Hex In The City

Is it just me, or does SJP look pretty extra crazypants in her new ads?

Like she's possessed by some heinous otherworldly parfum demon who, with his evil olfactory-based powers, Photoshopped a ridiculously-sized bottle of Covet into her dainty little hands.

But, then again, maybe it's just me.

Back to NYC

Tonight: the opening of the Maria Felix sale at Christie's New York.

Of note: the leopard print "red" carpet; the fabulousness that, once again, is Lydia Fenet; the estate of Ms. Felix; meeting James of Park Avenue Peerage. What a sweet guy, a total highlight. Loved him. And the way cool Billy Farrell from Patrick McMullan.

Estate sales are a such a mix of emotions: attend one and you're part historian, part collector, part creepy voyeur. But it almost moved me to tears walking though what was her amazing life, just in things.

Beautiful paintings, china, hand-embroidered chairs, old, old books, so many awards, and an entire room lit in blue, filled with her Tiffany blue pieces: chandeliers, vases, a salt and pepper shaker shaped like a coach with blue s&p's in the carriage; couture clothing.

Then the red carpet started: first: smacked down by Bill Cunningham. Doh! Then Tinsley Mortimer, Chita Rivera, Hamish Bowles, Nina Garcia, Thom Filicia, Brandon Davis (once again) who completely tried to maul one of the girls in our group; Norma Quintero; photo editor Cary Leitzes; Angel Sanchez (fresh from designing Eva's wedding gown!); and countless others that, had I not guzzled about 4 glasses of champagne and quick, I'd probably remember better.

Some from our group split off to head to the Hairspray premiere, some to some bar near the Shoreham, our cute little hotel. And a few of us: back to our beds, end of a long, fun, but tiring weekend.

P.S. Additional sighting: Lucy Liu, heading off my elevator at Bergdorf's.

Turns Out, We're All Star-Effers...

I don't know, I guess I just kinda thought that Miami people were more used to the notion of celebrity than those of us in DC. There's just SO much ostentatious wealth everywhere you look, lots of celebs are down there, the events scene is about 100x that of Washington...

...but then Jessica Simpson's swimwear launched at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. And then my theory proved all kinds of wrong.

Shay Todd show: oh, about 20 photogs, seating was at capacity, which was maybe 350.

JS show: about 200 photogs, standing room only. Just utter madness.

But first, a little digression.

I was staying at my sister's beautiful apartment (she's still on her uber-luxe tour of Italy), so I had free reign in her closet and with her beauty products. Worth the trip in and of itself.

First night: Dolce & Gabbana black lace stretch dress, which I've been coveting forever. Standing in line to get into the tent, saw Brandon Davis' girlfriend breeze through the VIP line, but Mr. Davis: denied. Tried the "don't you know who I am" bit, but not so much. Also seen: club promoter Ingrid Casares with her companion all weekend, stylist Robert Verdi; Andy Summers, though holed up in the VIP room at the Sagamore (a collection of his photos from the Police taken in the 80's is currently on display/on sale there); heard Andy Garcia was there but didn't spot him.

Next day: favorite Tory top, also a long-time covet, during the day; pilfered for night: gold alligator strappy sandals with twisted metal stiletto heel (worn with my Chinese silk RL pants that I wear to damn everything).

First stop: Rik-Rak Salon's Sagamore outpost for an editorial meeting/foot massage. Yeah, tough. But thank goodness for that relaxing start, because the night ahead...

So, the JS Show. First, the suits: surprisingly cute. The show soundtrack opened with American Woman, some Prince thrown in as well--was very fun. The models: better than at any other show; all were skinny with huge boobies. One looked EXACTLY like JS (who was seated in the front row with her mother and Jamie-Lynn Sigler).

Also of note: crazypants Dennis Rodman, there with drag queen extraordinaire Elaine Lancaster. Apparently not happy that he wasn't the center of attention, he got up mid-show, started dancing across the runway, then over to the left of the runway (but still in front of the photogs) and continued dancing. It was just bizarre.

Then came the after party at the Shore Club.

First, a shout-out: to the three J's: Josh and his two cohorts whose names I can't remember but they were J's, managers of the Red Room all. Cool as hell, especially under pressure. That's a job where you could seriously be a complete prick with attitude, and none of them were, not in the least. They were quite fabulous.

My job: get bottle of liquor into the hands of Ms. Simpson when she arrived. Get CEO of said liquor in her velvet-roped area. Find our photog and snap a picture. Easy, right?

As the night ticked on, the Red Room at Sky Bar (at Shore Club) was just getting more and more (and more and more) packed. Then I noticed security sweeps starting to come through. Then the paparazzi started coming in. Then I started inching my way up and...

KABLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMKABLAM went the flashbulbs. Talent hath arrived.

I was about three people back from the ropes, literally getting thrown around like a ping pong ball in my gold stilettos (which, as they were pilfered, didn't fit me perfectly so they hurt like hell and I was pretty wobbly). Seriously thought I was going to get trampled. It was actually frightening. Security tried to calm things down, but that was just not happening.

Made it up to the front, about 5 feet away. Ken Paves was dancing on a chair for the photogs, Jessica was vamping like the expert that she is. It was impressive to see her turn it on just like that.

Then I found myself barking some orders, handing stuff over, we grabbed the photog, SNAPSNAP. Done.

Turned around and JS's publicist was standing there, release order in hand stating that we couldn't use the photo.

Foiled at the velvet rope. Damn. Impressed by her people, though. I mean, it was lightning fast.

Hobbled out of the event, stopping to load up from the Smashbox lady--a woman walking around with a literal tray of Smashbox that was yours for the taking. Awesome. Then over to the outside bar, to order two $20 glasses of champagne (it was free inside, but we just couldn't be bothered--it was just so packed and exhausting), sat outside with our Blackberries, emailing the media our scoops, then through the hotel where two men who looked exactly like the Night at the Roxbury guys tried to pick us up, even when I said, "thanks, but happily married with a baby."

Then out of South Beach, back to the apartment, gingerly placing the somewhat trashed shoes into their plastic case labeled with a Polaroid (and then went straight for the La Mer).

Next installment: spa day at five-star Acqualina.

Ode to Valentino

I was just reading about Valentino's 45th anniversary/75th birthday in Rome* (unfortunately, I couldn't make it because I, um, was busy...with...um...).

Anyhoo, in honor of the man and his legendary career, I share with you my very own Valentino story. It would have been published in Glamour in 1998, but they shortened my brilliant, enchanting 1,500 word essay to basically the following:

"I met Oprah. She was nice."

So I will bore you with said story here.

It was my sister's birthday, and as her present, her husband at the time bought her two very fabulous tables at a charity fashion show for Valentino. Oprah was the mistress of ceremonies; Donald T. was at the table next to us (his wife at the time, Marla Maples, was one of the models). Elizabeth Vargas was at my table along with a bunch of my sister's other friends/New York contemporaries.

I, still in full-on hippie era, was shipped the entire ensemble I was to wear to the function: (completely non-flattering) Chanel suit and shoes, proper jewelry, I think even some mascara was sent my way. It's not like I would have shown up in my Birks, but what with my whopping editorial pittance, I couldn't afford much better than the AT sale rack.

Models are models for a reason. Celebs and wives of should stay off the runway without some serious training. But I digress.

Our group was invited to the opening of the Valentino boutique afterward, and it was just beautiful. The red-carpeted entrance featured two HUGE V's made from red roses; I was handed a biscotti and iced tea with a dainty mint sprig by a gorgeous tuxedoed butler at the door. I was feeling quite cool (which is ALWAYS foreshadowing. Someday I will learn...).

So we met Oprah. She was nice.

And then I was feeling REALLY, REALLY cool.

So I'm strutting around the store, thinking I'm all fabulous, sipping my iced tea with mint, already bragging in my head to my friends about how cool I am, when I found myself in the men's department: a rectangular room that dead ended in the back.

And out of nowhere, Valentino himself just *POOF* appears. I didn't see him come through a door, he was just there, coming toward me. Just he and I (him and I?).

He walked closer and looked me directly in the eye. He's about my height, as tan in person as on film.

I lowered my glass and prepared to speak, knowing that since I was now incredibly cool, something just uber-fabulous was destined to fall from my lips. It would be brilliantly witty. He would find me charming. Yacht invitations would invariably ensue.

And then, just as he got close up and we were face to face, his expression changed to one of utter contempt. He looked away and moved on in disgust.

And then I felt the mint sprig, which, to that point, had happily rested atop my glass of tea, but apparently decided to take up a new place of residence.

Under my top lip, wrapped around it, with the very tip inserted into my nose.

Cool no more. The end.

Happy belated birthday and anniversary, Mr. Garavani.

*OP's P.R. people: I salute you.

Total Job Perk

I think my favorite part is the cover, which is leopard print with her name in gold. Can't wait.

Read a great bio on La Dona by The Liquid Muse (whose family actually has a pretty amazing art-related connection to the acclaimed actress!) here.

Match.com

Someone once told me* that when you walk into Aerin Lauder's apartment, there's a big crystal bowl filled with monogrammed matchboxes, an idea that I just love (and will someday totally plagarize).

Anyway, enter Meredith Waga Perez at Belle Fleur New York, florist to Salma Hayek, Uma Thurman et. al (and featured in Vogue, W and InStyle just about every time I pick up a copy, it seems).

It was a natural progression for them (the company is run by her and her mom) to take their floral knowhow and aesthetic expertise and apply it to candles, and, as you can see from the above, they nailed it.

The gorgeous scents, which seem strong when you first open the box, actually linger without overpowering. The packaging is beyond exquisite. And the matches that come with each: needless to say, I think it's a completely genius touch. All around, the perfect hostess gift.

If you're lucky enough, you may even get a note from Meredith in her PERFECT penmanship on their signature Cartier stationery; their brochure comes packaged in faux croc-lined envelopes (that I think are from Allie Munroe...).

It looks like the candles will be featured at Apres Peau soon (and there may even eventually be a little, ahem, personal appearance around it by the fabulous Ms. Perez herself), and in the meantime, they can be ordered online here.

*or maybe I just read it, I can't remember.

UPDATE: They just arrived at Apres Peau. One smelled fantastic. But ten--now that smells INCREDIBLE.

BabsieD: Making Friends Famous Since 2006-ish

My first E!Online score, and for one of my favoritist bloggers--and people--on the planet!

Read: He's Just Not That Into You.

I have a client who is famous. I used to get all kinds of flustered around famous people, but seeing it from a different perspective has made me realize how bizarre and inappropriate people can be.

I was at a bookstore with Client, and there were people just circlingcirclingcircling our aisle just trying to, I don't know, get C's attention, I guess. Walking down streets, if C is looking down, people will almost get on the floor to look up at C so that C has to catch their eye so they can say something. No matter what C says, if it's within earshot of another human being, there's an 85% chance that that person will respond by telling C that C is brilliant, or hilarious, or whatever. Even if it's just like, "Can I have a glass of water?". (Response: "Of course! You are so brilliant and talented that of course you need water!") You think I'm kidding.

I mean, I understand that this is a rare opportunity to interact with a famous person, that while C just goes about C's business, the other person in the scenario now has a famous person story to take with them. Lord, it's not like I haven't been a name dropper. I'm kind of doing it here.

But then a few weeks ago, I happened to see David Caruso. I mean, it's just David Caruso. Not that bigga deal. But holy cow, have the loonies come out of the woodwork. It just brought this whole celebrity thing to a entirely new level.

So I hereby ban the mention of the words David and Caruso from this blog forevermore.

I'm glad that you love him, or hate him, or are friends with him, or have a restraining order against him, or whatevs.

Just don't do it here on my little blog.

Thank you, and have a stalkerific day.

23 Days Until Freedom

While I'm spending the next 23 days working two jobs and traveling for one of them for 18--yes, EIGHTEEN--days to the two biggest armpits in the known universe, here's what those of you not in the most heinous caverns of hell* will be doing:

Tonight: Private Anniversary Dinner for Georgetowner (about time they updated their website!)
Famoso, Chevy Chase

Tomorrow, early
O'Neill Studios Party and Show to benefit Cure Autism Now
Left Bank

Tomorrow, later
Jete Society Dance Party
Embassy of Italy
(and it simply must be said: Those invitations kicked ass.)

Tuesday, January 23, 7:00
Sugar & Champagne
Hotel Palomar (Grays: Love them.)

Wednesday, January 24, 6-8
Saks Happy Hour and Book Signing for The Skinny
Saks Chevy Chase

And lookee lookee who's finally getting into the game...
Thursday, January 25, 6-8
Washingtonian Issue Celebration
Bobby Van's Grill

Saturday, January 28, 11:30
Brunch for my fabulous friend's humongous belly
Private Residence
Featuring me walking off of a redeye and directly toward a mimosa.

Tuesday, February 6, 10:00 a.m.
Tickets go on sale for the DSS!

Wednesday, February 7, 6:30
An Evening of Fun & Fashion
Tiffany, Fairfax Square
Hosted by Diane Ray Brown and Nancy Bagley

And for those of you in Park City:
January 20, 11:30
Distinguished Moviemarkers Brunch
Café Brilliant
Who: Fisher Stevens, Ione Skye, Ed Begley, Jr., Lea Tompson

January 21 (all day)
Knock Knock for the Arts in Park City Gifting Lounge
305 Main Street
Who: Famous people needing free loot.

January 22, 6:00 (cocktails at 6, dinner at 7)
Talisker Club
Creative Coalition State of the Union Dinner
Who: Jake Paltrow—holy crap: Ian Ziering AND Daphne Zuniga!—Steve Sunshine**; John Paul DeJoria (Paul Mitchell); Gene Sperling (?!) and about 20 other randoms, producer/writer types.

*However, I will, while in the two most heinous spots in the U.S. of A., be able to carry with me my favorite memory of our Miami weekend: Post Pucci, 400 A-Listers dancing their tails off under the moonlight beachside to "Let The Sun Shine In." Skinny socialites being spun around by their blueblood husbands; Cuban doyennes getting down in humongous heels--it was just a moment of pure, unadulerated joy.

..which COMPLETELY pales in comparison to my new friend Auburn's poolside memory--completely hilarious. And totally classic.

**So are all Sunshines in Hollywood related? Ken Sunshine reps Leo DiCaprio; Steve is the Senior Producer for Extra; Bob and his brother ran ShoWest for years and years (Bob = completely hilarious. I worked with him for a few years and always meant to ask him, but just always forgot).

Donovan's Last Name

Today was one of those days that other people have. Definitely not me. Well, except for today.

Met my friend M2 at T Street Flats to scout for a potential celebrity event that I have on the docket for two weeks from now. SO not ready to host a celebrity event. I'm not sure it's ready to hold much of anything. So that plan scratched. Bummer. Then headed off to lunch at 2 Amys, where I was introducing M2, who is the granddaughter of a rather legendary celebrity, to my BFF, a seriously brilliant film producer. They hit it off smashingly and started fleshing out a pretty huge project. So I was a dealmakah. Oh, and a wino, as we polished off a quick bottle before the clock hit 1.

I was driving down Massachusetts soon thereafter and I looked to my left to see a cop completely stopping all traffic. Then another cop, on a motorcycle. Then another. I was right near the Naval Observatory and realized that it was probably Dick Cheney. So, feeling emboldened by both my genius dealmaking skills and the wine, I rolled down the window, stuck out my head, and did the ol' rub the eye with the middle finger just as the limo crossed my path. Yes, wimpy compared to the alternative of sticking my whole arm out and yelling obscenities. But then again, I've lived to tell the tale.

Next, off to Milano for another meeting. M2 called and was stuck in traffic, so we decided to meet there for a drink prior. I walk in and she's already there, at a table with Chris Murray of Govinda Gallery, Nina, her trainer, and Donovan. When he introduced himself as Donovan, she said, "I'm sorry, what is your last name?". But he was polite as can be, just lovely. Chris was telling us about his new Elvis photography book, which sounds just amazing.

Meeting afterward also went well, also took place over wine, and we scripted out a gimongous DC event for next year, planning to begin in earnest.

I've been blessed with many things over my life: my incredible husband, my beautiful son, a great family, really, a perfectly fabulous life. But there's something abrewin'--where friends, ideas, and connections are all starting to come together. So for this Thanksgiving, I'm so very thankful for what I have, and so excited for what is to come.

Recap, Upcoming and a Sighting

The Gore party: no Al, no Tipper, not a Schiff to be found. But our source did end up fleshing out a film concept with Mr. Vidal himself for a good part of the night...

...party at Muleh: much like Artefacto, Christopher at Muleh has done a great job of marketing his store as a scene first, then a retail space second (which drives people in greater droves to the cash register). Everything was cleared from the space for the event, and everyone who is everyone was there...

...Saturday, Lucy Liu was over at Kafe Leopold's for lunch. She is dating East Banc heir Phillip, and is in town for a project she's doing for her production company.

Upcoming: big event news to be posted today. Invites have already mailed. So for those of you (and you know who you are) on the list, I'll just sit here and wait for the accolades to pour in--they are FABULOUS, yes?