FASHION WEEK NIGHT ONE

VERUSCHKA'S ASSOULINE BOOK LAUNCH!



I've been away a lot this summer, and together with some lovely indian summer weather, I really wanted to go out and re-connect with NYC. What better time than Fashion Week. Of course, I have little interest in clothing trends, but it's really more about seeing and being seen for me. As if I could afford any of the clothes anyway. AS IF THEY EVEN MADE THEM IN MY SIZE!

One event had nothing to do with fashion, yet it honored the legendary model Veruschka, a unique supermodel whose beauty has outlived several decades, not to mention seasons! She's in that rare category of one named models like Dovima and Twiggy, and she was lucky to work in one of fashion's most experimental phases which featured the boldest prints, the biggest hair and the lushest false eyelashes: the late 60's. The impossibly glamorous daughter of a Prussian countess and a german count, though she changed her name and claimed to be from Russia to gain an edge, which she needed because tall models weren't yet as "in". According to Wikipedia, she left the fashon industry in 1975 due to disagreements with Grace Mirabella, the newly appointed editor-in-chief of Vogue, who wanted to change her image to make it more approachable to average women." Love it! You'll have me as an exotic or you won't have me at all! Ta ta, fashion!

She also appeared in Antonioni's film BLOW UP, in what Premiere magazine has named "the sexiest scene in film history." In the 80's, she turned to body painting! And I can't tell you how thrilled I was to learn, only within the last week, that the incredible creature once attended Wigstock--that's her below in a flame-red wig with Tabboo!



ANDRE WALKER AND FRIEND WHOSE NAME I SHOULD REMEMBER!



I met designer Andre Walker with friend in the exhibition hall--Andre read my purse!--and we took an elevator up to the gallery space. GASP! It was practically empty. I thought that Verusch must've come and dashed, upset over the low turn-out. But thanks to one of the less surly waiters, we were guided upstairs to the real party, on the rooftop, with massive projections of the honorees famous face and some really groovy light-up, multi-color space-age sculpture/seating. (As if anyone who's old enough to know who Miss V is wants to be lit from underneath for that Groovy Ghoulies effect!)



EXHIBIT CURATOR DAVID WILLS



ALSO SEEN: BARONESS SHERRY VON KORBER BERNSTEIN, SARAH MILES, LARISSA, AND THIS KOOKY FASHIONISTA.



Of course, Veruschka was in the center of the crowd, somewhat laid back, but cheerful, and happy to answer my question "How did you keep this hair up? Wasn't it heavy? I was referring to the heavenly photo below.



She answered "Well, I was laying in the sand." She made an appreciative comment about my own large hairdo and was kind enough to pose with me. She was looking at me during the shot, in a sort of linen cloche. Unfortunately, I was trying to instruct Mauricio Padhilla, the publicist and publisher of Mao magazne, on how to use my camera--so my big mouth was open during the shot! So I cropped myself out and left. The music was 60's, and possibly very clever, but definitely very low energy. I would have played something rockin' from BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS.

MADAME VERUSCHKA--A FASHION LEGEND WHO I WAS MOST HONORED TO MEET!

So I skipped out, greeting Roger Padhilla in the elevator. The glossy Assouline publication came in it's own shopping bag, and was so heavy that you Roger developed instant biceps! I was later told that Veruschka herself didn't have a copy, explaining "I couldn't lift it."

(SORRY, BUT MY CAMERA HAD GONE ONTO SOME GRAINY SETTING.)



I hopped out onto 10th Ave to grab a cab and caught the attention of two latino gents who were waiting to drive some big-wig home. Not my big-wig, but their employer. I demurely thanked them and said no, but when I didn't see an available taxi, I reconsidered their offer. I suppose I'm a fool, but the car looked expensive and both guys were very jolly so I jumped on in! They knew me from the club scene years ago, and we reminisced about everything from The Limelight to mutual friends and co-workers.



It didn't take long to reach my apartment and I gave them each a card. As the guy in the driver's seat got out to open my door for me, the better-looking one reached back and rubbed his hand up my leg towards my crotch and grabbed my (fake) boob. He said "Oh, you've got little tits" in a seductive way, so I didn't really have the heart to tell him that actually I was just fat.

The phone rang half an hour later and it was that sexy driver. I asked him his name and I'll respect his privacy, but let's just say it was something like Gifted. I asked "Do you mean Gifted as in gifted with a big fat puerto rican cock to shove down my throat all the way to the balls?" Not missing a beat he replied "Yeah, while I finger-fuck you and jerk you off at the same time!" What an imagination! Is that even physically possible? He's called back a few times but we have yet to get together. Aaah! Fashion and passion on a hot summer night in NYC!