of a Saber Toothed Tiger, has a sound that's both jaunty and folky, with Sean and Charlotte trading vocals, often in the same song. When the show began, it became clear as to why the band was chosen to soundtrack this particular show: Charlotte's cooing voice warbled over French-tinged accordion, an instrument that matched up perfectly with the old-Paris bohemian gypsy feel of the collection. The models also had red and pink streaks in their hair.

When the next song ended up being a poppy number with Lennon on the vocals, it was hard not to hear the influence of his father's band — especially when we saw Sean up close and did a double-take because of his resemblance to John. Lennon, however, maintains that the project is very different from that immortal sound his father created. 

"I dont think musically it's really the same because my mother and father didn't write songs together, and we write songs together. And our music style is slightly different, probably."

"His whole thing is lifestyle and he really wants the brand to reflect, as it does, his lifestyle and his friends' lifestyle," Jim Moore, the creative director of GQ, told The Observer. Mr. Moore was talking about Rocawear's spring line. He was standing in a room across the hall from the music, where 25 mannequins were arranged on a stage to display the clothes. "That's the main point that he wants to get across," he continued. "These clothes are really near and dear to him. He's a suit man, but he loves the casual on the weekend."

Most of the mannequins were dressed in some variation of blue jeans and an open button-down layered over a T-shirt. One outfit included a camouflage pullover; another gold lamé. "Sometimes I think it's easier to go to fashion shows in Europe because you're just there to do it," Mr. Moore continued. "And here we have so many assignments going on." He said Jay-Z was finishing up dinner next door. Mr. Moore was planning to leave the party early to supervise a late-night photo shoot for the magazine.

RELATED > Our Top 10 Fashion Week Moments Thusfar 

In the hallway between the two rooms, a pair of waiters in matching vests and ties marched back and forth, shuttling empty champagne flutes. Men in dark suits with gelled hair and ear pieces poked their heads into both rooms and paced between the entrances. Two tall girls in black rompers primped each other and asked the GQ house photographer to take their photo. Another tall girl walked over to a GQ publicist and asked, "Who am I handing celebrities off to?"

Adrian Grenier arrived carrying a camera and began chatting with reporters. A squat man stood at his side punching on a BlackBerry. A publicist? No! A reporter for The Wall Street Journal. They were working on a story together.

Jay-Z was close behind and everyone holding a camera, including Mr. Grenier, rushed towards him.

Mr. Grenier took pictures of Jay-Z, and the other photographers took pictures of that. Then Mr. Grenier turned the camera around and, with outstretched arms, took a picture of himself with Jay-Z. The other photographers took pictures of that, too.

"What you got there, a little hobby or something?" Jay-Z asked Mr. Grenier. Mr. Grenier smiled big. "You have a great night, man," the rapper added.

"You too" said Mr. Grenier. "Good Luck. I know you don't need it. Confidence! You've got it."

Jay-Z looked at him through his sunglasses. "I was going to say the same thing to you," he said. He turned away and strolled into the room with the mannequins.

A photographer anxiously asked him to stand in front of the display. "Don't move me around, big man," Jay-Z said quietly, his hands in the pockets of a black Dior suit. "I like to do it naturally." He leaned against a bar at the front of the room.

"I missed the whole thing, to be honest with you," Jay-Z told The Observer. We were talking about Fashion Week. "I don't want to, uhh, be over here under false pretense." His voice sounded fragile, and he scratched at his shoulder through his white, open-collar shirt. For the last two nights he was performing at Yankee Stadium around this hour.

He started talking about the clothes. "We were known for one thing," he said. "You know the whole thing of what people call urban fashion, which I think is a dirty word these days, but you know whatever." He recalled a time when the Rocawear brand name appeared in large letters on all of its shirts.

"Now my Dior suit don't have a big D on it," he added.

"People listen to all different sorts of music. People are inspired by all different walks of life and culture. It just is what it is. For people to try to put it in these segments, I don't think that's fair," he said. "Like people saying I couldn't play Glastonbury all over again. It's back to that again, you know what I'm saying. Or rap can't play Yankee Stadium. If we subscribe to the notion that people put in our mind, you know, 'Why is it that Rocawear can do an event with GQ?' — quote  unquote, like, this urban brand."

The Observer asked if he wanted Rocawear to start making suits.

Jay-Z paused to think. "I don't know. I don't know. Maybe," he said. "It's like that Kanye line: 'Dressed smart like a London bloke, before he speak his suit bespoke.'"

He said he was glad that his rap colleagues were showing interest in high fashion instead of basketball jerseys. "Sometimes when you turn the faucet on and it overflows onto your floor you should turn it off," he said. He laughed deeply. "It's like common sense. The water! It's getting on my fuckin' floor!"

Were those patent-leather boat shoes he had on?

"Yeah! Well, they're not boat shoes, but they're like more rounded," he said. "They're kind of like suede in the front. Bottega! Bottega!"

His shoes had shiny black trim and braided leather laces. What did it feel like to wear shoes such as these, we wondered.

"They're very..." Jay-Z removed one of his shoes and bent the sole to show us how flexible it was. He was wearing dark socks covered in tiny paislies. "Would you like to try them on?" he asked The Observer.  "What size you wear?" Eleven and a half. "Alright, well you're not going to bust these open," he said and slipped the loafer back onto his foot.

He turned to take a few questions from a New York Post Page Six reporter. "I put my jeans, after I take them off, back in the closet," he said. "I'm telling you, I'm not even joking. I think we make the best jeans period. I think it's comparable to any American brand." A reporter for Women's Wear Daily asked if Jay-Z thought Rocawear would be like Levi Strauss in 150 years. "I hope so," he said. "That's the goal. Hopefully, you know."

Enough questions, right? "Yeah, it's going down now," he told The Observer on his way out of the room. "Champagne hour." But first a toast!

Jameel Spencer, the chief marketing officer of Rocawear, grabbed a microphone and spoke over the room. It was full of people by now. "We're not selling clothes, we're selling a lifestyle," he said. Everyone eyed the mannequins.

"Sell that shit!" Jay-Z yelled.

Mr. Spencer asked everyone to raise a glass. Everyone did, except for Jay-Z. He didn't have one, and he looked around sheepishly. A woman standing next to him handed hers over, and then everyone drank.

Jay-Z put his glass down and made some small talk with a female friend before leaving the room. "I like your hair," he said. "It's like baby hair."

He made his way across the hall towards the music. Kanye West was waiting for him on a couch facing a circular stage in the center of the room. Mr. West was wearing a black suit with a black bow tie and sunglasses. Jay-Z poured himself a glass of champagne from a bottle on the table and sat down at his side.

Once the room was filled, the roof above the stage slid back to reveal the night sky. Trey Songz, a young rapper who used to open for Jay-Z on tour, took the stage.

"Ten years ago, a single was a dream for me. Jay-Z was on the cover with a Rocawear jean jacket that was like a 4x," Mr. Songz said, turning to face Mr. West and Jay-Z's table. It was unclear which cover he was talking about. "It was definitely a 4x. I say that to say that we've all come a long way tonight. Let's do it." His band started to play.

The first song in his set was slow. The second song in his set, "Say ahh," was faster.

"Go girl, it's your birthday. Open wide, I know you're thirsty," he sang. "Say aah. Say aah."

When he was finished with the song's lyrics, Mr. Songz told his band to keep the beat going.  He turned again to the table where Mr. West and Jay-Z were sitting. "Let me see that bottle of Ace," he said. He reached over and grabbed a magnum of champagne.

Mr. Songz carried the bottle across the stage to a busty blonde girl in a black blouse. "Your glass looks empty," he said into the microphone, looking down at her. "Here, give me that." He reached down to take her glass and placed it to the side. His drummer was still playing.

"If you stand in the front, you're gonna be part of the show," Mr. Songz said. "Say ahh." Mr. Songz bent over and the girl stuck out her tongue so he could pour champagne into her mouth. He tipped the bottle for three seconds, and some champagne dribbled down her chin. She grabbed her throat and looked up in surprise. There was a round of applause.

Mr. Songz launched into his final number, "Bottoms up." "Throw ya hands up," he sang. "Tell security we about to tear this club up. Bottoms up, bottoms up."

zturner@observer.com / @zekeft

RELATED > Our Top 10 Fashion Week Moments Thusfar 

After the show, we caught up with Ms. Mortimer, whom we hadn't seen all summer. "I was in Southampton, actually, for the most part," she said, introducing The Observer to Mr. Mazza. "This is Brian -- he works at Dune in the summer, and so we were out every weekend."

Ms. Mortimer wore a G-Star vest to the show; and if you're wondering what you might be seeing her in next season, she told us she was especially impressed with a "little leather dress that was really cute, a light color, beige color, and then there was a little skirt-and-vest number that was white." Now you know!

Mr. Johnson-Calderon said he had just been to a Brooks Brothers party for True Prep, the new sequel to The Official Preppy Handbook you may remember from your days at Choate. "At the True Prep party, a lot of the old people that were there, like, my friends' parents, were like, 'What? Who is this person?!'" Mr. Johnson-Calderon said. "And everybody else was like, 'You look rad!'"

"But my close friends were like, 'Get that nail polish off, you look like you're from Milwaukee,'" Mr. Johnson-Calderon continued. "I'm like, 'I'm from California. That's very different.'"

But to get back to that bow tie -- it was an awfully cute one, in a distinctive toile pattern that looked just the tiniest bit familiar. Paul, who makes the tie?

"I make this bow tie," Mr. Johnson-Calderon said. "The line is called Mauvais Garçon, which is 'bad boy' in French, and they're the original curtains from the Beatrice Inn. So this is the Beatrice tie."

Wait, wait, wait. The original curtains? How did he -- how can we put this delicately -- acquire them? (Does the name of the line provide a clue, perhaps?)

"Ages ago, before it closed, I got them, and I had them up in my apartment because they're beautiful toile curtains," he said. "But then I was like, 'How do I make this something for everyone, you know?' Not for everyone, but for the people that used to go to Beatrice, it's a little piece of history."

Very Sister Maria! "Thank you, yeah! I think my inspiration was Gone with the Wind," Mr. Johnson-Calderon said with a flourish. We're still unsure how he got the curtains.