Front Row. Fashion Show. Way to Go.

This past Wednesday night, I was a guest at the Elsie Katz Couture fashion show at the Mercedes Benz Fashion Week. This time a year ago, I had never been to a fashion show ever. Because of designer Donna Baxter, I have now been to three. If you couple that with my viewing of Project Runway, I'm pretty much an authority. Because I'm a friend of the designer, I have somehow managed to snag a front row seat at each of the three shows. Sweet.

For those who don't get the invite, I'll fill you in on what happens. The show takes place at Smashbox Studios. There is virtually no parking around there, so you have to sell your first born child in order to afford the valet parking (paid in advance, thank you). Fifteen bucks. Apparently there is some sort of shuttle, but I don't know anything about it.

Upon entering the event, there is a "photo op" backdrop, where people can (and will) be photographed on their entrance. No one knows me, so I slink past the entrance to check in. The tent is filled with all sorts of companies trying to hock their wares. Cingular, Smashbox Cosmetics, Dasani water, and several alcohol companies. I partake in a Peroni. I tell the guy I can only give him a dollar because the valet guys have taken all of their money. He understands.
I see my friend Bean. He's in line with his dad (the Chief), his cousin, his mysterious daughter and Donna's dad, Howard. I join them in line. We're escorted into the room early. The photographers are setting up and taking their positions. We all find our seats and wait for the rest of the room to take shape.

The photographers pounce on any and all celebrities - of all levels. I see several actresses (?) posing for a plethora of pictures.

Here is actress Arielle Kebelle posing for some photogs.












Here is Kelly Hu - being blinded by about a thousand cameras.






Then it's time for the show. There are only about a million cameras at the end of the runway. No pressure!














The music starts. The models start pouring out of the backstage area. They are dressed beautifully. They have expressionless faces. (I can only assume that Donna told them to think about math.) They stroll down the runway in their FLAT, no-heeled sandals (way to go Donna!!), pose for the photographers, and then stroll back up as another model is sprung from the backstage area. Because of my location, I can see the emotionless models leave the stage and bolt to get their next costume change. It's good to see that they have an actual pulse. In the last third of the show (when the models are already wearing their finale outfits), they leave the stage with a whole different energy. They dance, they hop, they love their jobs.

It's the finale. Model after model on the runway, showing off their gorgeous and creative outfits. The collection is beautiful. I am in awe of Donna's work, as always. I think about Fashion Week as Thanksgiving. A ton of work, and it's over in ten minutes.

Donna appears on the runway. One of the models takes Donna's hand and leads her down the runway. Brava!

And it's over. Just like that. We wait afterwards to see Donna. I catch up with Richard Cheese (hi Mark) and Mark Thompson from Channel 11.

The (almost) best part of the night is that a bunch of us are going to go to dinner afterwards - and that dinner is Roscoe's. There's one about a third of a mile from my house. I get there and tell them that there are about ten of us coming. They can't seat us until we all arrive. So I sit outside and read my program from the fashion show. And I read it again. And again. And again. Again. Again. Again. A waitress comes out to talk to me. "Honey, you alright? You want a biscuit o' somethin'?" I think she thinks I'm homeless. I wait for about 45 minutes.

Bean calls. He has good news and bad news. The good news is that I'm at Roscoe's. The bad news is that no one told their driver that they wanted to go, so they're now at their hotel in Santa Monica. Dude.

I tell the biscuit waitress of my dilemma and ask how I can order something to go. Then I decide, eff it...and get a seat in Mama's section. She takes care of me.

So, all in all an excellent night. Fantastically beautiful clothes and one delicious waffle.