While digging around in our bags for our precious Proenza Schouler seat-assignment cards, we suddenly looked up and noticed that the space around us — formerly teeming with fashionistas — had cleared suspiciously quickly. Whipping our head around, we saw a burly security guard an inch away from us, attempting to clear a path for none other than Vogue’s Anna Wintour (whom you might have heard of before; she’s an editor), who followed barely a foot behind. There was only one thing to do: “A-Dubs in the HIZZAAAAAY!” we shrieked, planting a sloppy kiss on her upturned cheek. “I declare a THUMB WAR,” Lady Bobsworth bellowed in reply. We dueled in a best-of-five tournament that she ultimately won. It was the best of times.
Or, we cried at the thought of a collision with that famous coif and leaped out of the way, as clumsy and quick as a drunk gazelle, fumbling over our apologies and praising Jeebus we weren’t arrested on the spot. You decide.
Paranoid over the unprecedented early start this afternoon for Oscar de la Renta, we arrived at the Park Avenue Armory for Proenza’s show pretty much right at the stroke of 8 p.m. And we weren’t the only ones: former Oscar nominee Amy Adams was already inside, talking to world-renowned photographer Gilles Bensimon and looking both adorable in bronze sequins and a bit like a deer in the headlights amid the swirl of introductions and eager camerapeople. Amy confessed to one reporter that this is her first Proenza show, then posed with Gilles for photographers with the toe of her black pump accidentally tucked under the brown paper that protects the runway. We resisted the urge to tap her shoulder and tell her this. Does that make us bad girlfriends?
After a drive-by from Carine Roitfeld, who was seated down at the other end of the long runway, the next to arrive was actor Dylan McDermott. He seemed rumpled in that way where you wonder if he just rolled out of his hotel room after an afternoon delight. Which he might have, since he doesn’t have much to do these days — the strike notwithstanding, McDermott confessed to a reporter that he’s not sure if his show Big Shots has earned a pickup: “I have a feeling … no.”
Brooke Shields arrived next in a little black dress. Designer Tory Burch greeted her somewhat timidly — understandable, since Tory is about at eye level with Brooke’s knees — and Mary Alice Stephenson swept Shields into a huge hug before Shields insisted they be snapped together. “Put me next to her, please! My WISH is to be so perfect,” Brooke said. It was seriously such a sugary lovefest that we half-expected a chocolate fountain to erupt out of Shields’s handbag. Not to mention she’s clearly a tall drink of water herself. Not to be all gushy, but come on — you are Brooke F-ing Shields. You played a quasi-hooker before you hit puberty and you’re still here; obviously you’re doing something right. Upon seeing her, Elle’s Joe Zee squealed that he had been reading excitedly all about her upcoming series Lipstick Jungle. “Only believe the good things,” Brooke said drily. We will, we promise … when we see any.
Zee’s main function, meanwhile, appeared to be chaperoning singer Rihanna, still sporting her wretched new hair (we had hoped she’d correct it with a wig, or perhaps a large paper bag with eye holes cut out of it). He quickly orchestrated a photo op with the singer and Shields before screaming, “Oh my GOD, you have to meet GILLES,” and shepherding his charge through the massive throng of people trying to get a quote. Indeed, throughout the show Rihanna impassively observed the clothes, except when nudged or questioned by Zee, at which times she broke into a wide, appreciative smile as if on cue.
We far preferred watching Angie Harmon’s more spontaneous reactions. Not only did she seem awed by each outfit that paraded past, but simply being there may have been a labor of love: She was taking in the show from the cheap seats. No, seriously, the really cheap ones. Standing-room cheap. Granted there are only two rows of benches lining the lengthy runway, so standing behind them isn’t the end of the world, but it felt wrong somehow for scrubs like us to be in a comfy spot while Angie — dressed to the nines — watched the entire show on foot. We’re not sure if she merely arrived late, preferred the view from behind the second bench, or was only able to talk her way inside if she promised not to take up space; regardless, she clearly loved what she saw, so odds are she’ll get a proper berth next time. Side note: Her diamond ring is hypnotic. What we noticed first was not her identity, but the blinding beam of light reflecting off her hand as she gestured enthusiastically at her assistant, pointed out certain outfits, and pressed her hand to her heart while mouthing, “I LOVE THAT.” Jason Sehorn, if you’re out there and you ever decide you need a second wife, we make a mean baked ziti. —The Fug Girls
Browse a slideshow of the Proenza Schouler collection.