NEW YORK — It was all razzle-dazzle.
Fashion’s Night Out (FNO), now in its second year, turned out to be better and more explosive than the relative flop that was the first. Partywise, at least. There are now 15 other countries throwing FNO parties with the unrealistic, if not naïve, intent of stimulating the dismal economy with retail sales. But just as it was last year, sales didn’t exactly soar. People still weren’t parting with hard-earned cash and credit cards were still being used judiciously. But the fetes and gimmicks — the displays of all things ostentatious and frivolous — were beyond exciting.
And in New York where fashion is the second biggest industry (finance being the first) the events seem to have gotten glitzier and more celebrity-infused. The city was unrecognizable, if only for a night — in part because you could hardly see through the mob. There were at least 10 events in every block. And there was a line everywhere you looked. The traffic was beyond horrendous and empty cabs could not be found. But the true troopers still soldiered on in Louboutins.
From the cobbled streets of SoHo to Midtown, from The Meatpacking District to Bleecker Street in the West Village, New York was one massive mess of a street party. One that looked like a gathering of the favored few dressed in their finest frocks. Where the cadence of heels on the sidewalk trumped the sound of fire truck sirens and car horns. Everyone wanted to shmooze and booze and have in on the fun.
Bergdorf Goodman, as expected, was mobbed by a four-tier line — happily distracted by Joey Arias’ singing from within the windows — just to get inside. The reason? Sarah Jessica Parker’s meet-and-greet then Victoria Beckham on the third floor. All while Tom Ford signed fragrances. And, of course, there was the karaoke party hosted by Nicole Richie.
“I’ve been waiting 36 minutes to get inside, my shoes are killing me but this looks like the place to be,” said an annoyed tutu-clad woman who looked to be in her forties. “I can’t even find my girls. This is crazy but what a spectacle! New York, New York!”
And not very far away the Reem Acra window — a personal favorite — was all sensual fun and burlesque (yes, we did see deliciously inappropriate things) though not as packed.
Opening Ceremony’s Parisian flea market at the Ace Hotel was not as successful despite the crowd it drew. The lack of enthusiasm,
apparently, was the result of hyper-expensive Jean Paul Gaultier tops ($195) that were not at all reminiscent of flea market bargains combined with the alcohol not being gratis. Moseying around sober, impoverished (let’s face it, everyone is poor these days) and faced with temptation of the fiscal/sartorial kind does not make for a fabulous evening.
The Ralph Lauren store in SoHo, like every other FNO participant, served free-flowing champagne and cupcakes while attendees — such as Andre Leon Talley and Jessica Alba — watched a performance by Grammy-nominated Janelle Monae.
“I can’t wait ‘til I turn 21! I need to get a fake ID!” said a frustrated pimple-faced college boy.
Meanwhile the Teen Vogue party on Bleecker and Perry seemed to be one of the hottest FNO spots — with a fashion show and VV Brown performance.
“I didn’t make the first 500. No freebie!” whined a young attendee.
By 9 p.m. at Barneys, a slew of fashion stars. On the fourth floor, right below where the Olsen twins were hosting yet another funfunfun karaoke event, an extremely well-mannered (“Very pleased to meet you,” she says to me) Tavi Gevinson, the 14-year-old fashion blogger, mingled with Barneys fashion director Julie Gilhart, jewelry designer Waris Ahluwalia and Andrew Yang, the artist behind The Kouklitas fashion rag dolls.
And spotted on the second floor: Lynn Yaeger walked around with models and other fashion industry types. While Zaldy, the young Filipino designer, checked out the new arrivals in the men’s department.
By 11: 30 p.m. my companion got a text message: “We’re taking a stretch limo to a party!”
I am way too old for this kind of crazy.
And yet things were still rocking at 12:30 a.m. The streets were very much alive. And surprisingly, women were still in their highest stilettos. Tottering but going strong. As for me, there’s always next year.