Justin Timberlake ran his refreshingly low-key William Rast show with precision: no crush of frenzied fans outside the venue, Cedar Lake in Chelsea; no packs of paparazzi; and no drama checking in guests — everyone had a seat, no shoving, no standing. The show started on time; Anna Wintour was so happy, she removed her sunglasses. Mid-show, we saw her nod hello to someone across the aisle; she even smiled! Who says fashion can’t be cool and friendly?
A few random celebrities were scattered throughout the front row. Nigel Barker told us André Leon Talley’s presence takes America’s Next Top Model to a high-fashion level, and that it’s about time Tyra ditched her weave. “She has a good head of hair. She looks stunning without it.”
Estelle wore a great charcoal-gray wool sweater. William Rast? “It’s Lanvin,” the singer said. Oh.
Classical violinist Joshua Bell cheerfully admitted he was definitely the most random of fashion-show attendees. “I’m here with my friend, she’s in fashion and she brings me to things like this every once in a while,” he said, and actually burst out laughing at the absurdity of his attendance.
Justin conveniently scheduled his after-party for three hours later — what must have been a cooler time — despite holding it at the conveniently located Hudson Terrace, which is practically in the river. The icy wind is, uh, bracing in February. Here the vibe was cool, but somewhat less friendly. Guests shivered in the check-in line, including Twilight star and Calvin Klein underwear model Kellan Lutz, who was kept waiting for a good five minutes while organizers consulted their lists and mumbled into their headsets. He waited patiently, laughing good-naturedly, until someone finally rescued him. Maybe the mishap might have been avoided if he hadn’t worn a shirt?
The party turned out to consist of multiple parties-within-the-party, each one designated by a different colored wristband: red, green, black, white. We were merely hand-stamped, and assured that there was no press allowed into the roped-off VIP area. Glancing with confusion at the VIP side of the rope, where virtually every reporter in town was sitting on banquettes, we asked the clipboard-wielding person what she had against the Cut. “There are no reporters in there,” clipboard-wielding person repeated firmly. One of our reporter acquaintances shrugged and handed us a red wristband, so we got a little closer to where Justin was dancing on a banquette, over in the black wristband section. This job is glamorous, people.
A live band performed, and Justin jumped onstage and did a song with them, which was awesome enough to make up for the shoving crowd, in the middle of which was a sweating Ryan Phillippe, who took off his sweater but curiously wore fingerless gloves while clutching a drink. Perhaps only the famous are informed of Fashion Week’s cootie infestation …
