Fashion Week Live

Seattle Times fashion writer Pamela Sitt and photographer John Lok are in New York this week, covering Fashion Week runway shows, parties, the hottest trends for fall, and Northwest fashionistas who help make it all happen.

The Super Bowl of fashion?

Scalpers are reportedly selling tickets to the "Project Runway" show Friday morning for $3,000 apiece. I'm not giving up my seat. But I wish Nick were showing tomorrow instead of Santino. Does anyone else think Nick was robbed? Tim Gunn doesn't. "Given a choice between Santino and Nick, I would have taken Nick out, as much as I love him," he said. "The thing was a mess; he couldn't disguise the poor construction. It just screamed amateurism." But wasn't Santino's jumpsuit falling apart at the seams? "In Santino's case, I believe there was risk-taking care there. I do think the judges responded to it." For more on how Tim really feels about Santino and other juicy stuff, check out TV Addict: Project Runway in Northwest Life Feb. 21.

"Carry on"

I am sitting in Tim Gunn's 5th floor office at the Parsons School of Design. Tim is running late. John is down the hall making friends with someone from Seattle who heard that the Seattle Times was here and poked her head in. I am too busy exploring Tim's office to make friends. It's quite comfortable, with Asian accents, glass coffee table, leather ottoman and comfy red and mustard-colored pillows. On his very neat desk: A potted orchid, a DVD of "Breakfast at Tiffany's," a signed black-and-white photo of one of the Golden Girls, a bottle of Moet, and several stacks of fashion books plus a hardback copy of "On Food and Cooking."

Note to models: Don't upstage the clothes

Backstage at the Brian Reyes show, a guy with a microphone instructs the models during rehearsal. "We are not looking for a model pose. We want your personal attitude. Feel the music." As it turned out, what the models felt was probably self-conscious. One had a Tara Reid-like wardrobe malfunction mid-walk; another kicked off her shoes as she stepped onto the runway and went barefoot. The missteps were an unfortunate distraction from the clothes, which were feminine without being girly, dreamy but not unwearable.

The sweet smell of...

Someone asked me what fashion shows smell like. Perfume? B.O.? Wealth? Actually, they don't smell like anything. Which is weird, considering the number of people crammed into the tents. I can't speak for the media risers, though, where photographers are jammed practically on top of one another. John?

I can, however, tell you what the Michael Kors show sounded like. Publicists on cell phones: "Yes, LeAnne [Rimes] is here. Nicole Richie is on 26th." Photographers, shouting: "Uncross the legs!" "Feet on the floor!" Apparently, shooters get rowdy when people in the front row cross their legs because their feet get in the frames. Oh, Heidi Klum, behave!

The early bird takes the subway

This morning, John and I made the mistake of underestimating New York City traffic. We were supposed to be at Michael Kors at 10 a.m. We hopped in a cab at 9:55 a.m., because in theory it's a 5-minute cab ride from our hotel to Bryant Park. Twenty minutes later, we hopped out of gridlock traffic and ran 12 blocks up Sixth Avenue, me with my laptop bag banging against my leg and John with his camera equipment swinging from both shoulders. It was like that scene from "Sleepless in Seattle," only without the cutesy ending at the Empire State Building. Instead, I arrived at the Michael Kors show "glowing" and disheveled and not at all high fashion. And no Tom Hanks anywhere in sight!

The shooter's perspective: The sound and the flurry

I've never been to New York, and have always heard of the glamour, beauty and flurry of activity that is Fashion Week. But it wasn't the "dance" that needs to be performed to get access to runway shows. After a few tries, I learned the steps. The models I met backstage — many of whom I've seen in major magazines — weren't too famous to answer a few questions, and instead were all very patient and kind.

My biggest worry Tuesday? A stepstool. Not having one, that is. I think I was the only one on the phtographer's platform who didn't have something to stand on. Experienced shooters, I learned, knew that in order to achieve a clearer, and sometimes better angle, one had to get a few steps higher than the person below them. Space was severely limited in ALL directions, not just upwards, so it was a challenge to secure a good spot for photos.

Luckily, I met a few nice photographers who let me sit in the front row for a nice angle, and I ended up making some nice shots there. But tonight I will be making a trip to the local hardware store to pick up a stool of my own.

A stream of celebrities — and a really good fake one

I came upon a mob of people gathered around a couple; scores of camera flashes lit them as if they were on the red carpet at the Oscars. I heard several calls: "Paris, over here!" from the paparazzi. The woman looked just like Paris Hilton — so I quickly snapped off a few frames, excited to see another celebrity. I'd already seen Isabella Rosellini, Joel Grey, Cynthia Nixon, Serena Williams, and Mya. It was then I heard a reporter, who was holding a microphone toward this woman, ask her, "So what is your real name?" Then it hit me: she was an imposter. Oh well, I was able to photograph Paris' sister, Nicky, leaving a show earlier in the day, so I didn't feel so bad. Now SHE was the real Nicky... right?

"Don't try to chew gum at the same time!"

Something interesting thing backstage at the Iisli show. It was sort of an instruction sheet to models on what to think of, and what to feel, to project the right image as they strut down the runway. It read, "ATTITUDE: Imagine you are walking down the street with your I Pod, listening to your music. CAREFREE, NATURAL, FRESH, BEAUTIFUL, YOUNG. But NO BOUNCING!"

— John Lok, staff photographer

POSTED 11:15 AM Tuesday
Frothy...and fabulous

To view Monique Lhuillier's romantic '60s-era collection is to sigh to be Renee Zellweger in "Down with Love." A chic yet girlish elegance radiated from each outfit on the runway, from cocktail dresses and bubble skirts to overcoats and belted jackets. Lhuillier's bridal background — she has designed wedding dresses for Britney Spears and Pink — appeared to influence several creations, including a strapless black and white gown with a black tufted skirt that could be easily worn down the aisle in white. Recently separated Jamie-Lynn Sigler took notes in the front row, and if I were a tabloid I'd breathlessly speculate: "Could she be shopping for wedding No. 2"?

POSTED 12:00 PM Tuesday
The Devil Wears Marc Jacobs

Fashion Week wouldn't be complete without an Anna Wintour sighting. By a dumb stroke of luck, I managed to arrive at the same time and passed within touching distance of the infamous Vogue editor as she took her front-row seat in my section — my assigned seat was five rows back. She was without her trademark sunglasses but did have on a black fur coat which as of yet had no paint on it. Shortly after, supermodel Naomi Campbell breezed in, dressed entirely in white and surrounded by a throng of photographers. I really wanted to see her chuck a cellphone onto the runway but it did not happen. Nicole Richie looked as skinny as ever and bored, or maybe she was just hungry. Only Marc Jacobs would dare to keep such a crowd waiting, right? The notoriously late show was originally slated for 8 p.m., moved at the last minute to 9 p.m., and finally started shortly after 10 p.m. Is this what they mean when they say "fashionably late"?

POSTED 2:36 PM Monday
"Top Model,"so last year

First I heard her unmistakable voice. Loud. I turned around and there she was: Janice Dickinson, looking like Cruella DeVille in a sequined black cocktail dress, fishnet stockings, black gloves and bright red lipstick. She was shouting into a TV camera, which I took to mean she's at Fashion Week filming scenes for her new reality show on Oxygen. When the camera turned its lights toward us for a crowd shot, I dived behind my copy of The Daily.

POSTED 2:02 PM Monday
"Be My Baby," indeed

The always playful and outrageous Betsey Johnson didn't disappoint at a pulsing show Monday that felt kind of like being inside a malfunctioning jukebox. A procession of what could pass for sassy prom dresses pranced down the runway to a whiplash soundtrack that veered crazily from Salt-n-Pepa's "Push It" to Kanye West's "Gold Digger" to The Ronettes' "Be My Baby." The designer and proud grandma-to-be capped the show by handing her very pregnant daughter a huge bouquet of red roses and then did her signature cartwheel down the runway.

POSTED 12:59 PM Monday
A whiff of "Laguna Beach"

At the Betsey Johnson show, "Laguna Beach" couple LC and Jason get hustled in through the backstage entrance, trailed by a TV crew. They can't be the biggest stars here. Please. I've partied with them, so they can't be that big-time. Speaking of Jason, a reader pointed out to me the other day that he bears a striking resemblance to Ben Roethlisberger . I had no idea who that was until, well, Sunday. Not that he made much of an impression in the Super Bowl. Smirk.

POSTED 12:39 PM Monday
Like a Lohan sighting is so rare?

Overheard at the Reem Akra show, where one layer of completely sheer fabric is apparently acceptable as a top this season: "You'll get to see Lindsay Lohan with her black hair tonight." "Is she really walking for Marc Jacobs?" "That's the rumor floating." "She's not even that pretty..." Personally, I'm more interested in seeing Anna Wintour.

POSTED 10:50 AM Monday
"There she is..."

Fashion Week Time operates on a 15-minute delay. There's no point in getting to a noon show before 12:15; it probably won't start until 12:30 anyway. Sometimes celebs hold up a show because they are, naturally, on Celebrity Standard Time. The Jill Stuart show was almost 40 minutes behind schedule and the crowd was getting restless. Who was holding things up? Lindsay Lohan? Her new BFF Kate Moss? No. It was Miss USA and Miss Universe, who scooted into their front-row seats seconds before the show began. Now I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure wearing sequined pageant sashes to a runway show is considered a fashion faux-pas.

POSTED 9:25 AM Monday
VIPS to the left, me to the right

So on the morning of my first official day at Fashion Week, I had to suffer the indignity of the Standing Room Guests line at Cynthia Steffe. Due to a mix-up with my RSVP, I wound up without a seating assignment. It's kind of like flying standby at the airport. And I thought every day would be free-flowing champagne backstage at Badgley Mischka. How quickly my star has fallen!

POSTED 8:30 PM Sunday
Speaking of "fierce" ...

As if my thoughts of Tyra conjured him up, I left the tent after the Badgley Mischka show and ran into Miss Jay from "America's Next Top Model." He was standing outside wearing black track pants and texting furiously on his Swarovski crystal-studded Sidekick. I asked him for some dish on the new season. He said he was running late and couldn't do an interview but would call me if I gave him my card. I don't think he'll call.

Speaking of television, are you kidding me with the lesbian porn scene on "Grey's Anatomy"? I'm having flashbacks to Sydney in lingerie on "Alias" after the Super Bowl in 2003.

POSTED 7:36 PM Sunday
Double the fun

My first official Fashion Week celebrity sighting! Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, sitting front row (of course) at the Badgley Mischka runway show. I watched their identical little faces ping-pong back and forth as each model did her "lean back" walk right in front of them. Imagine walking down a very steep hill, and that's kind of what the models looked like. Lead with the (nonexistent) hips!

Anyway. When you're at a fashion show in New York, you get to overhear people next to you say things like, "I feel like I'm at a Versace show in the '80s" or "Her walk is so fierce!" without a hint of irony. I thought only Tyra Banks talked like that.

POSTED 7:10 PM Sunday
Where football meets fashion

Backstage at the Badgley Mischka show, the Super Bowl keeps getting drowned out by intermittent bursts of pulsing music next door. There is not a shade of blue or green to be seen here, only all-black-clad models circulating platters of sushi and champagne to a well-heeled crowd of fashionistas. An elegant-looking woman in tortoise-shell glasses — she was straight out of a Woody Allen movie, I swear — waves her glass of white wine at the two flat-screen TVs. "This is so funny," she says. "I've never been to a Super Bowl party at Fashion Week." That makes two of us.