Jimmy Choo Ltd.

There were so many parties riding on the back of Art Basel Miami Beach, according to the Times, that “anyone without a crib sheet, or the power publicist Nadine Johnson on speed-dial, was lost.” So legion were the corporate-scented art-design-fashion fêtes, in fact, that Manhattan socialite Lee Schifter’s speech pattern was reduced to something akin to gibberish. “Did you Pucci or Choo?” she asked at one point, referring to a pair of concurrent parties—one given by Jimmy Choo founder Tamara Mellon and the other by Emilio Pucci’s daughter, Laudomia.

And those who didn’t Pucci or Choo were able to Swarovski, Audi and Cartier. Oh, and a few lucky people could also Klein, if they so desired, by dining with the 65-year-old designer, Calvin, at his new, art-free, Greece-or-something manse. No lazy affair, the planning for Mr. Klein’s party reportedly took several weeks and included “casting” and “importing” actor-waiters from New York. Art for promotion’s sake? It’s safe to say that Andy Warhol would be quite pleased. [NYT]

I have ugly heels.  read more »

I have ugly heels.  read more »

The red carpet at last night's Liberty Island screening of the Fantastic Four was sopping wet. When the film's cast finally walked off the dock, they were a few hours late, having dragged their kitten heels through mud.

Alice Evans, a leggy blonde who has dated Mr. Fantastic (Ioan Gruffudd) for five years, hobbled about in a broken Jimmy Choo heel. Jessica Alba couldn't talk to the press—she was seasick, according to her publicist. And when asked how he felt on this grand occasion, Mr. Fantastic himself replied in one adjective—"Moist."

Hoping to calm the livid reporters who they had literally stranded on an island, one well-intentioned publicist ventured on the red carpet to give a statement: "To anyone who this concerns, Julian [McMahon] is not wearing Hugo Boss, he's wearing Ted Baker."

Press: "Okay. Thanks."

Two second pause.

Raucous laughter.

"Who cares?"

Twenty minutes later, the fireworks display started—of course, they had been scheduled to pop off after the film, not before it. Since the first ferry had been arranged to head out after the fireworks, those who felt a bit antsy were overjoyed. And the bangs were grand! After a heartbeat-paced shower of stars, in a pause, a photographer hastily clapped. When the show started up again, he could be heard above the gunshots: "You lied to me!"  read more »

Indeed, the mood was somber when the finale went off: fireworks in the form of—are those fours?—exploded in the night sky. But the majority of fours were backwards, aimed to resemble fours to, perhaps, those safe, dry, lucky people who were still on a much larger island—Manhattan. Reporters giggled. And Jessica Alba was probably wishing she hadn't worn a barebacked Gucci gown. The chairs were soaking, and the only food was ice cream. —Adriane Quinlan

One night, my husband came home from a dinner with some newly acquired friends and announced that he  read more »

You crazy little fool!  read more »

"Clearly, the French love Americans much more than they'll admit," said my Irish companion.  read more »