And for opening night's grand finale ... Marisi Ribisi's and Sophia Coloma's Whitley Kros show drew Juliette Lewis, Kirstie Alley, Jenna Elfman, Erika Christensen, Danny Masterson, Bijou Phillips, some more reported Scientologists, and low, and behold--Beck up in the DJ booth! The main tent never stopped buzzing to groovy galactic sounds throughout the hourlong wait to see "Melanie Griffith in Working Girl travels through Berlin and Paris, listening to Nirvana," as the designers billed it.

I saw a lot more '70s in the clothes--floppy hats over slouchy silk dresses and wide leg jeans and moccasin sandals--than that decade-mixing description entails, but the clothes really did fit the theme's confines in many ways: High-waisted skirts, plaid pants, a dark, hooded robe over red stockings, white jeans with the same colorful scribbles as the invitation on the inner thighs, short plaid frocks, a simple black suit and more.

The Whitley Kros team is heralded by many as the most exciting design experiment to come out of L.A. in a long time, and the crowd of blissed-out looking supporters seemed to agree.

Beck even managed to squeeze Chris de Burgh's tumbling ballad "Lady in Red" off of the "Working Girl" soundtrack seamlessly into the mix.

Now that's talent.

London designer Julia Clancey's collection was seized by U.S. Customs upon arrival at LAX a few days ago. Luckily her goods were determined safe for America, and her show still went on at Smashbox Studios. In response, the cheeky Brit began the festivities with a model walking out to a rebellious punk anthem wearing nothing but a sign that read "Haute Haters" in all caps on the front and "Is this customary?" on the back.

The rest of the collection included very short white, black and red dresses, often accompanied by Max Headroom-style sunglasses, a gold frock with tiny accordion pleats, a cool drop-waisted ode to the 1920s, dresses with shear chiffon ruffles, and much of it embellished with what appears to be her trademark: sequined-trimmed scalloped hems and detailing. Headgear and other accessories were shimmery and ornate. Nice work, airport threat determiners. Good to know that in a city swarming with total douche bags we're hassling the clever English lady trying to share her shiny, pretty dresses.

Sunday's big news was Andre Leon Talley, Vogue's famed editor-at-large, hitting up all the shows starting with Eric Niccoli's Orthodox line, which featured some super neato clothes for men. Well-tailored, but still effortlessly hip jackets, strong plum-colored sweaters and shiny, textured pants made for sharp-dressed hipsters.

I liked some of the women's clothes, especially a grey coat over a tri-colored ruffled skirt, but I got stuck on one look in particular. One of the hats looked like it was yanked from Bridget Fonda's head off the set of "Singles" and paired with a Gothy black sheer, layered dress reminiscent of a nightmare I bought at Banana circa '93 that my mom always told me was a bad idea. I know '90s grunge is back and all, and to be fair, I am just not into that. Also, A.L.T.'s presence at the much-buzzed-about Orthodox show most likely confirms that I have no idea what I am talking about.

His presence at L.A. Fashion Week in general legitimizes it in a way that I think surprised even the overly tanned posers in the front row. Judging by the way he was mobbed instead of them after the show, Angeleno attendees themselves may deserve a little more credit.

L.A. Fashion Week '08 officially kicked off with Gen Art's New Garde event Friday night at Park Plaza, a cavernous, gorgeous old building that was once an Elk's Lodge, on the west side of MacArthur Park. That's apparently the only old thing that garners respect in L.A., a building. The evening was brought to us by our friends at Botox, who despite an increased popularity among even the youngest Angelenos, still wanted to get their message out in a weird way. Three women stood in individual glass boxes with droplets of condensation on the sides holding umbrellas for most of the party. Bathed in purple light. Standing in the boxes. Near as I can figure, the idea was to put even the youngest women in frowny situations, i.e., standing in a humid glass box for hours on end, to drive home the point that everyone needs to inject botulism into their faces.

I don't think designer JMary had this in mind when she decided that her installation--it was installations instead of runway shows this year, meaning we all walked around viewing the models in their fixed habitats at our leisure--would consist of rotating mirrors on a stage, with models standing still and trying not to look at their reflections as the whole shebang circled round and round. The aesthetic had a slightly refined "Boogie Nights" feel, with '70s boudoir hair and a few attractive black cocktail dresses, especially a perfectly draped, skinny strapped short number, and some white jackets. Check it:

L.A. Fashion Week is back with an eco-vengeance! Yes, the Los Angeles fashion community is returning to Smashbox Studios to view C-list celebs and their "lifestyle coaches" vie for camera time, apocalyptic valet lines and some clothes for fall 2008 while absorbing events like the Green Initiative Humanitarian Fashion Show. And here I am still using my carbon-neutral pencil from last October's sustainable living-themed schwag bag--an unprecedented pouch of planet-saving dogoodery, for this scene.

Kickoff is at 7pm Friday night with Gen Art's "New Garde" of emerging designers Jesse Kamm, JMary and Le Sang Des Betes, all brought to us by the surprisingly expressive crew at Botox. Last season's event featured clever newcomers Suh-Tahn and Orthodox, who are both big-timing it at Smashbox next week.

That's where Angeleno heavyweight Eric Kim will be showing his established Monarchy line, themed the "Streets of Scandinavia," which should be a cool offshoot of last season's ode to punk limeys. Another popular local, boho swimwear maven and "Girls Gone Wild" collaborator of sorts, Ashley Paige, is back with "couture evening bikinis." If there's a market for those--this has got to be it.

OK. I'm exhausted. My feet are tired, my shoulders sore (not least from carrying all those not-so-good goodie bags) and my ego slightly bruised. After all, who wouldn't be just a tad insulted when barely-famous D-listers get front-row seats and legit editors have to sit behind their big heads? So rather than bore you with an exhaustive narrative, I've broken it down in three easy steps.

The Good: Contrary to what "real" fashion folks might say, Fashion Week isn't just about the clothes. It's about the people you find at the shows. And this season, the best shows and people were found offsite at St. Vibiana's where Louis Verdad's chic womenswear collection proved his fabulosity remains firmly intact. A few other shout-outs (pictured left to right): Brian, who unabashedly confirmed that his (in)famous neighbor Faye Dunaway is indeed a "big ol' b*tch!" To support his claim, he recounted in none-too-explicit detail the Oscar winner's daily verbal assaults on her housekeepers. Perhaps Mommie Dearest found some wire hangers lying around the mansion??? Next, props go to Coco Johnsen's splendid little show—the former Playboy model's set had flirty flair, fearless color and a surprisingly feminine touch. Finally, big hugs go to Andre the (security) giant who was once again in full force, making sure that yours truly was treated like a true A-lister. Yay, Andre!

The Bad: The plastic jeans at Cosa Nostra, the hog-tied woman featured on the program for Cosa Nostra, the grainy quality of the photo of me and Cosa Nostra designer Jeffrey Sebelia (pictured) and the fact that I totally didn't realize the crazy-looking woman at the Cosa Nostra show was actually Diane Pernet, famed 80s New York designer and Parisian-dwelling fashion maven.

The Ugly: The in-house PR folks at Ed Hardy/Christian Audigier who denied access after sending email confirmations--tacky, tacky, tacky. (Then again, are we surprised?) Also, big jeers to Smashbox Studios for the terrible parking situation ... get it together already! Speaking of which, Paula Abdul's utter lack of fashion sense--as evidenced by the ridiculous silver newsboy cap she wore to Gen Art--was one of the ghastliest things I saw all week. (Aside from the Amy Winehouse-esque hairdos at the Monarchy show.) I mean, really. Just because the black label on the back of the hat says Dolce & Gabbana does not mean it's stylish!

So that's it, folks. Stay tuned next season … if you dare.

It's the end of the line for this West Coast runway correspondent, and  I have to say that this was the greenest fashion week so far. From eco-friendly lines like Ecoganik and Alternative Apparel to Whole Foods reusable sacks in gift bags, Al Gore would've been into it. Still, my feet are tired, I have a cold, my best seven getups are in a heap on the floor, and I just can't stare at a fashion model--no matter how pretty--for at least five or so months.  That'd be spring, when it's time to check out fall 08's fashions while we're all sporting situation-appropriate wear for spring 08.  Ahhh, the circle of fashion life.

The line Bird of Prey gets my vote for best name. (Sorry, Tart.) It just sounds cool, but, also, it's pretty clever. I'm not sure who is supposed to be the prey is in the designers' scenario.  Eagles, falcons and the like are pretty bad-ass, so maybe it's just about that: fierce fashion. And while the designing duo of dudes was attractive, their clothing for men wasn't--hoodie/ tattoo-inspired/ pajamas-with-metallic-accents melange? But maybe I am the mouse scurrying around on the ground needing to be scooped up by the wise owl.

The hot air balloons on Candace Held's trademark silk scarf print dresses (above) gave me a happy jolt after what seemed like days of dull-hued clothing in distress. Short magenta-, kelly green- and gold patterned-frocks with back ties, keyholes and cut-outs also displayed tennis racquets and other whimsical images. The cotton dresses were a tad prairie girl for me, but, overall, her show was really fun.   

Eric Kim's Monarchy collection (above) was our final stop, and it definitely felt like the big leagues, or a royal polo match crossed with a Guy Ritchie movie and a hip-hop sensibility. The mens' accessories included canes, a pink ascot, pork pie hats, suspenders and red spectator shoes paired with both seersucker and urban-themed pieces like hoodies.  The makeup-created scratches and cuts on their faces evoked Prince Harry having a row with his crewmates after a night of room temperature ales and group singing. (If Pharrell Williams came along.) The aesthetic was the same for the birds, minus the signs of scrapping, but with the same street flair, amid highwaisted pants, ruffled shirts, hot pants and even a top hat and cane paired with a gray dress. The only exception was the flesh-colored bikini-wearing model who walked the runway with Kim at the end ... Her body was painted with several phrases, including, "Global warming is so hot right now."

Seems like a fitting end to a week devoted to fashion with an eco-bent. See you come springtime!

Outside of Smashbox Studios, there was a caravan of mostly black SUVs curling down the street waiting to valet before the Tart show. It did seem rather sceney inside, even though Jordana Brewster, a.k.a., every straight man's deeply felt crush, and a woman from Dancing with the Stars were the only two celebs I could really make out.  Several hot-looking women turned up dutifully clad in the line's trademark minimally detailed jersey dresses, illustrating two of the best things about these collections: It's stuff people actually wear, and it definitely strikes a balance between comfortable and sexy.

Jamie and Dana Finegold have really mastered the branding of their line--the far-flung domestic distribution says it all--and they clearly understand how to capitalize on a good thing. The spring 08 looks included some delicate prints in light blues and greens, solid shape-shifting long and short dresses and dramatic draping of white jersey, even as a head wrap. Models with lush, 70s boudoir hair bounced down the runway to Aretha Franklin's "Rock Steady," which seems to be the mantra for these savvy clothiers. 

I wonder if The Hoff was feeling hassled at this moment.  I know I was annoyed, and I wasn't dealing with booze-related missteps, paparazzi, fans and random girls struggling to take my photo for blog fodder.

But onto the night's disappointment: Despite receiving email confirmation of my seat assignment for Christian Audigier's show (I still have it, lady-with-the-pen-and-clipboard, and I WILL be shooting it back to you with my nice, but firm note, so there!), I was denied by the gatekeepers checking people in by first name, which, by the way, is cute for people with names like Mary, but is kind of a nightmare for freaks like me. 

I saw some very stylish dudes get the shaft as well, and I had to wonder how the godfather of L.A. grunge--Ed Hardy tees with tattoo-inspired designs paired with jeans, and if I am not mistaken a big ole trucker hat or two--became such a hot ticket.  Perhaps I should have asked Nick Cannon, Kim Kardashian or Eric Benet.  What I really wanted was to see Bow Wow (still have trouble omitting the Lil'), who was scheduled to work the catwalk in some way. Audigier himself breezed past me, licking his chops I might add, after what must have been a meaty show.

I did actually get into the Dina Bar-El show, and her collection consisted mainly of fluid, satin evening gowns with dramatic trains and sashes in eye popping colors like orange, fuschia, yellow and so forth, with a touch of black sequined mini and incredible-looking gold high-collared shirt/hot pants getup thrown in for good measure.

The evening's final designer, Marissa Ribisi, is Beck's old lady, and he was supposedly in charge of mixing the tunes for her Whitley Kros show.  I would've worn Ed Hardy to my high school reunion to catch that, but I knew that the hurdy-gurdy PR machine wouldn't allow for it. 

I'm a loser, baby ...

In typical L.A. fashion, the Monday "morning" shows at Smashbox Studios were set to begin at 2pm and even then things didn't get started on time. This, as it turned out, proved to be an auspicious beginning for yours truly because, in atypical L.A. fashion, I actually had to walk (in 3-inch-heeled boots, thank you very much) since no parking lot was made available and the pathetic $15 valet situation is not even close to being worth the 45-minute wait. So … after finally making it front-and-center at the Ecoganik show, I was ready to get my granola on. And crunch I did. The Cali-based fashion house swathed the impish models in comfy yet stylish knits made from organic cotton, Tencel, hemp, silk, organic wool and eco-fleece. There was even a rose-petal-tossing sprite with a nest in her hair. Inside the Whole Foods canvas gift bag were a cute pair of fair trade gem earrings, mineral makeup, an Ecoganik tank and shopping bag and a $10 gift card from Whole Foods. (Which, at that store, means about a handful of grapes.) To keep the green spirit going, check out our guides to eco-chic shopping in L.A. and in New York.

Who would've imagined that a former beer model could actually design tastefully sexy, feminine clothes? It was only a month or two ago when I had first heard of Coco Johnsen. That was when I dragged my fiance to a Fashion Week preview party at some Beverly Hills manse where the "way-past-her-15-minutes-of-fame" mono-monikered Omarosa diva-d it up and prayed for a photog to take notice. But I digress. Monday's show was a definite highlight--from the breezy check-in with uncommonly friendly folks (shout-out to Red Light PR!) to the fab seats and the runway's luscious looks--Coco proved she is one haute mama with a collection that ranged from Elizabethan silk ruffled blouses and vibrantly hued suits to sexy, T&A-flaunting swimsuits. And while I'm not one to gossip, I must share a curious side note: After googling Coco, I found an abundance of info on her bizarre $9 million palimony suit against Bill Maher. Don't mess with Mademoiselle!

Here's a sentence you don't hear every day: It was a cold and rainy afternoon in L.A. when we attended the socially conscious high fashion show.  Yes, legit celeb designer Kevan Hall's African tribute came with a guide to charitable giving and opened with dancers (mostly children), musicians and a costumed man on stilts performing traditional moves.  Hall recently made headlines for designing Vanessa Williams' feathery mint green Emmy dress. This collection varied from sleek, tight, black drapes to sheer, elegant animal prints, floaty long gowns in bold greens and yellows, traditional Maasai tribe red, and modes of jewelry in the form of colorful neck plates and bracelets--even a striking faux ostrich wrap.   One of the most exciting things for me was a fellow editor's spotting of Levar Burton sporting round, tinted spectacles.  Roots, Reading Rainbow, Star Trek, whatever affected you growing up, Levar was probably involved. Rebecca DeMornay was also there proving that pretty, blonde people care about clothes and kids, too.

Foundations endorsed by Hall included: Save Africa's Children, the African Millennium Foundation and Elephant Sanctuary.

This was my third Sunday at Smashbox Studios with lovely designer Sue Wong. All of our seasons together have been marked by her surprisingly nice PR people, her bold use of color and accents, and the apparent lack of pretension surrounding a show that goes along with an established presence on the scene and unquestionable skill. I guess that's just how Wong rolls. Her inspiration for spring was modern art, and her odes to Alexander Calder and Miro and co. were found everywhere from the patterns on her short bubble dresses to her ever inventive hair accents. Models actually had triangles and other geometric shapes shooting out of their heads. There were black-and-white polka dotted get-ups, slinky, curve-hugging numbers, shifts dotted with accents like sequins, long evening gowns in vibrant blues and purples and pretty white dresses. Sue herself was clad entirely in black, a slightly fancier Johnny Cash look, and she seemed kind and elegant as she waved on the runway after the show.

Otherwise, Sunday at Smashbox Studios sucked. The lines to check in for Nicky Hilton's Chick show were rowdy and rude, despite an increased bouncers-wearing-sunglasses presence, and after standing outside the entrance with legions of people who seemed to actually want to go in for exactly 60 minutes, we were told the joint was at capacity. With an hour and a half looming, and the idea that similar shenanigans would likely ensue securing an already secure spot at Randolph Duke's show, your vexed correspondent hit the road. I guess there's something to the difference between girls and chicks.

My editor Mar and I kicked off our October look into fashions for spring '08 Thursday night downtown at St. Vibiana's. (Because what goes better with a church off of Skid Row than decked-out West Coast posers waiting in line at a cash bar?) We watched as Project Runway winner Jeffrey Sebelia's Cosa Nostra "Into the Wild" collection drew the likes of Lukas Haas, fellow PR alum Santino Rice, the cool-looking mohawk crowd and some scrappers who can cross Halloween costume-shopping off of their to-do lists.  We both loved his work on the TV show, and I liked the idea behind the mens' distressed-looking threads, but we found this particular batch of rockin' a little rough on the womenfolk.  Maybe because the program featured a photo of a girl bent over with her hands bound? Seemed like St. Vibiana was shrieking Hail Marys from the grave.

After a chat with Faye Dunaway's neighbor who confirmed her bitchy status, a glimpse of the mayor and capturing a snapshot of Bobby Brown taking a swig pretty soon after his release from the hospital--any "Prerogative"-related asides would just be cheap here, so Cheers, Bobby!--we took in fashion vet and L.A. fave Louis Verdad's show with Daisy Fuentes and Rachael Leigh Cook. Well-made and glamorous, Louis' satin-y dresses prove that he definitely likes the ladies.

We then headed to the Petersen Automotive Museum for Friday night's GenArt: Fresh Faces in Fashion event, the week's first official event showcasing local designers on the rise and lots of overserved attendees with body odor. We sat behind Paula Abdul, who topped off her ensemble with a shiny, silver metallic pageboy. Straight up. We also greeted Jeffrey Sebelia in the lobby. The fun show highlighted Dorothy Lee, Rhys Dwfen, Suh-Tahn and six other well-dressed clothiers, but the weird gift bag included a pamphlet on Botox and its many uses, including, appropriately enough, injections for excessive underarm sweating. Kinda creepy.       

While the red carpet entrance and main tent at Smashbox Studios were both still abuzz with free tequila drinkers, a few glamorous dudes in drag, and Lloyd from Entourage on Wednesday, the air inside Samora's evening show was restrained, if not a bit dull. I was so bored, in fact, that I couldn't even identify (and I am a little celeb-crazy like that) the "starlets" posing for photographers on the catwalk before the show.

Samora's ode to Audrey Hepburn was admirable amid L.A.'s fascination with flesh and flash, and while many of the clothes were headed in the right direction, the shoes looked clunky and weird, and most of the skirts, jackets and tops were chock full of bells and whistles. Scalloped hems, tulip skirts under baggy jackets with ties and ruffles, etc., added up to excessively applied accents.

There were some concepts I really liked: clever wide belts, a watermelon-orange long sweater with slits in front, and the way she embraced the wrapped-up look with scarves and bulky tops paired with clingy, ruched skirts. If only her show had been as well put together.

The Tart collection created a sweet buzz last season, and designer Sherry Wood was back with a well-hyped vengeance and a great gift bag. (Delicious chocolates from Boule and soft black tights and panties designed for people not eating the chocolates.) 

Widely renowned for its trademark micro-modal jersey knitwear--crafted to drape elegantly and forgive more figures than that material generally does--the line's series of similar-looking leggings, body suits, cowl necks and halter tops felt made for super hip yogis-about-town.   

The short ruched dresses were sexy and slightly more club-worthy, but the color scheme--apart from the few animal prints--stuck to a series of blacks and magentas. The pattern-making impressed me, and while a few breasts flopped around a lot, her creations still struck me as elegant and cleanly crafted loungewear.

It's too bad the models at Joseph Domingo's show were rendered blind by the makeup-caked bandages over their eyes, because there were some intriguing sites to behold in the audience.

Anna Maria Horsford, who played the coy prostitute opposite Andrew McCarthy in "St. Elmo's Fire," was sporting a vibrant purple top and milling well with the crowd. In other purple-related excitement, one of Prince's original ingenues, Appollonia, sat in the front row wearing a black suit and diamond-encrusted red heels.

She must have known that she would match the show's signature colors, as pieces of black and red eveningwear dominated the runway. Smashing red and black coats and jackets were the frontrunners, and it was nice to see a departure from all things casual with ornate evening dresses. It was also nice to see men. Maybe the male models did not have as much tape over their eyes as they moved forcefully, almost Matrix-style, down the catwalk.

Although I'm not going to be hitting as many runways as NYC Fashion Geek Keith Wagstaff, I did manage to fit in three shows yesterday. Sue Wong opened with dancers in silver sequined hotpants and DayGlo orange and green wigs strutting down the catwalk and evolved into stick-thin models in fluid, short and excessively embroidered dresses complete with exquisitely ornate hairdos and accompanying accessories--from chopsticks to flowers.

Voom by Joy Han was bumping with urban flair and inventive takes on plaids and thermals, vivid bohemian halter dresses and and an especially noteworthy gold shirt/ruffled slacks combination with an oversized amulet.

The stellar band--complete with trumpet and sax--accompanying Dina Bar-El's collection lent both an Ivan Kane Fourty Deuce and "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" lazy bordello feel to the bulk of her clothes: bedroom boudoir-inspired satin dresses with lace accents for all the Hollywood glamourpusses in her dossier. Then again, maybe it was the actual burlesque striptease that opened the show, complete with cartwheels and booty-shaking, that got the crowd--especially the elderly gentlemen in the front row--so riled up.

Spring has sprung in L.A., so that means it's time for your West Coast correspondent to head back to Smashbox Studios and find out what Angelenos should be wearing this fall. Yes, Mercedes-Benz officially launched L.A. Fashion Week yesterday amid considerable buzz concerning logistical improvements and enhancements to up the glitz factor from last season, and I was there to take it all in again (check out my comments on last season's show).

With security fit for a U.N. summit, it was good to see bouncers and B-listers back to feeling important after last season's more laissez-faire crowd wrangling. Even the Culver City Fire Department was representing in full force, handsome and kind and surprisingly hip-looking in its uniforms. The crowd ran the gamut from the beautifully red-dressed, red-lipped Melora Hardin ("The Office") to decidedly more casually attired industry-types from around the country. One of the cool new additions to the festivities is the Design Suites, a spot for artisans to display their wares from bras to boots. A clear standout was local line Lo-Fi with super cool denim and studded belts. 

There is an episode of L.A.-centric Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David posits that only two types of people wear sunglasses indoors: the blind and assholes. I didn't see any seeing eye dogs or walking sticks (inanimate ones anyway) at Smashbox, but I did witness some buffoonery, and a lot of people wearing shades unnecessarily.

Suspicion confirmed: Models may be dim, but they can smell fear. The following was the first thing I heard last Sunday upon my accidental stumble into a long line of idle catwalkers: "Somebody shouldn't walk out of the house without a stylist." (Said by a very bitchy, very loud male model either to the girl next to me or (fingers crossed) to me.)

Rookie mistakes: Carrying too many bags and notebooks, following directions, thinking elbow-throwing wouldn't be necessary at a fashion show in L.A.

Lessons learned: Start drinking the free tequila drinks the first day, embrace the power of the press credential in all of its Very Important Person glory, write your comments on the show's program and keep those insights to yourself.

All in all, I think the Factor Brothers deserve kudos for putting on a fashion week in L.A.  Despite of all the naysaying about its being second-rate, I saw some truly inspired collections: Elsie Katz, Chan Luu, Ashley Paige, Yana K and Jennifer Nicholson, to name a few. And it's always easy to take swipes at the underdog when he's trying to compete in an already widely disparaged, superficial arena.

So, hooray for Hollywood (a little), but only Jack Nicholson looks cool wearing sunglasses indoors, and he couldn't make it this year.

Coy girliness was all the rage at Yana K's Shirley Temple-inspired evening show, where crowd-pleasing catwalkers played up the excessively fun ringlets in their hair, ruffles on their skirts and pleats all over the place. All of these bells and whistles made Yana's collection refreshingly imaginative in an unsexy, sexy way for les femmes. 

Another sort of cheekiness was on display at Ashley Paige's '60s-inspired romp through haute Hollywood swimwearville. A psychedelic video montage set to a Doors' ditty infused the pre-show atmosphere with a chic, Haight-Ashbury feel as skimpy, striped swimsuits gave way inventive mini-dresses and longer frocks with well-placed cut-outs and keyholes. Billowy hats, feathered headbands and oversized sunglasses complemented the clothes perfectly. In an apparent nod to those free loving, rebellious times, one model triumphantly worked the runway topless--save for some thoughtfully arranged sparkles--throwing up peace signs.

After lingering too long in the Very Important Person's tent (because that's how I roll these days, y'all), I made my way to Chan Luu's "installation," which simply meant the crowd lined the catwalk while the models rotated around it. Her show, an ode to chic girliness (see above), was the perfect reflection of Luu's ability to marry beautiful, simple materials and wearably artistic designs. The accessories--from jewels and bags to thick headbands--were gorgeous per usual.

I didn't see Scott Ian of Anthrax in the V.I.P. area before the Sheri Bodell show he attended, but Shar Jackson and a small gaggle were lounging on the sofas (yeah, I began to like the comfy couches in there) as pretty men walked around offering free Peroni.

Bodell's runway was the most decorated I have seen so far--bare tree

I have been friends with a lot of Jennifers, who hasn't, right? But this Jennifer is the exception. The daughter of Jack Nicholson debuted her incredibly haute Tinseltown line on Tuesday, amid a star-studded list of friends: Garry Shandling, Tracee Ellis Ross, designer Pamela Barish and, strangely, hangers-on with her same hairdo. The whole cool-ish coterie crowd caused quite a press at the entrance to Smashbox's Main Tent.

The scene was the most Hollywood I've endured so far; it was also the most fun. Rod Stewart's "If You Want My Body" could not have been a more buoyant accompaniment to the swirl of attendees sexily scanning the crowd as they settled into their seats. Even the exhausted photographer I met the day before boogied for a few seconds on the runway with his fellow lensmen.

Black patent leather trenches, mile-high boots and hot pants all made a rockin' statement on the catwalk, and Nicholson even managed to incorporate floral patterns and soft pinks, pouffy skirts and a gorgeous petal dress into her reportoire while maintaining her badass sensibility.

The biggest celebrities at the very hot pink KushCush show, Kerry Cushman's bubblegum-meets-Virgin Suicides take on skimpy jersey knits for girls, were Sinbad and Bobby Trendy (that's him above strutting on the catwalk pre-show). You may or (godwilling) may not remember Trendy as the stylist from Anna Nicole Smith's reality show. After an unbelievably drawn-out photo session, Trendy gave his stiletto-booted tootsies a break on the front row in time to see KushCush's unflatteringly high-cut bathing suits and ruffled underwear-esque bottoms--one with unicorns on the bum.

As I was not invited to the big-deal Corey Lynn Calter show, I opted to take in the main lobby scene, which shifted from slightly buzzing--largely due to the four rowdy pushermen manning the Centenario tequila booth--to pleasantly drama-free, which left me alone to chat with other "Industry" folk. This chat ranged from trendspotters lamenting the lack of shows' entry standards to weary photographers bemoaning the celeb shortage.

The crowd was considerably more electrified before Erik Hart kicked off Morphine Generation's "Glorious Undead" collection. That show's start time was even later than usual as Dean and Davis Factor (Smashbox founders) and E! network frontwomen Debbie Mantenopoulos and Catt Sadler were apparently the victims of a drama-laden seat mix-up. Hart's uses of houndstooth and linen made for some super-cool jackets and trenches. Pale, ponytailed, expressionless men and women skulked down the catwalk to boisterous cheers in neutral, sheer tones to tunes like Talking Heads' "Road to Nowhere."

Sunday's bright spot came in the form of Sue Wong's show: "Neo Romantics," where I fell a little in love. From the time the PR company actually called to confirm my seat assignment, to their surprising placement of yours truly two rows behind front-seater and Tony winner Sara Ramirez (aka Dr. Callie Torres), I was predisposed to like what I saw.

The subdued Fashion Week show opened with an elegant woman playing a harp, and Wong's impressively cohesive range of themes included Edwardian, country girl, Arabian, tribal, Fiesta and, most significantly, "Bride" with white stockings and awe-inspiring bejeweled, floral headdresses. Some of the pieces were a little heavy on the crocheting for my taste, but the embroidery, paneling and detailing on the empire-waisted long and short dresses looked painstaking. Wong's musical stylings ranged from Enya to Jimi Hendrix with some U.K. alt-rock in between.

This is Iban. Iban thinks I'm a maniac. I just told him all about L.A. Fashion Week, my rookie status and my first-day wardrobe freakout. For my debut, I've decided to pull a Johnny Cash. Black is the new chihuahua or whatever, so I went for it. I'm hoping I will feel head-to-toe rock-and-roll.   

Some of the peeps I am super excited to see this week include: Chan Luu (here she is with her dog, isn't she lovely), Morphine Generation (can't you just smell the "edgy"), Jennifer Nicholson (sweet Lord, will I get to see Jack? And his shades??) and Hollywood's new hot thing, Ashley Paige.

Tonight's big finish will be Madonna's chum Louis Verdad, and--along with Paula Abdul--Alexis Bledel is one of the "celebrities expected," according to my list of "press opportunities." This is significant because I met Alexis Bledel on a plane once, after some jackass "accidentally" stole my assigned seat next to her. As a result of the Houston airport's maze of construction and closed-off hallways, we ended up walking through the Houston airport together, chatting about her dog. Wish me luck!