DvF and Mitch: lovers once, buddies forever!

As we sloshed, caked with snow flurries, into the Mandarin Oriental for the 2012 Phoenix House Fashion award dinner last Wednesday evening, we couldn’t determine whether it was the way-too-early winter outside, the Sandy-forced relocation or the early start after an endless election season, but at first glance, things looked a bit quiet. (In retrospect, we appreciated the venue upgrade, considering it was originally slated to take place at Pier 60.)

“Well there’s Linda Fargo, at least ...” we uttered to a weary-eyed publicist as she sashayed passed us in a crisp black sheath dress, before we sauntered downstairs to cocktail hour.

Below, on the 35th floor, the considerably more lively and notable fashion crowd imbibed, heedless of the blizzard-like winds that howled without mercy on the commoners struggling to get around Columbus Circle.

With the exception of Glenda Bailey, this didn’t feel like a typical fashion event; nay, it was considerably more corporate—a bit cliquey, but not necessarily in a bad way. Dashing executives (well mostly dashing) in flamboyant tailored suits sipped scotch and red wine, while a more demure population of women squawked about recent highs and lows.

This reeked of powerful retail and media industry figures rather than overcompensated stylists and over-photographed fashion mavens.

The Observer wasn’t feeling particularly social, but we decided to meander aimlessly about the lobby, gorging ourselves with vegetable spring rolls every time they passed.

Eventually, someone had the brilliance to ring the dinner gong and get the show on the road.

“You’re stuck with me,” laughed Rose Marie Bravo, the fashion branding and commerce star, as she welcomed the Phoenix House patrons now enjoying their first plating around candlelit tables. She apologized for emcee Ali Wentworth, who was “lost somewhere in the city.”

“This past week has been a tragic one,” she continued. “Many of our friends have been left homeless or without power.” She went on to explain what Phoenix House does: it helps thousands of people struggling with substance abuse and addiction through its pioneering treatment program. For a second or two, The Observer stopped sipping. But only a second or two.

Seated before us was honoree Jim Gold, president of The Neiman Marcus Group; Tory Burch, evasive and on high alert with her pending lawsuit against ex-husband Chris Burch still ablaze; and Calvin Klein’s Francisco Costa. The weather was most likely to blame for the empty seats, and there was substantial mention of Hurricane Sandy and its affect on the Phoenix House community.

“Substance abuse is an epidemic that plagues the USA,” began Phoenix House CEO Howard Meitiner.

He was followed by a young client of Phoenix House, who spoke of his history with drug abuse, dealing and violence. It was simple, honest and very effective. He said he is now rightly on track, working toward a degree in social work.

“Drug abuse can happen to anyone’s child,” said Mr. Meithner, then diving into the politics and ethos of the drug culture in America.

“But recovery is achievable and sustainable,” he concluded, just as Ali Wentworth, our long-lost emcee, finally stampeded in.

“I’ve got a husband who said, ‘I’ve just done 36 hours of ABC election coverage! You’re gonna get into bed with me!’” she blurted to our disbelief, about her hubby, George Stephanopoulos.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, not only was the fabulous hostess late because she was having a roll in the hay, she announced it to us all! Our kind of gal. And poor George, election aside, he must have still been shell-shocked by his co-host’s odd drunken-like behavior on election night—Cheers, Diane!

“They messengered this to me,” Ms. Wentworth continued, exposing a shiny Olivier Theyskens for Theory blazer that kept her décolletage in check.

“I thought I was chic, but maybe I’m just a shoplifter!”

We decided right then and there that we all wanted to leave and go home with Ali Wentworth.

Our hostess extraordinaire thankfully kept the pace brisk as we cruised into the awards segment. Monsieur Theyskens gave a poignant and astute speech before plopping a Phoenix House award in the hands of Andrew Rosen. The CEO of Theory then delivered a heartfelt personal story of his own family’s struggle with addiction and praised the Phoenix House for its wonderful work.

Tina Brown, editor in chief of Newsweek/The Daily Beast, made an anticipated handoff to Diane von Furstenberg. We never got to pester her with our gossipy questions about her publication’s demise.

“Diane is a vision broker,” Ms. Brown professed.

Once DvF accept her award, she dove into a tale of how she first met Phoenix House Founder Mitchell S. Rosenthal. Apparently Ms. von Furstenberg had mistaken the addiction innovator for ’80s star Chris Sarandon, whom she mistakenly referred to as Chris Rock. “He was hot,” she said.

“Then I got to know more about Mitch Rosenthal. I’ll spare you the details ...”

The romantic jaunts of the fashion queen brought the crowd great delight.

“This young, smashing man who looked like Chris Sarandon—created this place where shame was not an issue,” Ms. von Furstenberg gushed.

“I really want to make sure that we all raise our glass to this special man!”

At that flawless declaration, we lifted our glass, emptied it, and dashed downtown, to partake in rowdier action at Le Baron—alas, without Ali Wentworth.

The after-party for the special screening of Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf's in celebration of its 111th Anniversary. (Neil Rasmus)

“I hope I have a job tomorrow.” That was personal shopper Betty Halbreich’s reaction to the Sept. 12 preview of Matthew Miele’s fashion documentary Scatter My Ashes at Bergdorf’s. Ms. Halbreich explained, “I spurt things without thinking!” But to others, her brutal honesty and WASPish sense of humor made her one of the film’s firm favorites. Gossip Girl costume designer Eric Damon spoke for all when he said, “It’s all about Betty.”

Ms. Halbreich, The Observer thinks you’ll be just fine.

As Fashion Week comes to a close, the celebration of Bergdorf Goodman’s 111th anniversary stepped into the spotlight. Swapping Lincoln Center’s front rows for the old-style stadium seating of The Paris Theater, a confluence of fatigued fashionistas enjoyed a show that for the first time in seven days allowed them to remain in their seats for more than 10 minutes.

A special screening of Mr. Miele’s documentary was followed by an after-party at the iconic department store. In popular culture, this lair of luxury goods and ladies-who-lunch has been a backdrop to many a movie scene and TV show; now it’s a story, and a movie, in itself. The 90-minute documentary paints a portrait of Bergdorf’s past, present and future, as Mr. Miele invites a collection of 175 of its directors, clients, employees, designers and wannabe designers to share their experiences and fondest memories of New York’s finest.

For designer Jason Wu, whom we caught up with pre-preview on the purple—not red—carpet, walking into the store is “an experience that can’t be replicated.”

As was, for us, the walk between the 58th Street theater, a haven for the city’s intellectual movie buffs, and Bergdorf’s, just around the corner on Fifth Avenue; we strolled tête-à-tête with Senior Vice President and Fashion Director Linda Fargo.

“The store isn’t just a store,” she said, “Every place has a story—it’s like a newspaper: a lot of paragraphs, a lot of voices, a lot of characters.”

Bergdorf’s rich tapestry of characters didn’t disappoint. Greeting us as we entered the store was doorman James, working his 17th year of magic at the 58th Street entrance and another memorable member of the film’s cast. And David Hoey, who before the screening modestly described himself as “the guy who does the windows,” was also prominently on display.

The windows played a starring role in the film. AndrewAndrew, regular DJs at the store—you may have spotted them there on Fashion’s Night Out—“loved the window show.” Designer Michael Kaye also observed that the whole film could have been about the spectacle from the sidewalk.

Mr. Miele has lifted the purple veil and exposed the secrets behind the glass display. The one caveat, voiced by supermodel Alva Chinn among others, was that it was “a wee bit long.” Perhaps the fashionistas’ endurance was by now conditioned by the brevity of the runway shows.

Although Fashion Week was coming to an end, the thumbs-up, thumbs-down urge continued: Best-dressed was a toss-up between stylist, socialite and model Michelle Harper, with her floor-length black and red gown and Marilyn-Monroe locks, and Michele Ouellet, muse to Libertine designer Johnson Hartig, whose multicolored coat—no it wasn’t Joseph’s—certainly turned some heads.

Mr. Miele himself confessed that he himself was “not a fashion guy at all.” He told us before the screening that his tie (appropriately purple) had been a gift from his wife. The cellphone conversation, he added later, went something like this: She said, “It’s two hundred dollars, is that too much to spend?” He said, “Where are you?” The answer? “I’m at Bergdorf’s!”