Mr. Maupin's old house.

Janelle Reiring and David Maupin don't only share a similar sensibility when it comes to selling art. The former mentor and mentee—Mr. Maupin worked under Ms. Rearing at Metro Pictures during his early days in the art world, long before he started the Lehmann Maupin gallery—also have similar taste in real estate.

The Observer has learned from a source familiar with the deal that Mr. Maupin and W editor Stefano Tonchi have purchased Ms. Rearing's Bridgehampton home at 33 Jobs Lane. The house traded for under the $3.9 million ask, we hear (a discount between old friends seems entirely fitting), although Mr. Maupin was traveling and could not be reached to confirm or comment on the sale.

The home was not listed publicly, although we feel safe saying that it's most likely an upgrade for the couple. Their former home, located at 451 Lumber Lane in the same artsy enclave, sold after just two months on the market. The 1,700-square-foot spread, listed for $1.79 million, is small, but very chic, with a stunning pool. And who would expect anything less of a gallery owner and fashion magazine editor?

What's more, the couple's new home is located next door to that of Jacqueline Schnabel, whose freshly minted art dealer son Vito will no doubt enjoy talking to the new neighbors.

kvelsey@observer.com

Marion Cotillard chatting away.

Just when we were sick and tired of cinema screenings and movie premiere parties (Hello nomination-baiting season!), The Cinema Society alongside Dior and Vanity Fair hosted one of its best shindigs yet, at the legendary Indochine restaurant following a showing of the Rust and Bone, Jacques Audiard’s 2012 French-Belgian film, which stars Marion Cotillard and dizzyingly sexy Matthias Schoenaerts.

“I’m gonna need eight glasses of Champagne to lift myself up from that one!” one power publicist bellowed to The Observer over the roaring crowd.

“But Marion Cotillard was just amazing!”

This writer unfortunately missed the screening in order to support wounded U.S. servicemen and women uptown for Stand Up For Heroes event, which featured performances by John Mayer, Roger Waters and Bruce Springsteen.

We were hoping for a sighting and perhaps to bavarder with the Oscar-winner.

"Marion had to immediately catch an international flight," one social stalwart dutifully informed us. Of course she had plenty of time to pose for the cameras in her Dior couture, flashing her wondrous baby-bump.

Those that did turn out for the Indochine post-bash made the night memorable. Mischievous attendees included Harley Vieira Newton, Jean-Marc Houmard, Katie Lee, Nan Bush and Bruce Weber, Stefano Tonchi, the mouthy Amy Sacco, Isiah Whitlock and Donna D'Cruz, who off-duty on the DJ gig for the evening.

“I think it’s the food!’ suggested a male model, whose name escaped us.

“These mushroom things and the filet mignon!” he raved between bites.

We schmoozed with model Johannes Huebl and admired Ellen von Unwerth dancing skills. An attempt to question Emma Watson about the premise of the film resulted in a chic pout; her smart phone was of more interest.

The film, which takes place in Antibes, we were told, follows a young man who develops a bond with a whale trainer and traces how their relationship intensifies after a tragic accident. It won critical acclaim at Cannes and the BFI Film Festival. So we shall see how it plays with American audiences. It is en Français.

We got a few words with the Belgian star, Matthias Schoenaerts, but most of it was in Flemish… “I am very excited about the film,” was about all our infantile Nederland skills could reward us.

Nonetheless, the night was about celebration and good vibes. Signature Belvedere cocktails like the Rust and Bone mojitos kept conversation lively and bodies loose until well after midnight.

We told the host of evening and The Cinema Society founder, Andrew Saffir that this was our favorite fête of his thus far. He was unfazed and just smiled politely. With that, we were off to Norwood to continue our foolish, but fabulous escapades.

Cindy Sherman. (Adriel Reboh/Patrick McMullan)

“Look who it is: it’s Edwina, the Edwina,” Isaac Mizrahi exclaimed to The Observer this past Saturday, as he approached Edwina von Gal, the designer who, Ross Bleckner told us, “did the landscaping at my house in Sagaponack.”

We were at Cindy Sherman’s new East Hampton home at a benefit for the Azuero Earth Project, the Panama-based ecological nonprofit of which Ms. von Gal is president. It was a cozy beginning-of-the-end to the Hamptons summer season. Guests sat on benches under a white tent to eat empanadas and watch performances by Suzanne Vega, Rufus Wainwright, Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed. Children climbed into pendulous bamboo cocoons, stuffed with pillows, that swayed from the trees.

“I live just up the road,” Ms. Vega, who had been asked at the last minute to replace Rubén Blades, told us. “I originally came as a guest of Laurie’s, and I thought I was going to see Rubén Blades!” Wearing a top hat—a “tip of the hat to Marlene Dietrich”—Ms. Vega performed “Marlene on the Wall” and “Gypsy,” written when she was a “folk-singing and disco-dancing counselor” at a summer camp in the Adirondacks. She had M.C. Bob Balaban serve as an impromptu music stand, holding a handwritten lyric sheet for a new Dylan-inspired number about the tarot’s Queen of Pentacles.

“I probably shouldn’t have kissed her,” Mr. Balaban confided to us afterward. “It’s rude to kiss somebody you’ve just met.” Mr. Balaban told us about his upcoming appearance as Lena Dunham’s psychiatrist on Girls, and recommended we visit Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner’s former home down the road. “It’s just a little hut,” he explained. “They didn’t have any money.” (We read that Ms. Sherman paid $4.65 million for her estate, though we weren’t invited inside.)

Gorgeous in two shades of blue mufti (a baby blue wrap over a navy dress), the chameleonic Ms. Sherman told us that though she had just moved in a month ago, “There’s just a few little things that need to be tweaked, but I’m pretty settled.” Was this party a little housewarming, then? “A big housewarming,” she corrected us. Ms. Sherman also talked about transplanting her career retrospective from New York’s Museum of Modern Art to San Francisco’s MOMA, where it’s currently on view. “The space is different; it was hard to edit out some of the work.”

We watched Gina Gershon and Martha Stewart, both in pre-Labor Day white, run around taking pictures, and stood by as Mr. Mizrahi introduced Mr. Bleckner to his husband, Arnold Germer.

“We’re married, you know,” said Mr. Mizrahi.

“I didn’t know!” Mr. Bleckner replied

“Now we’re moving in together,” Mr. Germer went on.

“That’s exactly what married people do!” Mr. Bleckner pointed out. “Usually it’s the step before, but I guess you’re playing it safe.”

Messrs. Germer and Mizrahi (whose bandana matched that of Bruce Weber, also in attendance) weren’t the only couple at the party to have taken advantage of New York’s new same-sex marriage laws. David Maupin and Stefano Tonchi brought their twin girls, Maura and Isabella.

We asked Mr. Tonchi about changes at The New York Times’s T Magazine, which he left two years ago to edit W, specifically about the recent departure of his successor, Sally Singer. “Oh, please. Old news,” Mr. Tonchi answered summarily.

Mr. Wainwright brought his husband, Jörn Weisbrodt, whom he had married the week prior. He opened his performance with what he called a “really Hamptons-y song about a bored housewife ... which I have become. Love it!” Later, he sang about his own Hamptons domesticity in “Montauk”: “This next song is about my daughter, Viva Katherine Wainwright Cohen, and also my incredible new husband, Jörn Weis-” he caught himself and laughed. “Jörn Wainwright. Or Rufus Weisbrodt, however you do it. In fact, his name is Weisbrodt, which means ‘white bread’ in German, and what is it, there’s something about a honeymoon? In Dutch, a honeymoon is called a ‘white bread,’ white bread weeks. You can get fat, basically, now that you’re married.”

Lou Reed, married for four years but with his wife for a decade prior, came off a little less enchanted. “Are you done? Jesus. And we’re related,” Mr. Reed muttered jokingly, as Laurie Anderson plugged in her violin next to him, generating a loud electronic buzz.

“I would cut my legs and tits off/When I think of Boris Karloff,” Mr. Reed sang, in a song from last year’s much-maligned Metallica collaboration Lulu. He next performed a monologue in the voice of his mentor Andy Warhol: “Lou Reed got married and didn’t invite me ... you know I hate Lou, I really do.”

Ms. Anderson performed a monologue of her own, about observing the Amish in Western Pennsylvania—“Gee, I wonder what it’s like to live that way,” she mused—which nearly cleared the tent, though her political criticism drew some laughs. “Ever since hearing Clint Eastwood talk about optimism the other night at the Republican Convention,” Ms. Anderson narrated, her voice electronically shifted several octaves down, accompanied by slow synth chords, “I actually became extremely pessimistic about the future. I mean, look at the odds for a second. You have more chance of getting hit and killed in a car crash than dying in a plane crash.” (Here, she lost us again.)

As the wind off of Accabanac Harbor picked up (“I’m getting the best hairdo of my life thanks to this body of water,” Mr. Wainwright joked), guests began to wrap their shoulders in complimentary green picnic blankets.

Patrizia Pinzon, visiting from Panama, bemoaned the absence of Mr. Blades, the one Panamanian who had been scheduled to perform. “Everybody’s here, but they don’t know what it’s about.”

Julie Macklowe. (Patrick McMullan)

“Pretty much every gay man in fashion is here,” a guest remarked at the AIDS Community Research Initiative of America’s “Cocktails at Sunset” benefit on Saturday evening.

And so it seemed. The air was heavily perfumed, and well-fitting white jeans abounded in the backyard of Ross Bleckner’s Sagaponack residence. Despite some wild weather earlier in the week—a smothering heat wave followed by a severe summer storm—the sky had cleared and the beach breeze was cool.

Photographer Stewart Shining expressed his relief at this, telling The Observer that, as the vice president of ACRIA, he’d been running around all day getting things ready and having nightmares about the rain. And with good reason—Kelly Klein told us that she’d attended the annual kickoff at the Bridgehampton Polo Club earlier that day, only for it to be canceled because of Friday’s harsh weather. “But everybody still showed up, so it was a bunch of people with nowhere to go,” she explained, a little exasperated.

But the grass was dry as Jeffrey Bilhuber, Tomas Maier and David Kleinberg milled around the tented lawn, sipping champagne and taking in the silent auction featuring Robert Mapplethorpe’s Fang (1987) and a Robert Longo portrait of Cindy Sherman, which sold for $9,000 and $11,000, respectively.

Mr. Shining assured us he was starting to relax, but his party-organizing duties were not yet over. “People keep texting last-minute, you know, ‘Where’s the party?’” he laughed.

Not long after Mr. Shining’s arrival, Mr. Bleckner strode out his back door and down the lawn, accompanied by his dogs. “My evening’s just beginning,” he told us. “I will say that my dogs seem to be having a good time, though,” he said, gesturing to his three dachshunds.

Stefano Tonchi, the editor of W, was lamenting the summer crowds (“even in my spinning class,” he moaned), when something behind us caught his eye. “Oh my god, you are bright!” he exclaimed. “Wow ... wow!”

A neon-clad Peggy Siegal had just appeared on Mr. Bleckner’s doorstep, where she posed proudly for photographers. “I’m wearing Nanette Lepore,” she informed a throng of admirers, gesturing to her vibrant papaya-colored skirt and revealing a leg through an Angelina Jolie-inspired slit.

“Did you know that neon doesn’t photograph?” Mr. Shining asked his companions. “I keep doing covers for Seventeen magazine—they love neon—and I shoot it, and then it comes up on the monitor and I go, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll make it painted,’” he laughed bemusedly.

Jill Stuart arrived with her daughter, Chloe Curtis. Patrick McMullan rushed up to her. “You’re here with your babies!” he exclaimed. “I’ll make you look beautiful.”

Ms. Stewart told us that her daughter, who recently graduated from Cornell, would be moving to London in a few weeks to study at Sotheby’s in the fall and, in the meantime, catch the Olympics. “Chloe and Sophie,” Ms. Stewart said, referring to the youngest of her three daughters. “They’re going to go to the finals of gymnastics,” she added, which she told us was one of her own favorite sports to watch.

We ran into Julie Macklowe, who eagerly gave us a sample of vbeauté—her recently launched specialty skin care line—anti-wrinkle serum. “It’s the best thing you could ever use,” Ms. Maclowe’s companion, Oliva Oluck, informed us enthusiastically. “You will be impressed.”

Yet Ms. Macklowe revealed that vbeauté might not be the entire secret to her own youthful complexion. “This morning I ran eight miles barefoot!” she reported excitedly, referring to her jogging footwear of choice as “condom shoes.”

“I feel like I have some aches and pains going on,” Ms. Macklowe admitted.

“Last night we went to Papa John’s Café for dinner, and I introduced my daughter, much to the chagrin of my husband, to deep-fried mozzarella sticks!” she elaborated.  “Of course, I proceeded to eat half of them. Needless to say, that’s how the eight miles came about.”

Ms. Macklowe was not the only one taking advantage of the weekend to catch up on exercise. The belle of the evening, the young art director Sofia Sanchez Barrenechea, told us she’d been paddleboarding all morning, demonstrating the required motion with her arms. We asked about her plans for the rest of the weekend. “More paddleboarding,” she told us definitively. “And I’ll probably be doing a lot of eating,” she added, unprompted.

We wandered over to speak with Shelly and Vincent Fremont, who came with their daughter, Casey Fremont Crowe, and spent much of the evening conversing with Bob Colacello. “I have a new grandson who’s five months old, so that’s all I really care about,” Ms. Fremont told us. “We took him to the beach today, which was really fun. He just loved it! It was great.”

Bruce Weber told us he’d been busy working most of the weekend, but he’d be taking time later in the summer to head up to the Adirondacks. “So I’ll be swimming in a lake,” he said, explaining why it was preferable to the beach. “I swim, but I swim now with six dogs,” he explained with a crinkly grin. “They try to keep up and I have to carry them.”

Francisco Costa, the Women’s Creative Director of Calvin Klein, had just returned from a trip to Santa Barbara and was eager to tell us about a new hobby he’d discovered. “For the first time, I did—what do you call it, arch?” He mimed shooting a bow and arrow. “And I hit the bull’s-eye every time!” he exclaimed. “It was so beautiful.”

Mr. Costa told us he’d been spending time barbecuing at his house in Bellport but explained this was his last weekend of the summer. “Summer’s over!” he exclaimed. “This is it for me. I’ll be at home all week and then all the way until the end of August I’ll be in the office, working every single weekend,” he explained, alluding to fall’s looming fashion weeks.

We asked how he’d been dealing with the hot weather. “I love it,” he told us earnestly. “I’m Brazilian, so I keep telling people to just enjoy it.”

eschwiegershausen@observer.com

Fashion Week fixtures gathered in the space, jaws slackened as they watched the massive projections. Each screen showed a video installastion by  Solve Sundsbo, showing two models, one female, one male, with continuously changing body parts. To a haunting electronica sound track (if it wasn't the same hypnotic hymn played in the Standard Hotel's storied elevator, it was hardly distinguishable), well-toned legs morphed into writhing snakes, chests became blooming flowers and close-up ready faces were transformed into raven's heads, always assuming a vaguely anthropomorphic shape. It was a trippy fashion fantasy, supposedly inspired by "the changing idea of beauty." Ironically, both models at the center of the tableaux were conspicuously classic beauties.

Cate Blanchett, Martha Stewart, Olivia Palermo, Tory Burch, Anna Dello Russo, Coco Rocha, Yigal Azrouel, Lara Stone and  Shalom Harlow absorbed the hypnagogic installation whilst imbibing champagne, wine and vodka. There was no food, only a few trays of Maison du Chocolat truffles making the rounds in honor of St. Valentine's day.

After a flute (or tw0) we decided to broach a contentious subject with our fashionable comrades. Karl Lagerfeld recently called Adele "too fat," (a comment which he later retracted, but let's not get bogged in details, shall we?). We wanted to know what people thought about the fashion guru's comments. With whom would they side, Uncle Karl, patron saint of Couture, or Grammy sensation Adele?

"Um, I think she is a fantastic singer. I never, like, think about the body. I mean its like the beautiful voice, it's a beautiful face, it’s a beautiful woman," host Stefano Tonchi said. "I find any of these things kind of stupid," he said, finally.

We asked Diane von Furstenberg (who was staring, transfixed at the screens)  if she thought the idea of beauty was really changing in fashion. "Is it?" she asked whimsically, apparently still under the film's spell. Of Adele, she angrily brushed aside any naysayers, snapping back to reality. "I think that she’s hot, I see her picture, she looks great. Listen, beautify is what beauty does. John Keats said it before me." While we're not sure if that's a direct quote, we appreciated Ms. von Furstenberg's sentiment.

Desperate to ask Daphne Guinness the same question, we hovered around the heiress while she chatted with a friend. "Ms. Guinness," we began, only to have a "Please Desist!"  hand thrust in our face by her personal body guard who was, it turns out, a better hoverer than our self.

We approached the bar for a re-fill, only to find that we had stepped in somebody's overturned Bloody Mary. We looked up at the bar, and our neurons began to fire:  Aside from splashes of tonic, champagne, wine and vodka were the only drinks being served meaning..... "Is that...blood?!" we asked an onlooking girl who had not cared to warn us of the bodily fluids.

"Um, yes. Someone, like, fell on their champagne glass," she said.

Indeed the remnants of the ill-fated flute could be seen, shattered and bloody, in the hemoglobules. Feeling slightly faint, we walked away from the scene, tracking a trail of vital fluid with our (rather nice) boots. Between the film, the blood, the cavernous space and the giraffe-like models, the scene could not possibly have been more surreal. An attendant soon appeared with a bottle of Perrier to clean the mess, but not before we had time too Google clinics in the area where we might get tested for blood-borne infections.

Although it launched in conjunction with the October issue, the app is unrelated to W print editions. It is "a daily offering of exquisite 'must sees' and 'must haves' carefully curated by the editors of W," including exclusive video content. It's all shoppable and will reward users who are first to share content over social media with designer giveaways.

“The Daily W is an incredible expression of W’s DNA made for a completely different medium.  We are very excited about the new daily relationship this app will establish with our readers,” W editor-in-chief Stefano Tonchi said in a statement.

The app is sponsored exclusively by Calvin Klein, which seems to be the preferred strategy for brands dabbling in tablet media. Ralph Lauren bought solo sponsorship of The New York Times iPad app for September.

Raquel Zimmermann, in W

Kristen Stewart's unrecognizably glam turn on the cover of W may have everyone talking, but a Steven Meisel spread tucked inside may start stealing the spotlight.

Today, WWD, made the connection between the famed photographer's contribution to W -- a then-and-now frivolity that dresses a model up on the left page and down on the right -- and a project he undertook for the August issue of Italian Vogue. The spreads have a nearly identical concept and model Raquel Zimmermann is used both times.

John Koblin at Women's Wear takes a look at the possible consequences.

The fallout will be worth watching. If it damages W’s relationship with Meisel, Tonchi will lose out on a big-name photographer he’s craved for the magazine. If Tonchi doesn’t act, it will demonstrate the lengths a fashion magazine editor will go to appease a photographer who holds considerable influence in the industry.

All this on the eve of Fashion Week, no less!

The Observer finally made our way through the September issue of W yesterday, waiting for a friend at Schiller's. The Meisel spread looked perfectly fine to us -- absorbing, even -- but then again Keith McNally doesn't stock Italian Vogue in his Lower East Side boîte, so we couldn't trace the similarities.

The Osbourne's lobby.

Were you concerned that W editor Stefano Tonchi, partner David Maupin and their newborn girls were homeless after reading in The Observer that they had sold their Greenwich Village apartment? Worry no more! City records show that the family has moved uptown,  purchasing an apartment at The Osbourne at 205 West 57th Street.

Messrs. Tonchi and Maupin spared no expense on the home, paying $4.1 million, and there will be space aplenty  for the kids. The twins will be able to have their own rooms if their parents so desire, given the three bedrooms (although floorplans show that the rooms are uneven, so perhaps they will share after all).

In coming years the twins can learn to read in the apartment's luxe 229-square-foot  library, or, if they so desire, play in the 509-square-foot living room.

For their part, Messrs. Maupin and Tonchi now have a massive dressing room off the master bedroom to house what is sure to be an impressive wardrobe collection between the two of them.

And, in the winter, the family can heat their home the old fashioned way with their six wood-burning fireplaces, according to a listing from Sotheby's Nikki Field and Patrica Wheatley. Although it may be a bit drafty with those 15-foot ceilings.

eknusten@observer.com

Recent listings in the building, located at 31 West 12th Street, shed a bit of light on the sale. Most of the building's 23 units have three bedrooms with either 1.5  or two baths.  Several have been on the market recently, priced between $1.4 million,and$4 million with Mr. Tonchi's apartment selling toward the upper end of the spectrum at $3.277 million.

Mr. Tonchi was not the only fashion-conscious owner at The Ardea-- famed fashion designer Anna Sui owns three units in the building, purchasing most recently last March.

It appears that the newest owner in the building will fit right in. The buyer, it seems, is Alain Coblence, a French-American lawyer who, when he's not defending corporate Frenchmen, he's probably analyzing the happenings at the European Mozart Foundation, where he was president for five years in the nineties or perhaps promoting the work of choreographers through one of the many cultural foundations he assists. Neither Mr. Tonchi nor Mr. Coblence could immediately be reached for comment.

eknutsen@observer.com

W

ddaddario@observer.com :: @DPD_