"By the end of Fashion Week yesterday, how many disdainful, insincere and indifferent greetings had been exchanged? Numberless. If the air kiss can be blamed on the hostesses of high society, the adoption of the double-kiss by non-European New Yorkers is fashion's fault. Some knowledgeable fashion sources trace the spread of the double to the mid-to-late-1980's and Milan, whose shows became a must for North American buyers and editors enthralled by Italian designers like Armani and Versace. The French do it, too, but perhaps with a Gallic frost that was never quite as contagious as the Mediterranean version."
– Hug-Hug, Kiss-Kiss: It's a Jungle Out There, by Rick Marin, The New York Times, September 19, 1999.

Everyone knows that Manhattan is filled with women who can status-check in a nanosecond. A flick-of-the-eyes subway scan tells them if the shoes are Prada or knockoff, how much the purse cost, whether the highlights came from Anna Wintour's latest salon pet or the storefront Jean Louis David colorist.

Given this daily gauntlet, only the most energetically, determinedly hip woman would choose to start her days pulling on skivvies in front of a man whose job duties include knowing-at 20 paces-whether the cashmere twin set came from TSE or Club Monaco.

Wise women, when it comes to selecting a mate, proceed with caution around all professional observers. Writers, journalists, shrinks and their ilk charm with the intensity of their attention. It's flattering at first, even sexy if you pass muster. Soon, though, you will be found wanting. Worse, he's probably taking notes.

A particularly dangerous subspecies of professional observer prowling latter-day New York is the "style" journalist. His job is to write "what's IN, what's OUT" lists on New Year's Eve. GQ , Esquire or Vogue might have hired him to define the new black. He's paid by Time or Newsweek to spot "national trends"-whatever's current around his midtown office and downtown Manhattan pad. He's got an expense account earmarked for the hippest threads, restaurants, hotels.

He knows at a glance exactly how cool you are. Or not.

Does there exist the supermodel with a Ph.D. and a staff of costume and location assistants to keep her au courant enough to withstand that kind of scrutiny? And would she pass inspection? To his great dismay (and certainly to the dismay of Miramax, which optioned the film rights to his book a couple of years before it came out), no supermodels prance in the parade of vixens, neurotics, bimbos, social X-rays and downtown hipsters who dated former New York Times Sunday Styles writer Rick Marin. But there was no shortage of real women willing to fling themselves into his path, and hence into the crosshairs of his memoir, Cad .

Thanks to their hapless efforts to snare him, the pages of Mr. Marin's book are strewn with the sex toys, bad breath and screwy behavior of dozens of victims from the author's days as a "toxic bachelor" in Manhattan.

This is a guy's version of Lucinda Rosenfeld's novel What She Saw … , a much more literary take on ex-boyfriends. Ms. Rosenfeld contributed a blurb to the back of Mr. Marin's memoirs; so did Candace Bushnell. No matter who the author is, the technique remains the same: date, take notes, eviscerate.

The names have been changed to protect the intimately exposed-or perhaps to avoid retaliation. Only the women Mr. Marin hasn't boinked get identified. For example, there's a chaste scene included, apparently for name-dropping verisimilitude, with Times writer Alex Kuczynski in a black bra working a Weber grill.

Woe to the women identified by first name only: Most of them are real-life members of the New York media community, and Mr. Marin has carnal knowledge of them. Since the narrative isn't exactly compelling-a bunch of style vignettes loosely held together by a not-terribly-convincing emotional arc-it was the clef factor alone that held my attention to the end of the book. I was scanning for details that might identify pals and acquaintances. Watch for bulk sales in Manhattan and L.A., where women who've dated Mr. Marin will be rushing out to snap up every copy before their friends and colleagues have a chance to get their hands on published details of private humiliations.

Despite the book's title and his modus operandi , Mr. Marin is not a classiccigar-gnawing,Wall Street–swaggering, lap-dance-loving cad (though he does hang out in a topless bar). We know from the start that he's got a mushy center. His wife has just dumped him for another man-his excuse for a rampage through the ranks of mid-1990's Manhattan women. He relied greatly on a sensitive-guy persona to get laid. The journalistic habit of asking questions and appearing to be interested in the answers served him well.

But Mr. Marin is too self-conscious to be a genuine cad. Sitting in a bar on a blind date with a woman whose huge breasts are bouncing around inside a William Shakespeare T-shirt, he gets annoyed. "She might as well have been wearing a Mensa baseball cap. I mean, we know Shakespeare is the greatest writer in the English language, don't we? … Cynthia had been fine on the phone …. Now I saw she was a geek blessed (or cursed) with the body of a centerfold …. I can latch onto almost any common ground or opinion or quirk to justify my lust for a desirable woman. At the same time, the slightest misstep will send me into hypercritical frenzy."

In the happy ending, Mr. Marin finds his Holy Grail, a woman who will never infect him with style-crisis cooties because she happens to be one of the arbiters of cool in our generation. He's set to marry Ilene Rosenzweig, co-author (with designer Cynthia Rowley) of Swell , an entertaining advice book for slick chicks, and now co-founder of Swellco, which sells cool home furnishings to Target.

Cad and Swell could become essential tomes on bookshelves in certain precincts of Manhattan and Brooklyn-or anywhere women still dream of learning how to walk, talk and act in the hip, fun, culturally savvy yet post-ironic style that might make them ideal mates for guys like Rick Marin.

Nina Burleigh is a writer living in Paris .

Lingerie, men's magazine editors …. Hmmm, we must be ramping up to Valentine's Day, that holiday which-face it-rarely comes off well, whether one is single or mated …. Tonight, Victoria's Secret beauty Ingrid Seynhaeve hosts a men's shopping night at Henri Bendel , where fellas can learn how to buy lingerie. Sponsoring the event is Esquire , which - in a bold attempt to Maxim -ize its pulling power-pours out tall cocktails and scantily clad models . Watch for tipsy GQ editors holding up teddies to various models, slurring, "Can I get you to try this on? You're just my girlfriend's size …. " Meanwhile, for those who prefer laughter to lace, those crazy kids at the Municipal Art Society toast humorist and illustrator Bruce McCall , whose work is currently on display at the James Goodman Gallery. Mr. McCall called us from his apartment overlooking Central Park West. "I take historical events or familiar landmarks and find some hilarious thing to add to them," he said. "For instance, for a cover of The New Yorker , I once drew a King Kong casting call that showed all these gorillas playing cards and reading the paper while waiting for their audition." He's done lots of covers for the magazine. "It's all pretty fey, I'd say-a little silly, a little blithe," he said. "I'm known to a small circle, but my stuff ain't exactly Leroy Nieman. Literal-minded people, it just passes right over their heads." Is he as funny in person as he is on paper? "Get a couple of Wild Turkeys in me and I am!" Oh stop it, you masher!

[Henri Bendel, 712 Fifth Avenue between 55th and 56th streets, 6 p.m., by invitation only; Bruce McCall's Zany New York, the Municipal Art Society of New York, 457 Madison Avenue, 6 p.m., 212-935-3960.]

Thursday 6th

"My 9-year-old daughter cares more about fashion than I do," said designer Eileen Fisher . "But I've managed to ingrain in her the idea that clothes should be comfortable, so she says, 'If I can't do a cartwheel in it, I'm not wearing it!'" Today, Ms. Fisher eschews the big tents and hosts a lunch for 14 "real women who change the world every day." For those who miss the days when a woman could change the world with a flick of her fan , ride your buggy ( clop, clop, clop ) down to the Merchant's House Museum for Flirting with Fans , which explores how Victorians communicated lusty feelings while under the watchful eyes of their elders. "It's a whole secret language that went on," said Kerrianne Biele , a co-curator of the exhibit. "A closed fan to the lips meant 'You can kiss me,' and placing the fan near the heart meant 'You've won my love.' The fluttering fan was an angry fan; it meant 'I'm cruel.' You didn't want to be the person on the other end of that fan!" We're watching you, Karl Lagerfeld ….

[Eileen Fisher luncheon, Les Salons Bernadin, 155-A West 51st Street, between Sixth and Seventh avenues, noon, 914-721-4031, by invitation only; Merchant's House Museum, 29 East Fourth Street, 1 p.m., 212-777-1089.]

Friday 7th

Have you ever wanted a picture of yourself on a bathing suit ? We didn't think so, but Gisele Bündchen, Heidi Klum, Karolina Kurkova and Naomi Campbell did, and now you can have one, too, because-well, why the hell not? And you can tell friends it's some sort of post-post-postmodern anti-lookist fashion comment …. Tonight at Bergdorf Goodman, they're having a wee bash in for what they call "Picture-Perfect Swimwear" : Guests will be invited to get their Kodak moments-snaps of themselves or others-transformed into a Rosa Cha swimsuit. Amir Slama, the line's designer, called from Brazil: "People can only use pictures of people they know," he cautioned. "Otherwise, you can have problems with photograph rights. In Brazil, many girls are putting their boyfriend's picture on their suit, or the girl's on the boy's suit. Sometimes dogs. Or their children!" The aforementioned mannequins all had photos of themselves plastered onto their own suits, which might make one pause the next time you hear a model proclaim that she looks in the mirror and just hates the way she looks …. We say: We don't even like the way we look in swimsuits, let alone on them.

[Picture-Perfect Swimwear launch, Bergdorf Goodman, 754 Fifth Avenue, sixth floor, 11 a.m. to 6 p.m., 212-753-7300.]

Saturday 8th

Sure, there are a bunch of tents in Bryant Park that are filled this week with people who wouldn't be caught dead camping. But whatever . Fashion Week lands with a moist "ker- plop" on the city, meaning that models and the magazine editors who tried to be models are converging upon midtown like it was the last bean salad on earth. Tonight at Sean John, see the latest designs of Puff Daddy … errr … P. Diddy … errr … Sean-a-Puff-n-Stuff … ummm … Combs -whose fashion handlers won't tell where the show is going to be, and we've been searching for the undisclosed location like we're Hans Blix. We do know it's somewhere in Bryant Park, at 8 p.m. And as long as the dreaded V-Day is looming, well, you can't buy us love, but you can sure as hell try! Every weekend in February, the Ritz-Carlton is offering a saucy " La Bohème Is for Lovers." For $575, a couple enjoys a room with a city view, a four-course Italian meal ( burp !), orchestra seats to La Bohème and entry to the 14th floor's "Chocolate Bar" (champagne, chocolate martinis, 30 chocolate desserts.) "They're pretty light," assures the hotel's general manager Dan Flannery, "so you won't feel like you're rolling out of here." (Pack your "fat jeans" just in case.)

[ La Bohème Is for Lovers, the Ritz-Carlton Battery Park, 2 West Street, every weekend in February, 212-344-0800.]

Sunday 9th

"I married into the family," Carol Hemingwa y told us. "I don't carry the Hemingway genes." Tonight her play, It Just Catches , premieres, based on the stories of father-in-law Ernest Hemingway . In terms of lugging around the "name": " I think it's been difficult for his sons; having a famous name has its pluses and minuses," she said. What about Poppa's reputation as a misogynist? "I think there are a lot of stereotypes-particularly on the part of young women who don't think Hemingway understands them," Ms. Hemingway said. "But as my husband says, 'How could that be when he grew up with four sisters?' He had many women friends-not just wives and love affairs and whatnot, but real intelligent women friends."

[ It Just Catches , Cherry Lane Theater, 38 Commerce Street, Monday, Wednesday through Friday, 8 p.m.; Saturday, 5 and 9 p.m.; Sunday, 3 p.m., 212-239-6200.]

Monday 10th

Ever want to meet the woman who gives Michael Douglas pedicures? We thought so ! Her name is Maria Salandra , and today the celebrity pedicurist can be found near the tents of Fashion Week, offering on-site pedicures to models, fashion editors and the restofthe press. We asked her: Who's got the nicest feet in Hollywood? "Sandra Bullock has wonderfulfeet, andsodoes Catherine [Zeta-Jones], even though she's a dancer," said Ms. Salandra. As for the Week de Fashion, today's standout shows include Carolina Herrera ( tidiness and polka dots ), Badgley Mischka ( beading, elegance sans flash ) and Oscar de la Renta ( embroidery, color ) …. Speaking of anorexia , those without it can follow the gumdrop trail over to Dylan's Candy Bar for a "Kids in Candyland" party benefiting the Lenox Hill Neighborhood House. Famously owned by Ralph Lauren's daughter , this two-story shop is the Willy Wonka chocolate factory of the Upper East Side (mercifully minus the Oompa Loompas , which we still find terrifying, even as adults.) Renee Rockefeller, Aerin Lauder and Alexandra von Furstenberg preside over face-painting and champagne for the adults. The party rages until 8 p.m., but outlaw candy after 7 o'clock if you want the kids in bed before high-school graduation.

[All shows by invitation only: Carolina Herrera, the Theater, Bryant Park, 42nd Street at Sixth Avenue, 10 a.m., 478-6708; Kids in Candyland, Dylan's Candy Bar, 1011 Third Avenue at 60th Street, 5 p.m. to 8 p.m., 212-744-5022, ext. 1355.]

tuesday 11th

Since The New York Times ' real "toxic bachelor" is highly unlikely to ever 'fess up in public, Rick Marin , a plucky Times Style section reporter, has published a memoir of his own bad self titled Cad: Confessions of a Toxic Bachelor. Tonight he gets a book party hosted by Pamela Wallin, who happens to be the Counsul General of Canada. We called Mr. Marin's Flatiron apartment , but were soon interrupted by his fiancée, Ilene Rosenzweig , calling in with her beloved's "Amazon number." Mr. Marin explained, " Authors become obsessed with how their book is doing and check it on an hourly basis. So far, nobody's posted any negative comments, because the book isn't out yet-but I'm sure it's coming, and I'm not looking forward to it. I'm very thin-skinned." What's with the Canadians tonight? "They're really good about throwing parties whenever one of our people does something," Mr. Marin said. "We Canadians like to stick together-Shania, Celine, the whole Super Bowl!" Bonus dirty excerpt from Cad , about the first time Mr. Marin sat down to a meal-a business lunch-with Ms. Rosenzweig, who was editing a story he'd written for Allure:

She wiggled her eyebrows and gave me an expectant look. "What do you think of my perfume?"

"I didn't notice. I mean, very nice."

"I'm testing a different scent every day," she said, smoothing the napkin in her lap. "To see which is the sexiest. it's for an article. 'The Story of Eau.'"

"I thought you were an editor."

"Sometimes they let me be a cub reporter. Want to smell my neck again?"

I leaned over and inhaled.

"Fracas," she said. "The Venus flytrap of scents. Full of dirty notes."

"Daddy like," I said, with a dirty note.

[ Cad party, big fancy apartment on Park Avenue, 6 p.m., by invitation only.]

Wednesday 12th

Is it just us, or is the whole war thing getting very "Afterschool Special"? So tonight let's turn off CNN (or The Bachelorette -you know who you are) and join the American Museum of the Moving Image in saluting Billy Crystal , who will be roasted by the likes of Robert De Niro, Kevin Spacey and Robin Williams …. Speaking of television, Paris Hilton ina Green Acres –inspiredreality series?There simply are no words ….

[18th Annual

AMMI Salute,

Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, Grand Ballroom, 7 p.m.,

212-245-6570.]