Heidi Klum and (soon to be ex?) husband Seal

Seal up the doors, stop all the clocks, let the roses wither without kisses from the grave and prepare to get a little crazy if you are ever going to survive this bombshell. TMZ, that august online resource of record in such matters, brings us the bad news: "Heidi Klum to File for Divorce From Seal." The horror escalates:

"Heidi will file divorce papers in L.A. County Superior Court as early as next week. We're told Heidi will cite 'irreconcilable differences' as the cause for the divorce."

The couple wedded in May of 2005 and as TMZ points out, have renewed their vows yearly on their anniversary.

The Daily Mail reports the Klum-Seals have 3 children ages 2-6 and were "last seen together" on December 27, when Heidi Klum tweeted a photo with her husband in the snow.

It did not necessarily seem like Seal's last tweet on Jan. 20 was referring to his impending divorce, but it now seems sadly appropriate:

The End. tadaa.im/wY0Zu #tadaa

— Seal (@Seal) January 20, 2012

[TMZ]

Heidi Klum's Annual Halloween Party(Photo via Patrick McMullan)

You have a lot of options when it comes to Halloween parties in New York. From free parades to art shows to celebrity-hosted galas, it's natural to feel overwhelmed. That's why we've found 10 of the best parties over the next four days for you to pick and choose from. So if your taste runs in haute creature or is more hipster horrors, you'll be sure to find something to suit your inner (sexy) monster.

Mr. Cantor, a broker for 55 Thompson, confirmed that Ms. Klum, as well as Serena Williams and Emma Stone, were checking out apartments in the building, which started renting about six months ago. But the brokers didn't take the bait.

"We're not interested in short-term," Mr. Cantor said, adding that Ms. Klum wanted to lease for only six months. "We want one- or two-year leases."

The building, which "rented itself," as Mr. Cantor put it, is now about 90 percent taken, with four units remaining ranging in price from about $20,000 to $25,000 per month.

Spa attendants from the Trump Soho were on hand for massages, manicures, stress-management techniques (a lot of stretching and exhaling, as far as we could tell) and, strangely, henna tattoos.

Guests also toured the remaining open apartments and the three-story adjacent townhouse available for rent at $35,000 per month. Despite the brokers treating the townhouse like the crown jewel of 55 Thompson, some party attendees weren't impressed.

"I think the apartments are a better deal, actually," noted one guest, who pointed out that he thought the living room seemed too small for what a tenant would be paying.

One young hotshot broker, however, while touring the townhouse, asked the price and then jokingly said to his friend: "get your checkbook."

pengel@observer.com

—Egyptian hotel czar Samih Sawiris has grabbed a luxurious pad at Emery Roth's 417 Park Avenue for $7.25 million. Mr. Sawiris, who Forbes ranks the 396th richest person in the world with $2.9 billion and change, controls Orascom Hotels and Development, the real estate and hotel arm of his family's empire. He'll take the place off the hands of Brazillian commodities trader and one-time amateur polo star Marcello Dorea. Mr. Sawiris bought for well under the $8 million asking price—a great deal, as if he needed it.

—The rock n' roll couple who purchased Heidi Klum's 166 Bank Street penthouse a couple of years ago have sold the third-floor unit they vacated to move up to Ms. Klum's swank spot. Steve Joester, a gallery owner and one-time rock photographer, and his wife, Debra, sold part of the apartment before the market tanked and have now shaken the other half for $2.45 million—a fraction, of course, of the $5.6 million they paid for the place upstairs.

—The head of one of Australia's largest clothing conglomerates, Naomi Milgrom, has bought a midtown apartment for $1.175 million from Elliman broker and former Avon exec Clyde Butler. Could this mean the Sussan clothing line will also soon be heading north? We'll have to wait and see.

—The East Village home of the late Alvin Klein, The New York Times critic who made and ended many a theatrical career, has sold for $1.35 million.

—A beautiful Upper West Side townhouse traded for just under $3.8 million. This rare 1904 elevator townhouse just off Central Park is the new home of Forest City Ratner VP Matthew Messinger and his wife. 

—Senior Sony exec Natalie Margulies and KPMG partner Howard Steinberg have nabbed a Lenox Hill duplex for $1.325 million.

lkusisto@observer.com

— The New York Times has the story of the man who inadvertantly purchased Joe DiMaggio's former apartment in 1959. And not just any former apartment, but the one where the Yankee Clipper slept while on his 56-game hitting streak. It could be a stroke of luck, or, as the Times notes, a sign that real estate has become just a touch more celebrity-obsessed since then.

— The Tudor Village home of the late Lovelia Fried Albright, the daughter of Mackay Construction George Fried and by some reports the first American to enter East Berlin during the Cold War, has sold for $1.07 million.

lkusisto@observer.com

Achtung! If Heidi were correct, I would be out of a job and so would vast numbers of other fashionably employed New Yorkers. Thankfully, Mrs. Seal is dead wrong. Fashion is no longer icy and aloof. Fashion is a massive, forgiving, ambiguous melting pot where people and trends can dig in their Lee Press-On nails and hang on for years and years without ever being out. Donna, Michael, Cynthia … bonjour! New geniuses join the fray every season—Alexander Wang, Rodarte, Joseph Altuzarra—but nobody is ever forced to leave. The result? It’s sort of like a fashion version of that insane ship’s cabin scene in the Marx brothers movie A Night at the Opera. (That’s the kind of antique reference you can expect when you allow geriatric groovers like myself to remain “in.”)

Let’s have some concrete examples:

1. Uggs. Style pundits may have broadcast their out-ness for years, but last week’s snowy streets were packed with Uggs-sporting fashion plates.
2. Diane von Furstenberg and Oscar de la Renta. At 63 and 77, respectively, more popular and groovier than ever.
3. Skinny jeans. Despite their supposed out-ness, they have managed to become a fashion staple, especially when tucked into riding boots. Tally ho!
4. Jean Paul Gaultier. Thinking he’s a bit last century, dahling? Think again! He’s launching a new collection with Target this month, fer Chrissakes!
5. Military style. It was in 18 months ago, and now it’s allegedly in all over again. Was it ever really out?
6. Joan Collins. Her septuagenarian fabulousness in the new, kooky Alexis Bittar ads wheat-pasted all over town would point to the fact that she is in again. But was she ever out?
7. Dill pickles? Stay calm, Aunt Mildred, we’ll get to them in a moment.

Why has fashion turned into this come-all-ye-chafing dish? I’ll tell you why: In the old days, style used to be the prerogatives of a small group of people. Now it is a national sport. Ticket sales are exploding. People are pouring into the arena in such vast numbers that none of us can keep track of the rule book. Et voilà! Nobody is keeping score. All bets are off. Anything goes, even scrunch boots.

The latest trend to enter the fashion arena is a real shockerooni. Grab your gherkins, girls! I’m talking about pickles.

Pickles are the new macaroons. (Laduree macaroons have been the fashionista nibble of choice for the past couple of years.) I am not kidding! All my hippest friends are proudly crunching their way through jars of dildo-shaped dills and—blech!—guzzling pickle juice like it was Diet Coke.

The trendiest and chicest pickles are bottled at the Brooklyn-based McClure pickling plant by Bob McClure and his team. Big sellers are the garlic dill and the spicy pickles. I called owner Bob McClure over the weekend to ask him about the semiotic/psychological underpinnings of the new It snack. The droll prince of pickles took a break from bottling his new pickle brine, Spicy Bloody Mary Mix, and tartly laid it on the line: “Pickles are low-calorie and healthy, but the real reason they are now in fashion is because everyone already has an iPhone.”

I am sure Heidi Klum would contend that Laduree macaroons are out and organic artisan pickles are in, but, as per my thesis, the reality is that pickles have merely joined macaroons in fashion’s gigantic in-box. They, like Isaac Mizrahi and reindeer sweaters and tribal tattoos, are now here FOREVER! This is a good thing. It’s a sweet thing.

PREVIOUSLY: Don't miss Simon's remembrance of the late, great Alexander McQueen >

sdoonan@observer.com

Tuesday: Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist
Three cheers for what amounts to just about the nicest movie we’ve seen in a long while. Almost everything about Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist is sweet, tender, totally adorable or all three at the same time. Michael Cera (at the pinnacle of his awkward charms) and Kat Dennings (giving such a real performance that we’re not sure it can qualify as acting) play the titular couple and their infinite playlist is chock filled with justright indie music cues. It’s all great and fairly harmless; however, our absolute favorite moments occur anytime Ari Graynor—as the drunken best friend—appears onscreen. Get Ms. Graynor her own movie, stat! [Starz, 9 p.m.]

Wednesday: Hard Knocks: The Cincinnati Bengals
Are you ready for some football? HBO’s acclaimed sports reality show, Hard Knocks, returned last week, and to all of our good fortune, this season will follow the laughingstock Cincinnati Bengals. If you’re not familiar with the Bengals, just know that there’s a Web site devoted to chronicling how many player arrests they’ve had over the last few years and that their No. 1 wide receiver legally changed his last name to OchoCinco. Hard Knocks plays like a combination of The Real World and Friday Night Lights, but without any of the latter’s gravitas. This team needs Coach Taylor to teach them how to be men. Clear eyes, full hearts, the Bengals will probably still lose. [HBO, 8 p.m.]

Thursday: Project Runway
In reality television: One day you’re in, the next day you’re out. After nearly a year of legal battles and a network change (auf wiedersehen, Bravo, guten tag, Lifetime!), Project Runway returns with Heidi Klum, Tim Gunn and a host of hopeful (and hopefully wacky) fashion designers. The sixth season premiere features a guest appearance by Lindsay Lohan, which just goes to show you how long this thing has been sitting on the shelf. [Lifetime, 10 p.m.]

Friday: Mean Girls
Speaking of LiLo! While Ms. Lohan has seen her career burst into flames following the surprise success of the Tina Fey–scripted comedy in 2004, the rest of the ladies in the cast—Rachel McAdams, Amanda Seyfried, Lizzy Caplan and the aforementioned Ms. Fey—have gone on to bigger and better things. We’d like to say there is some hope left for Ms. Lohan, but having seen her direct-to-television disaster Labor Pains, we have a feeling that ship has sailed. At least she’ll always have Mean Girls. [TBS, 8 p.m.]

“This [book] is not a prescription,” Mr. Berland told The Observer at the intimate gathering in the magazine company's futuristic Executive Dining Room. “It’s not a how-to-be-successful. That’s such a B.S. concept of how can you be successful; there is no formula.”

Instead, the book, written by Mr. Berland and fellow strategic adviser Douglas Schoen, gathers some of their most prestigious clientele, who shared their stories, and then looked for a common denominators and dividing them up in five archetypes. “We’re pollsters,” Mr. Berland explained.

“The theme through all of these stories is that early on in their career they were introspective of what they were good at and what they found satisfying and leverage their strength.”

Among those featured in the book are Forbes Magazine publisher Steve Forbes; NBC Universal's president and CEO, Jeff Zucker; Richard Holbrooke, the U.S. Special Envoy for Afghanistan and Pakistan; Playboy CEO Christie Heffner; and model–turned–reality TV hostess Heidi Klum. Also included, Condé Nast group president David Carey, who was played host of the party.

If there is one thing Mr. Carey had achieved, it was filling the room with these highly successful people—and getting them to wear name tags. So without any PR assistance, a reporter was able to spot Niche Media’s Jason Binn chatting to Mont Blanc’s Jan-Patrick Schmitz, Parade magazine editor Janice Kaplan being captivated by Yale University’s CFO Gwendolyn Sykes and Gary Bettman, the NHL's commissioner, just by furtively glancing at their lapels.

“I’m in the do-gooder category,” Ms. Sykes told The Observer. “I think they categorized me quite well, what do you think?” The former NASA CFO, however, claims she was not introspective from an early age. “I can’t honestly say that I was,” she mused.

“As a wee lass, I wanted to be an attorney, a lawyer, I wrote my grandmother notes about it. I’m as far away from an attorney you can get!”

“I don’t introspect a lot,” said Mr. Bettman. “Michael’s view of the world, that it’s all about introspection—I think that was really his conclusion after doing the interview.”

The archetypes, however, proved to be spot-on in some cases.

“I think [the book] is actually not about the people in it,” said Mr. Schmitz. “I think the country’s looking for leadership, and that’s what the book talks about, 'cause leadership is not a single, one-fits-all formula, and leaders come with very different skills that they have, so there are examples that are needed to lead, and that’s what I think the book is all about.”

Mr. Schmitz was asked which archetype he saw himself in. “A natural-born leader," he said with a smile.

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

Bravo is a funny network, isn’t it? And yet? Brilliant. Because think about it, even when you are watching a Bravo show, be it Top Chef or Make Me a Supermodel, one feels that while you might be watching fluffy garbage, it’s seamless, well-produced shiny garbage, which in fact translates to totally entertaining television. (In other words, it's not VH1.)  Project Runway was always better than its imitators, partly because the contestants all have real skills and are forced to use them in a way that we, the viewer, can smugly watch and think “how mother-of-the-bride” (even when we can’t even sew a button without assistance). There’s awesome Tim Gunn, and bitchy Michael Kors and Nina Garcia, that pretty tall German lady, and usually a handful of truly talented designers. Season 4’s Christian Siriano has actually been able to make the leap to legit designer. And if season five only seemed memorable because of what a bitch that chick Kenley seemed to be, well at least it was always Good TV.

Although the sixth season has already wrapped, with the finale being held as usual at Bryant Park during fashion week, pictures of the clothing lines were duitifully posted on the internet. But without watching the weeks of lead-in, it was kind of hard to care (if a reality show falls in the forest…). We know that PR was filmed for the first time in Los Angeles (no Atlas apartments!) and – shriek! – contestants had to make do with some sort of weird faux-replication of Mood Fabrics (which does have a West Coast branch but was apparently too far away to actually shoot there). And there's reportedly less time given to Nina Garcia and Michael Kors, who are said to only make “a handful of appearances.”

Will the show be able to retain its mysterious magic while away from the Bravo mothership? We'll admit to tuning into Liftetime now and then for reruns of 90s fluff, but we're woefully unfamiliar with its original programming. We'll just have to tune in this summer to see if Lifetime can keep things as smooth and, er, seamless as we're used to.