Olivier Zahm is French. Can you tell?

In the wake of last Saturday’s Purple Magazine party, we were left with several questions: What is it about Fashion Week mag soirées that seems to whip everyone into a frenzy? What mysterious gravity does Olivier Zahm carry that sucks the clothing off of so many stunningly beautiful women? How is Lindsay Lohan even still alive?

Our prospective evening began unfolding with an incoming text from Natalie White, former muse of photographer Peter Beard and current item of lust on Purple’s website: “Will I be seeing you at Purple Magazine tonight?” Of course, we replied, “but Natalie, how will we spot you?” Seconds ticked by, and came the response, “I’ll be the one wearing a see-through dress, darling.” With that image firmly lodged in our mind, we began to wonder what kind of party were we getting ourselves into.

We mulled the question as we hoofed it over to the Standard, a fittingly unglorified way to approach what would be a fittingly glorious event. Refinery29’s Kristian Laliberte—on full Fashion Week tilt—and his posse spotted us a block out. After a ritual passing of the flask, the group rolled over to the (suspiciously quiet) entrance.

“Sorry baby, it don’t start ’til 11,” deadpanned an Amazonian doorgirl. “You gonna have to go wait in the lobby with the rest of ’em.” Mr. Laliberte and our newly formed crew shambled into the appointed holding area with our tails between our legs—joining what more than one person referred to as “The Ellis Island” of the Purple party.

Our attempt to be fashionably late was unfashionably thwarted.

“O.K., let’s head back over there so the line won’t be too long” suggested Mr. Laliberte after a short time.
In the eight minutes we stood in the lobby, approximately 60 people had crowded the door, jostling for invisible spots on an invisible list that we were reminded would be “referred to as gospel” by the Amazonian.

(At this point, an aspiring—if misguided—partygoer was overheard remarking to his date, “I think we can sneak in. I’ve been here before.” Raised eyebrows and knowing glances were exchanged among the on-the-list set.)

The extent of the door difficulty was underscored when Patrick McMullan, nightlife photographer and fixture extraordinaire, sidled up to the wrong side of the gate. “Yes, I’m Patrick McMullan, I’m here to shoot the Purple Magazine party,” he informed her flatly.

The Amazon sized up the late-night veteran, thumbed through her clipboard and said: “Sorry, baby, you ain’t on the list, and if you ain’t on the list, you ain’t getting in!”
Whoa.

The be-guestlisted mob waiting behind the velvet ropes noticed the martyr having a hard time, and began a rallying cry: “LET HIM IN! LET HIM IN!” The solidarity of New York party people can be a beautiful thing.

Once inside, The Observer took our post on the railing and waited to see who trickled by. First up: Writer Bennett Marcus, nightlife veteran that he is, gave us a few pointers on what’s going to be what at this circus of an evening.

Peter Davis already seemed to be having a significantly better time than we, posing with the always-striking Anh Duong. We make a quick stop by the DJ booth to check in with the Misshapes, who reminded us that the evening might get a bit messy. (What was everyone so afraid of?) They neglected to mention, however, just how much of their set would be dedicated to the late, great, Whitney Houston. As a camouflage scarf-wearing Hamish Bowles strutted in, an onlooker remarked, “You almost kind of think that he’s always listening to Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ in his head.”

Spying Derek Blasberg, with his hand wrapped around Sofia Vergara, we thought of Woody Allen’s remark that he would like to be reincarnated as Warren Beatty’s fingertips.
We ran into Alexander Skarsgard, whom we urinated next to a few nights prior. “It’s good to see you again, Alex. Are you enjoying yourself this go around?” we asked, already knowing the answer.“Yes, of course!” he enthused. “Look around you! Everything, everyone is so beautiful.”

We looked around us. Everything and everyone was, indeed, beautiful. But even through the temporarily borrowed eyes of an international heartthrob, we had questions that were largely unanswerable: Who were all of these people? Where do they go between Fashion Weeks? Where were all of the promised see-through dresses?

Beyond a few standout characters, a few regulars, a few club kids and a few DJs, we noticed that even at this party, one of the most exclusive of the weekend, the froth that filled the gaps between celebrities was largely made up of people who don’t seem to exist outside of party photo websites. People who snuck in by knowing a guy who knew a guy who knew a PR girl. Extras on the backlot of downtown nightlife.

As we reached the peak of our vodka-soaked state of reflection, we grabbed Waris Ahluwalia to gather his thoughts on what we were all doing here, and why: “What do you make of all this, Waris?” we asked. “Well, you know, Olivier Zahm does what he does, and you know, this is what it is.” Hmm, elliptical.
Back into the froth.

Our photography degree was tingling, is that Juergen Teller? It was. We followed him for a bit, hoping to pry him away for a quick comment, but suddenly found ourselves in front of Russell Simmons: “You hangin’ in there, man?” Looking out below the brim of a Yankees cap, a slightly weary Russell demurred, “Yeah, yeah, you know how these things go.” We did.

Then it happened. Here we were in a fit of evening weltschmerz, and now confronted with the visage of the fast life’s most cogent cautionary tale—the Go Ask Alice of the corner banquette—Lindsay Lohan.
Fresh from what appeared to be a bit of a spat with world-renowned gentleman (cough, cough) Brandon Davis, LiLo looked surprisingly good.

Staring into the void, we thought it prudent to introduce ourselves. “Evening, Lindsay,” we said. “It seems we’ve gotten swept up into your posse!” A look of mortified disgust washed over her as she regarded our extended hand. The void was staring back into us.

We were swatted away by Ms. Lohan, as she made the most adorable “get the fuck out of my face” motion with her own little hands. We obliged, warm with the knowledge that we were back among the living.

Tomorrow night, DFA hosts their Holiday Freakout! at Le Poission Rouge. Predictably, most of the evening’s entertainers draw on the dance music favored by DFA and its stars/founders, LCD Soundsystem—retro house flavored with a touch of NYC punk. All of which is fine by us. Pat Mahoney and James Murphy (both of LCD fame) will be spinning together. Also on hand will be DJs Matt Cash, Juan MacLean, and (we love it) Shit Robot. Invisible Conga People will also squeeze in a live set. [Tickets on sale now]

But really, what better way is there to honor JC’s birthday than an evening spent with the Wu-Tang Clan. Raekwon, RZA, Ghostface, Inspectah Deck, UGOD, Method Man, GZA, Masta Killa, and Cappadonna should all—barring any unforeseen drama—hit the stage at the Hammerstein Ballroom next Tuesday, December 23. In other Wu news, it seems Staten Island historians Robert Wilburn and Charles Tinsley have put together an exhaustive, 450-page study chronicling the rise and fall of the Wu-Tang’s late 20th century dynasty. The Onion has more. [Tickets on sale now]

THEATER

Of course, you could go to Irving Berlin’s White Christmas or the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, but then how could you look at yourself in the mirror the next morning? Instead, try “Oh, Holy Shit: It’s Christmas!”—the holiday show that dares to dress our Holy Mother in drag. In “Holy Shit”—the third installment of Mimi Imfurst’s infamous Virgin Mary Trilogy—Braden Chapman (that’s her non-drag name) wonders how much it would suck to be a teenager pregnant with God’s child. “Being 13 years old and married off to a carpenter who is 40-something, and all of a sudden God asks her to have his baby; she’s just really freaked out,” Chapman tells the Times. Fortunately, Mary has pop stars like Katy Perry, Fergie, the Pussycat Dolls, and, of course, Madonna, to keep her company. The blasphemy commences this Sunday, December 21 at 7:30 p.m. Don’t bring the kids. [Tickets on sale now]

Post-dessert, we asked Mr. Siriano if he had any special goals for the evening.

"To have a fabulous party with every fabulous fashionista."

Did he feel old?

"No! I’m 23! I feel young."

At what age, we wondered, might be start to feel the weight of mortality?

"Never, I don’t think... When I’m 70, I'm still going to wear ruffled blouses."

Mr. Sirano, who had abstained from the Tranny Mess cocktails available at the bar because he wanted to "be there," informed us that he is hard at work on a book and preparations for February Fashion Week. Was there any validity to rumors of an upcoming Gossip Girl appearance, we wondered?

"I hope so... I think so."

What might the part consist of? 

"I don’t know," he said, turning coy. "There was something said, so maybe."

DJing the party were the Misshapes, whose once ubiquitous presence has been somewhat diminished over the past year. After some awkward high-heeled ladder-negotiating, we managed to pull ourselves into the elevated DJ booth, Tranny Mess somehow still in hand.

Did they usually submit to interviews while DJing, we wondered as we tried to avoid involving our shoes with the wires curled on the floor.  

"Not usually, no. This would be the first time," Geordon Nicol said.

"Forgive us, because we'll have to stop in... three minutes and one second. We're gonna switch the song," apologized Leigh Lezark, who was sporting a puffy-shouldered blouse and her signature flawless hair. 

Trying to think quickly, we asked if they were fans of Mr. Siriano's. 

"We’re good friends of Christian's. It's not so much fans as, when you have a friend who’s so talented, you have to support him. And he supports us," Mr. Nicol explained.

It turns out they don't normally do birthday parties. What about bar mitzvahs?

"No!" said Ms. Lezark.

"I wish we did a bar mitzvah," Mr. Nicol said.

"The thing is, we don't want to emcee," said Ms. Lezark.

"If it was a friend's kid having a Bar Mitzvah, it would be so much fun to do, but the idea of emceeing--of really getting people going..." said Mr. Nicol.

"We don't do the chicken dance," Ms. Lezark smiled.

"Not quite our shtick, but it could be really fun to have a Bar Mitzvah...I think it would be extremely entertaining," Mr. Nicol concluded.

So, if not the hora, what had they been up to lately? 

"Working on our website. We’re possibly DJing every fashion week from Milan to Paris to London to New York. Traveling and DJing, and we keep modeling and doing campaigns," Mr. Nicol said, reminding us that Ms. Lezark had been doing a lot of "editorial" work, in addition to her shoots for Hogan and Gap. 

Somehow, we'd missed usually edgy Ms. Lezark's Gap campaign. Perhaps she hadn't always been so fashion forward?

"The thing was, I had an upbringing where kind of the beauty queen was the ideal. Always dresses and very done up like a doll, so of course I contested as soon as I was old enough. I dyed my hair black and started wearing all black and I would buy my own clothes in any size and alter them. I always watched fashion. I just grew up in Jersey," she added. "It’s not that far away."

And what's the next big project?

"Our New Year's party, I guess," Ms. Lezark began. "It's..."

"Quiet! We can’t say where it is yet," Mr. Nicol shouted. "Shut up."

He added: "We're doing something really special," he explained. "There’s two live bands performing. It'll be announced in the next couple weeks. A huge, legendary band and really new, exciting band."

Did they miss the old weekly parties?

"No," Mr. Nicol said. 

Ms. Lezark seemed less sure: "Sometimes. Because we used to know all our friends would always be at Misshapes on a Saturday night and it’s kind of sad not to see everyone every week. But we still make time to see all of them."

"We miss our friends and seeing them so much, but we’ve been traveling so much that in the past two months we've been everywhere from to Rome to Norway to Barcelona and Madrid, Paris, London..." said Mr. Nicol.

"Australia," she reminded him. "Ibiza."

So, they're still going out, just not in New York? 

"We still go out here," Mr. Nicol assured us. "We’re actually starting a new thing at the new Standard Hotel. We don’t do any weeklies anymore because we’re not in New York as much as we used to be, but New York is our home, so we’ll always do something here."

But canny sub-A-list celebs also know that Fashion Week can help raise their profile, if briefly; we saw so many photos of actresses like Michelle Trachtenberg, Joy Bryant, Jessica Szohr, Perrey Reeves, and Zoe Saldana over the last couple of weeks that it seems a bit of a stretch to think that they were truly, genuinely interested in all the fashion coming down the runways.

Sep. 15, 2008

Leigh Lezark
Was Everywhere
During Fashion Week

When we went back and actually looked at all the photos, one name stuck out: that of MisShapes munchkin Leigh Lezark. She was photographed, as the slide show we've put together demonstrates, at a minimum of 21 events over Fashion Week, at shows ranging from BCBG Max Azria to cult label Costello Tagliapietra, in addition to several private dinners and parties (often wearing huge black sunglasses a la Anna Wintour, as New York magazine's fashion blog noted). She was supposed to be reporting from Style.com's "Virtual Front Row" for the week, but other than a brief introductory audio post, she doesn't seem to have checked back in. (Before Fashion Week, she'd been keeping a low profile; her last public event was the Whitney Contemporaries party in June.)

Click on the icon above right to see Ms. Lezark in all her Fashion Week, uh, glory.

Then, suddenly, we glimpsed them, tucked into a polka-dotted booth at the head of the makeshift runway: Laura Dern and Ben Harper! Authentic celebrities, not Fashion Week celebrities, like Sophia Bush, The MisShapes, or Jessica Szor from Gossip Girl.

And wait, was that—it was! Courtney Cox Arquette and David Arquette, cuddled in next to the Harpers, unmolested by photographers and assuming the wide-eyed, interested affect of Fashion Week virgins on a double-date.

“It looked awesome!” said Ms. Dern afterwards, enthusiastically. Her hair was glowing blonde, and she was wrapped in a black rain jacket, though she didn’t look as though she’d actually encountered rain. “We’re big fans of his, really,” she said, of Loden Dager designer Paul Marlow, looking toward her husband, who nodded, his arm draped protectively around his wife. They had yet to attend any other shows this week, said Ms. Dern—who showed up later that day with Ms. Cox to Elise Overland—but “I’m going to the one my husband’s doing with these two gentlemen!” she said.

Come again?

The couple explained that Mr. Harper, who was dressed in “head to toe” Loden Dager, was starting an organic clothing line called Propr—misspelling intentional—with his friend of 10 years, Mr. Arquette, which would be rolled out Monday, Sept. 8, on Mr. Arquette’s 37th birthday.

“I’m really fortunate to be working with these two guys, who are the two best dressed guys in the room at all times,” said Mr. Harper diplomatically of Mr. Arquette and a third friend and partner, David Bedwell.

And what does Mr. Harper think is wrong with the way most men dress? “It’s about to be right!” blurted Ms. Dern supportively, and her husband smiled.

Mr. Harper was unaware of being part of a larger recording artist/clothing designer trend that also includes Justin Timberlake’s William Rast and Andre Benjamin’s Benjamin Bixby. “I haven’t seen a stitch,” he admitted, making an unintentional fashion pun. “But Andre’s one of the best-dressed cats out there.”

Speaking of! Will the fashion industry's recent efforts to police the size of its models result in meatier mannequins this Fashion Week?

"I was hoping that it would be curvier models on the runway," said Mary Alice Stephenson, celebrity stylist and host of fashion's greatest reality show to date, America's Most Smartest Model. "I just did, this morning, a piece for CNN, everyone still says skinny models, skinny models, but I've noticed a big change. A lot of the samples that I'm working with are cut bigger, and a lot of the actresses I work with can fit into them, so that's good. But I still hope that—I'm hoping—that the models on the runway will look like they've been eating. Will be fed properly, be a little bit more mature and curvy."

The Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) will man sustenence-promoting booths in the tents at Bryant Park throughout Fashion Week in partnership with an eating disorders clinic.

But don't expect to see models who ate as much on their summer vacation as you did: "The bottom line is, if you're a runway model, you have to be thin," said Ms. Stephenson.

On display will be a collection of a few dozen studio portraits and party photos that Mr. Walsh has taken over the past two years, including shots of Euro models Agyness Deyn and Freja Beha Erichsen, the Misshapes’ Leigh Lezark, miscellaneous friends and a variety of outrageously dressed club kids that anyone who used to read Blue States Lose has probably glimpsed at least once or twice. (You all remember Jonny Makeup, a.k.a. Little Scotty Mouth Breather, right?)

“I really like to get a wonky-looking portrait of somebody,” Mr. Walsh told the Culture Czar in an e-mail. “They don't normally enjoy that I get such a kick out of that, but if I had my way, every magazine ad would be Agyness Deyn with her eyes half-closed.”

Now for the gossip: Mr. Walsh said that he and Mr. Siriano started dating last November (find that story here), and that he teared up not once, but twice, while watching the Runway finale at the Tribecca Grand’s TreSemme/Bravo party—first when his self-produced song “Control Me,” which he wrote especially for the Bryant Park show, came on the speakers as Mr. Siriano’s runway music, and next while watching his typically stoic boyfriend cry on the big screen. After that, the couple went to Marquee for the official Runway after party, but had to turn in early (meaning before 3 a.m.) so Mr. Siriano could get some much needed beauty rest before doing the Today show and Regis the following morning. Fierce, indeed!

The expansion and promotion of the Misshapes's je ne sais quoi continues apace. After months of planning, construction and a few obligatory hiccups, the downtown-dwelling, party-deejaying, trendsetting trio’s official Web site will launch, they say, as early as next week. The group hopes that by cutting the digital ribbon in the midst of all the mayhem at Bryant Park, the fashion-minded site can tap into the event's publicity machine.

“There were a couple kinks and the time wasn’t right but now it’s ready to go,” said Leigh Lezark alongside fellow Misshape Greg Krelenstein—Geordon Nicol was absent—last night at GQ and the C.F.D.A.’s party for the best new menswear designers in America. According to the group’s rep, the site will feature a range of subjects and profiles when it opens, including: Sienna Miller, Rachel Zoe, Jefferson Hack, Henry Holland, Agyness Deyn and the Virgins.

Their muse? Chloë Sevigny, natch. Chances are you'll be seeing Mr. Krelenstein at the launch of her clothing line, Opening Ceremony, on Feb. 4 at Webster Hall.

“She’s amazing,” said Mr. Krelenstein of the 33-year-old, New York-based actress. “There’s a reason people still care about her after all these years, because she’s the only one, basically.”

Last night, Milanese fashion label Costume National hosted a party in their Soho boutique commemorating 21 years in the industry. To toast the milestone, the brand known for super-slim-fitting clothes—à la Hedi Slimane—released a weighty book, Costume National: 21 (Assouline). While the Misshapes provided the background tunes for the relatively small gathering, a few guests made themselves cozy by curling up on the store’s chaise lounges, where they sipped red wine and martinis. Never mind all the blaring overhead lights—everyone looked fab, darling.

“I’d be a liar if I told you how,” said actor Willem Dafoe, responding to The Daily Transom’s question about how the brand seemingly attracts an ever-younger and hipper clutch of loyalists each season. “I don’t know about the fashion world, how it really works,” he admitted, speaking in stilted clauses like Christopher Walken in a mob flick.

Even still, Mr. Dafoe, 52, looked sharp in a natty ensemble that fit like a glove; his dark suit was accented by one of those über-hip slim ties. But when looking for clothes, the Anamorph actor simply seeks “something that feels good,” he continued, “I’m not much of a dresser. I don’t like to reveal too much through what I wear. But I like fashion more on other people; me, I’m quite conservative in how I dress.” He then took a long draw from his wide glass of vino rosso.

Alan Cumming, on the other hand, seems to know exactly what he wants when he goes shopping. He did allow, however, that it can be tough to find the perfect fit. “It’s funny; I’m European-y built, which means you’re the same shape all the way up and down. Like my chest is the same width as my feet,” he said, using his hands, fingertips gymnastically curling outward, to glide up and down the sides of his body. The whole thing was admittedly sensual.

The 42-year-old Scottish actor (who said Steven Spielberg recently told him that he’s “on the short list” for Peter Jackson’s forthcoming Tintin) is looking forward to spending the holidays cooped up with friends over from Europe. The group will travel to his retreat in the Catskills, where, he told us, “we just like veg out and watch all the films I get from the Academy.” Any partying go on up there? “But of course!” Mr. Cumming purred with a mischievous smirk.

Before hitting the road, we stopped by the Misshapes’ D.J. booth, hoping to chat with the enchanting Leigh Lezark. But it didn’t take long for Geordon Nicol to jump into the mix, all the while keeping the tunes flowing with his finger on the turntable. As it happens, the cool kids and their even-cooler shiny black hair had just come to the party from the airport, where they arrived a day late from Spain. They were on the Iberian Peninsula, Mr. Nicol said, to deejay for a massive party. “We were out all night and missed our flight,” he added of the riotous gig, where the New Yorkers were startled by an abundance of crowd surfers.

Asked if they have to alter the overall vibe of their playlist at each outside event, the outspoken Misshape paused for a brief moment. “It was a little more of a house vibe [in Spain]; it was like this huge club. So we obviously played to that crowd. And two weeks ago we deejayed this thing for Elton John and that was more jazzy, loungy, ethereal-like music,” Mr. Nicol said, giving his wheel a little jiggle. “It’s more about understanding your environment and understanding where you are. Not really catering to that, but knowing what’s appropriate for where you are.”

Meanwhile, star D.J.’s the MisShapes, skinny and black-clad, huddled with several creature-of-the-night friends behind the D.J. booth, looking bored. Occasionally, one of them donned headphones and approached the turntables. “For corporate events like this, it’s like, whatever,” said the “smart” MisShape, Geordon Nicol, from behind his shock of severe black hair. “At a regular party, everyone’s coming to mingle and hang out and talk and dance. This is different.”

The Transom asked Mr. Nicol about the forthcoming official MisShapes tome out from powerHouse, September 4. “It’s a fashion portrait book,” he said. “Celebrities, musicians, homeless people, everyone all over New York. Sally Singer from Vogue wrote one of the forewords. [Musician] Jarvis Cocker wrote a foreword. And Legs McNeil, the author of Please Kill Me, wrote a foreword.” The promotional blitz will be sponsored, incongruously enough, by Henri Bendel. “We did all the windows at Bendel’s, and they’re preselling the book there,” Mr. Nicol said. “On September 8th we’re having a book party, and between now and then we’re going to be in Phoenix, Austin, L.A., China, London, Paris, Spain, Milan, then we go to Japan, then we come back, then we go to Japan again.” Whew!