Monday: Prada lizard T-straps

Last week Page Six reported that Gwen Stefani was furious at Naomi Campbell for upstaging her L.A.M.B. show on Friday night, which was supposed to close fashion week, because Naomi scheduled a hurricane relief fashion event an hour later. So after all that, guess who showed up on the L.A.M.B. runway?

So peace was made all in the name of fashion, I suppose. (Though I should note that Naomi’s wearing possibly the most unflattering outfit in the show. So there!)

But it was a good thing that no blood was shed or lambs slaughtered — you never know when Naomi’s concerned — because the L.A.M.B. show was, well, if not B-A-N-A-N-A-S, it was pretty great. Okay, maybe not the shiny track suits necessarily — Gwen can get away with that but not the rest of us non-pop-stars — but there were some pieces I can’t wait to get my hands on: the Swiss Miss cardi, the Missoni-like print hoodie, the navy scalloped jacket, the corsage-like scarf.

Of all the celebs-turned-designers out there, Gwen’s the most credible, hands-down. I mean, can you see Diddy in an atelier, fretting over the fit of a bias cut? Even JLo could be spotted in Juicy sweats when her line was selling its own knock-off version. You actually see Gwen wearing her own clothes most of the time. And that’s about as good an endorsement as you can get!

Friday: black Prada slingbacks

It just doesn’t matter how hard you try. Sure, the pastel pinks and pale yellows and pea greens look great at the beginning of spring, and the crimsons and golds and aubergines look great at the beginning of fall — you see them on the runway and then on the store racks and you think, “Hmmm. I could get into that.” And early on you may even make an impulse buy of something vibrantly hued. But somewhere along the way, it’s back to black.

Call it a New York state of mind, or call it a strategic effort to make it easier to dress in the morning. Even though, I gotta point out, there really are different shades of black, and you often can’t tell till you’re outside, across the street, already running late, and your shoes are too uncomfortable to take those extra steps to get back across the street and into your apartment to change… or maybe that’s just me. In any case it’s my official reason for having so many pairs of black shoes and black sweaters — that’s my story and I’m sticking with it!

Let’s not forget the slimming effect of the color black. (I must say, Liz Hurley did us all a disservice by making white jeans a staple in her wardrobe. Admit it, at some point in the past few years you probably thought it was a good idea, if only for two minutes. And you know what? 99% of the time — not a good idea.)

Black’s never inappropriate, no matter the dress code. While black can ensure that you don’t stand out if you don’t want to, it also lends itself to a flair for the dramatic. It’s hard to go wrong with black.

But perhaps it’s mostly a matter of peer pressure. Everyone’s doing it. I should too! All the cool kids wear black; who am I to stand out like a sore thumb — or, say, a loud berry-toned Missoni print dress in a sea of black. I mean, it’s almost as if you were trying too hard to stand out. That would kinda be like wearing a white dress to a wedding when you’re not the bride. You know what I mean?

Sigh. I’m telling you, it almost requires a master’s in psychology to get dressed in the morning.

Wednesday: Prada crocodile mules

Sure, this weekend’s Diane von Furstenberg show gave new meaning to the phrase “bad lighting.” (Ouch.)

But believe me, fashion shows can be more treacherous than that. Consider the shameless crasher who won’t remove herself from the front row seat that is rightfully yours. Or, worse, the shameless p.r. firm that didn’t place you in the front-row seat that’s rightfully yours.

Shows can also quickly devolve into hand-to-hand combat. For one, there’s the mad dash for the goodie bags, especially if there aren’t enough. Another thing to keep in mind, though you’d never believe it till you saw it: Stand between a fashionista and free food at your own peril, especially at the end of a long day of back-to-back shows. (Free alcohol, it goes without saying.) I almost lost a hand — or at least a shoe — in the stampede for cups of pumpkin soup at an evening show in Paris once. Didn’t help either that I was jet-lagged and off my game.

And then there’s the dreaded doppelganger disaster, as previously discussed, and as Mariska Hargitay, Serena Williams and Eva Longoria did at the Marc Jacobs show on Monday.

But perhaps the scariest thing that can happen at a show? Being the first attendee to arrive. It’s a newbie mistake to actually show up on time, heaven forbid (and we’ve all committed that mistake once upon a time). After all, there’s a reason they call it fashionably late.

Monday: camel Manolo slingbacks

Perhaps it was wishful thinking on my part, because the forecast for this week calls for temperatures above 90°. But I spent the weekend cleaning out and rearranging my closets: out with the summer togs, in with the autumn gear. It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t find anything — I couldn’t see anything — because things were packed so tightly on the rods and crammed into the drawers. Dry cleaning bags hanging from the top rod were getting bunched up and caught in the hangers on the lower rod. I couldn’t even close three of the five drawers in my chest of drawers.

In short, it was time for a purging.

I lost count somewhere around 15 bottoms (who knew that I had not one, not two but three pairs of army-green trousers?) and 10 tops (yes, those three cream silk chiffon blouses were all past their sell-by date). I wavered for a moment over keeping an empire-waist, short purple and gray Miu Miu dress from the fall ‘97 collection that surely I’d never wear again, not even in a vintage moment, but had sentimental value to me. In truth, I should have gotten rid of it years ago, but I admit most items, even ones I haven’t worn in years, get a couple of reprieves before they finally go. (At 8 years old, that dress definitely wasn’t even the oldest thing in my closet!) Be strong. Gone.

When all was said and done, I had filled one big suitcase and three large shopping bags, to be dropped off at the local Goodwill store. (It’ll take two trips at least.) I wonder if regulars who shop there lie in wait for my semi-annual purges, just like I stake out Saks in anticipation of the first markdowns of the season. And guess what, I’ve just made room for all those upcoming purchases! It’s the circle of life, no?

Friday: Prada confetti slides

Shopping for my fantasy life, chapter 573:

So I was at the Lainey trunk show yesterday, and I started out very sensibly: I made a beeline for the cozy winter-white cashmere hoodie, and the shawl-collared pointelle-detailed cardi in the dark mink color — two items that I surely could wear all winter, dressed up and dressed down. I tried them on, I looked at swatches, I managed not to gasp too loudly when I saw the price tags.

But of course all practicality flew out the window when I saw this beauty.

And heaven help me, I went weak at the knees. I tried it on. I took it off. I hung it back up. I walked away, I tried, really. I came back to it, like a moth drawn to the flame. I put it on again… and everyone there immediately realized that they would have to take it from my cold, dead hand.

Yes, I ordered it. And no, I have not married a count and moved to Monte Carlo without telling you. But dammit, in eight weeks I will be the happiest girl in the world! And, perhaps, the most overdressed — so be it.

(And per Meyen’s comment on The Clone Wars: This time I can be sure that I won’t look like I went through anyone’s dirty laundry… except maybe my own, because in order to ease my conscience I will have to wear that coat 24/7 for the next ten years! Nobody puts this baby in the closet.)