Kanye is moving to the other side of the runway.

Kanye West is a usual fixture in the front row at New York Fashion Week, but this September he skipped the whole spectacle, leaving a void that had to be filled by the likes of Nicki Minaj.

But he wasn't betraying his couture cravings. Quite the opposite: he was hemming up the looks in his debut collection, a ready to wear womenswear line that was rumored to be debuting in Paris. When the date was confirmed for Saturday night at 9:30, more details stared streaming in. Kanye was working with British designer Katie Eary, Kanye was employing a battalion of fashion students in an enormous defunct London nightclub called Turnmills, Kanye was inspired by Samurai.

Could such things be true? We'll find out tomorrow night at 9:30 Paris time, when Mr. West is scheduled to bring the models out to the runway. The invitations went out today (check your mail!) and they reveal the location, which happens to be a public school, Lycee Henri IV on Rue Clotilde.

What, you didn't get the invite? We've posted it below, in case you need it. We wish you luck, 'Ye.

A collective gasp was heard when one guest fell as she was taking her seat. Don't worry, she was a nobody. And she was fine.

"Can evrheeyone please take zeir seats? Zee show is about to start," a disembodied french voice said over a loud speaker. The pit of photographers at the end of the runway were clamoring incomprehensibly even as the lights were dimmed.

An awkwardly loud musical rendition of Adele's hit "Rolling in the Deep" soon began to blare and the first models took to the catwalk.

The theme of the show was clearly somthing akin to safari chic, and self-consciously so. In the presentation catalog, the collection is described as the following: "NEW VOYAGER...MEMORIES OF AFRICA...THE RUSTIC MODERNISM OF THE LEBOMBO LODGE...CREAMY TONES OF IVORY, IMPALA AND ANTELOPE...AFRILUXE."

An impressive sixty-four looks of both men and womenswear were shown, with animal-prints dominant throughout. Ponchos, kaftans, and travel bags with faux-croc skin were included in many of the ensembles. Models sported messy hair with jungle-inspired tangles and wore little make-up.

Not everyone was a fan of the look, however. New York Times style critic (and recent recipient of Gaga's wrath) Cathy Horyn tweeted "Michael Kors: a festival or Braveheart without the tartan?" while her colleague Eric Wilson wrote that "the collection looked more like hillbillies on safari." Showing our claws, are we Mr. Wilson?

After the show, Mr. Kors walked the runway, waving to adoring fans and nobodies alike.

Scott Schuman, The Sartorialist

Fashion Week! It's here, so time to get rid of your summertime clothes and put together something more presentable. You could get your picture taken at any time. It's true! If you're on the street, you're fair game for the cameras.

Or as Anna Wintour put it in Bill Cunningham New York, "We all get dressed for Bill."

But the iconic Times shutterbug is far from the only cameraman with influence lurking around Lincoln Center. Our friends at The Cut have put together a lovely slideshow in which street-style mavens share their secrets and reveal what they look for in a picture. Want to catch a tastemaker's eye in the time it takes to cross the street? Pay attention, kids!

Scott Schuman, (The Sartorialist)

The people who want to play the game dress with more care, and the people who don’t – either because they don’t like the spotlight or just because they feel like it’s not their game to play – maybe tend to lay a little lower than they might usually.

Jason Jean (Citizen Couture)

There’s a list of editors/stylists/models that I look for, but to name a few: Kate Lanphear, Taylor Tomasi Hill, Joanna Hillman, Shala Monroque, and Frida Gustavsson.

Not them? Out of luck!

Garance Doré (French street-style blogger/photographer)

Attitude and personality. And I love a good hat.

And Phil Oh, of Streetpeeper, who do you want to shoot?

The new batch of young editors, stylists, and bloggers who show up for their first fashion weeks.

Well, we know some new and not-so-new "bloggers" who might interest you as they trot past the Lincoln Center fountain, Phil. What? Oh, no, we're not talking about ourselves. We're holding out for Bill.

Bergdorf Goodman's Linda Fargo, in frothy Vera Wang, lamented having to miss the two shows for the event. "I feel terribly guilty because I'm missing two shows tonight; Tahari and Proenza Schouler. I sent them all apologies ahead of time, and I tried to schedule getting into the showroom to make up for it." Ms. Fargo explained that she felt she deserved a break after a Fashion Week that averaged 12 destinations a day. Also, "they're our neighbors. Van Cleef is almost a part of Bergdorfs! And we don't get to treat our senses to this kind of thing very often. I know I will be very spoiled by this."

Wearing very sparkly diamond earrings, Piper Perabo looked much more like an Upper East Side socialite than the Coyote Ugly bartendress that made her famous. Currently shooting the sci-fi thriller, Looper, with Bruce Willis and Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ms. Perabo told The Observer she was excited for her scenes with Mr. Willis, which begin shooting next week.

Richard Meier coyly deferred answering whether he liked Frank Gehry's new residential tower in the Financial District, smiling shrewdly, "I haven't seen it." He also told The Observer that he designed a very architectural, gold necklace for his daughter for her recent nuptials.

Flashbulbs erupted and guests murmured in awe as Cate Blanchett ascended the steps of the former Carnegie Mansion in a jet-black taffeta Balenciaga column. Asked if she had chosen a dress for the next week's Academy Awards, where she will be a presenter, Ms. Blanchett said, "No, I haven't!" A glimmer in her eye. "I literally just flew in from Sydney."

Arriving at the event without a coat, Chelsea Clinton must have inured herself to the cold while visiting ski bum hubby Marc Mezvinsky in Jackson Hole. The couple continued to battle rumors that Mr. Mezvinsky's flight to Jackson Hole spelled the seven-month itch for the young couple, who posed arm in arm.

Former supermodel Carolyn Murphy arrived on the arm of designer du jour Jason Wu. The model, who recently relocated to New York City, told The Observer, "I'm working on a book for parents about bibliotherapy--storytelling."

Ms. Murphy assured The Observer that her 10-year-old is not allowed to have a cell phone and instead borrows her nanny's phone for texting.

Mr. Wu told The Observer he felt underdressed for the event. "I feel like I should be wearing some jewels!" Asked which jewel exhibited he would steal if given the chance, Mr. Wu beamed without skipping a beat, "I have the prettiest one," slipping his arm around Ms. Murphy's waist (which was about shoulder height for the diminutive designer).

Fiery fashionista Julie Macklowe lamented the 9 a.m. Yigal Azrouel show that morning. "Ugh, I was at the Buck Cherry last night, and then I had Yigal at the crack of dawn, and my kid, of course, standing on my bed at like 5 a.m.!"

Downtown jewelry designing darling Waris Ahluwalia also felt underdressed for the event, whose dress code designated "black tie and bejeweled."

"I didn't come bejeweled. I wore black tie, but no jewels. I thought about wearing some of my new pieces," said Mr. Ahluwalia, who had his debut Fashion Week presentation at the Museum of Art and Design the day before. "But I don't really wear my own jewelry."

When asked which piece from the exhibit she would swipe, society stalwart Muffie Potter Aston, didn't hesitate: "Marlene Dietrich's bracelet," lingering on the words like a heroine addict chasing a fix. "A big cuff from the '40s that's done as only those big '40s bracelets were done, with the big diamonds on top and the rubies--spectacular!" She also confided that she has thought about launching her own jewelry line now that her daughters had been accepted into kindergarten at Spence and assured The Observer, "I have been approached."

The black-tied-and-bejeweled guests were slowly ushered into Bronson van Wyck's silk dinner tent for the Jean-Georges Vongrichten five-course dinner.

Ms. Blanchett, the clear guest of honor, was seated at the central table next to Van Cleef & Arpel's chief, Nicholas Bos, and flanked by Jason Wu on her left. At a neighboring table, Mr. Meier's dinner partner was Ms. Aston. The nearly 1,000 guests listened attentively, spooning their Meyer lemon gelée and caviar while Smithsonian director Wayne Klough thanked the audience for joining him at the opening of the Van Cleef & Arpels exhibit. Smirks passed like a contagious pathogen around the room as Mr. Klough pronounced the French house's name "Arples," like Ms. Marple. Half of the guests filtered out before the Sparkling Key Lime pie arrived, streaming past the hanging mobiles of dyed feather butterflies suspended from the tent ceiling.

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

"I heard it was actually Matt Dillon, and they made a mistake," a woman with a notebook said to The Observer.

"I was backstage with Gwen and she says she's never even met Matt Damon," said another journalist.

Minutes passed without an arrival from either of the Matts but the cameras didn't budge.

"I've been here for forty minutes," one woman with heavy-looking videocamera said to The Observer.

We realized before others that there would be no Matt Dillon nor Matt Damon at the L.A.M.B. show. We escaped to chat with the twin sisters Jessica and Lisa Origliasso, better known as the teen-pop act The Veronicas. Favorite No Doubt songs?

"Don't Speak!" said Jessica.

"Just a Girl!" said Lisa.

"I also like Spiderwebs," said Jessica.

"I like Ex-Girlfriend" said Lisa.

"Yeah, Ex-Girlfriend," said Jessica.

We noticed that a placard for Debbie Harry was taped to the chair next to The Veronicas, and the sisters said they were excited to meet her (Debbie Harry didn't show).

What did everyone miss? Well, it was a bombastic and long show -- Zeppelin-soundtracked Vietnam combat frenzy, charmingly earnest use of "We Will Rock You," a cringe-worthy punk-rock type excursion set to The Sex Pistols, falling models, an obvious but fun Kinks-toned British Invasion scene, and then Gwen walked out with her son Kingston at the end. 

Unfortunately, The Observer may remember the show for its notable length. Because of all the delays, by the time we ran over to the Kim Crawford wine stand with another painfully sober writer they had stopped giving out free Sauvignon Blanc. Thus, it was time to go. See you in September, Lincoln Center tents!

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

"In my time of need," he said to the packed room that included Terry Richardson, Leelee Sobieski, and Yvan Mispelaere, creative director of Diane von Furstenberg, not to mention all the tatted cowpunks, "In my time of desperation, I turn to country music."

He played fairly traditional country for over an hour, the sound overwhelming the room, before declaring, "We've been known to put the 'dick' in Dixie and the 'cunt' in country." He then removed his cowboy hat, poured a bottle of water over his rat-tail and let it fall freely from his head. He put on a leather cap-the words "Copenhagen Stout" scribbled across it-and pulled out an electric guitar. This was the southern-fried punk portion of the evening.

At this point, Mr. Richardson and Ms. Sobieski, along with a considerable number of fashionistas, had left the room. Two stragglers dispensed the synthetic and, uh, stimulating contents of a plastic bag, quite visibly, onto a table in the back. They divided the pile up, then contemplated it for a moment before turning to The Observer suspiciously, realizing we were watching them and scribbling notes.

"I'm drunk again!" Mr. Williams sang on our way out. To hammer the contradictions of the evening home, outside we saw what looked like three homemade motorcycles, rigged up in a gritty military style that would have fit nicely in the backyard of a militia member. Next to them, a flashy red Vespa leaned against a thin tree.

By the time the designer and his crew had migrated to to Le Bain, however, the colors had drained -- the crowd, sandwiched together, wore mostly black and the bar was as dark-lit as it could be. As expected, Misshapes played New Wave standards. Leigh Lezark was wearing a Jeremy Scott skeleton dress. The designer danced behind the DJ booth. This would go on until 4:00 am.

But why was John Legend there? He seemed a tad out of place among the scrum of people dressed like 90s club kids. He was wearing a simple tan leather jacket and sipping a cocktail. He seemed apprehensive of the whole scene. It's no surprise that he had never been to Le Bain before.

"This is the first time -- I hadn't even heard of it before tonight," Legend said to The Observer. "It's cool. A lot of mohawks!"

We did a quick three-sixty. If the definition of "mohawk" was interpreted liberally than, yes, there were a lot of "mohawks." He also could have been referring to the designer's side-cropped coif, a thick block of curls resting on his skull.

John Legend told The Observer he missed much of the spree of runway shows and parties due to a scheduling conflict.

"I live in New York, but I'm always gone during Fashion Week because of the Grammys," Legend sighed.

Later, we remembered that Legend picked up three statues at the ceremony last Sunday.

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

... Kanye West might be there. Kanye is gonna be there. No -- Kanye is performing. What confetti machines? They’re going to blow dollar bills through confetti machines. No -- they’re gonna blow five thousand dollar bills through confetti machines. At the Mondrian. The Mondrian Soho? That place isn't even open yet. Just go to the hotel lounge, Mister H. No -- it's in the entire lobby of the Mondrian...

The invitation to Tuesday's VMan magazine party gave away nothing and everything: A Karl Lagerfeld-shot image of Kanye West, mouth open and in sunglasses, with cut-outs of hundred dollar bills pasted between his lips.

There was an address in Chinatown. There was a date and time.

We arrived at a conservative 11:03 -- the party started at 11:00 -- and the mob had surpassed a block's length. The Observer got whisked in and entered a fushia-hued space with the paint still drying in places, that led to two oblong appendages stocked with bars and, eventually, a massive plastic-chandelier disco club. In the Mondrian Soho's pre-natal state this is "The Garden." There was some shrubbery.

The Observer took a lot of smoke breaks. Outside, we encountered Lady Bunny in her usual skyscraper blonde bouffount. She was in good spirits.

"Who has a cigarette for an old BITCH," she exclaimed. We obliged.

Kanye West was standing on a raised wing with Harper's Bazaar creative director Stephen Gan, Keri Hilson floating around. He saw us and we bypassed his bodyguards to say hello. We shook Kanye West's hand. He was smiling.

"Are you going to perform?" we asked. That was the rumor.

"No questions," Kanye West said. "You can only make statements."

"This is a fun party," The Observer said.

"Yeah," Kanye West said.

"Well, great to see you," The Observer said.

"Nice tie," Kanye West said. He was pointing at The Observer's tie.

Then, confetti machines blasted $5,000 in one dollar bills into the air.

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

"I haven't had a nap," Mr. Ahluwalia sighed. "It's hard enough going to all the shows and parties. Whose bright idea was it for me to throw my own event?" He smiled and passed a bouquet of flowers to an assistant. "What's your name, son?" He asked us. He paused, then looked at us with a look that said, "Why did I just call you son?" and laughed. "Son? Sonny boy? I'm looking forward to a time," he ran his fingers through his beard, "When this is all white and I can call people 'sonny' and really mean it."

In a packed, hot room, guests moved through glass cases of Mr. Ahluwalia's jewelry. The pieces-beautiful and dramatic-looked like miniature sculptures as much as something to wear around your neck. Models stood by the windows, stripped to their underwear and draped in House of Waris shawls.

Anjelica Huston, in a black suit that matched her straight black hair, entered, tall and elegant. She explained that she met Mr. Ahluwalia while filming The Life Aquatic, in which Mr. Ahluwalia plays a Sikh cameraman, "born on the Ganges." She's been focusing on film projects, not Fashion Week, which meant she's been getting more sleep than most of the people in the room. She did, however, profess a love for fashion shows.

"I used to be in a few," she said, "back in the day."