It’s was a cold morning on the last day of Fashion Week and Bryant Park was pretty desolate, but Victoria Beckham, a.k.a Posh Spice, seemed undaunted by the chill.
I was mid-way through a conversation with a paparazzo about the apparently low turn-out for the 2008 fall shows, when she sauntered out of the tent across from the Bryant Park Grill (which of all the tents, seems to be the best piece of Fashion Week real estate so to speak) in a clinging, bright orange dress, stiletto heels, and no coat, trailed by hefty entourage of bodyguards.
The photographer tore away mid-sentence, practically tripping over himself to join the horde of shutterbugs. A male spectator, most likely a tourist, followed behind the throng mocking Ms. Beckham’s model-esque gait.
“I can’t stand her,” a British woman told her female companion.
“I think four people need an ambulance,” the photographer joked, when he returned to the tent a few minutes later. “Some guy just crashed into a sign trying to get a photo.”
A couple of trendy teenage girls who had ditched school to catch the last day of Fashion Week festivities joined us.
“Her body guards were mean, a lot of the times they are nice,” one told me informatively. “Who does she think she is, the president?”
