new york fugging city

Fug Girls: Solange Knowles Teeters on the Edge at Charlotte Ronson

“He’s in the second row. He’s INFURIATED,” we overheard as we walked into Charlotte Ronson. Sounds like someone is already having a rough fashion week. We can’t totally blame the Infuriated Dude, though — the front row was pretty major. It must have hurt to be excluded from the ranks of Brett Ratner (we are not sure what he was doing there, either, and we may actually not even want to know) and Brent Bolthouse, who is currently rocking a beard that reminds us uncomfortably of what Spencer Pratt is doing with his face, a stylistic decision that we have to believe was subconscious.

Bolthouse was seated cheek by jowl with Josh Groban, who is officially the last person we expected to run into at Charlotte Ronson — and whom we really wanted to challenge to write a sensitive piano ballad about the tribulations of Fashion Week, perhaps to be called, “No Standing Room in My Heart” — and Nicky Hilton, whose presence was not nearly as surprising. Nicky appeared lovely and fresh-faced, wearing a simple white and silver dress and looking considerably more weather-appropriate than her seatmate Shenae Grimes, who was sporting a studded leather jacket that was admittedly awesome, but had to be hot. The temperature didn’t seem to bother her, though: Every quote we heard her give was unfailingly positive. About the designer, she opined: “She’s very, very talented.” Seems like someone’s been getting some media training. She might not have been so gracious if she’d overheard the person standing behind us who gasped when she caught sight of Shenae and then squealed, “Oh my God, OLIVIA PALERMO!”

Nobody had any such trouble recognizing Solange Knowles, however, whose hair has grown into a groovy quasi-afro with a chunk missing, and who was sporting dramatic cat-eye makeup with a heavy red lip, a modest shirt with a white schoolgirl collar, and — as you do — what appeared to be satin Bermuda shorts pressed so crisply that the fold running down the front could’ve carved a pumpkin. Solange also wore those major Alexander McQueen claw shoes, and with nary a teeter. She must have been practicing in those things; we can’t even look at them without getting dizzy. We did wonder if Mad Men’s Alison Brie was disoriented, because we saw her wander out onto the front row, look confused, and then drift backstage again. Apparently Solange was her homing beacon, though, because once Brie zeroed in on her front-row seat, she immediately engaged Knowles the Lesser in what looked like an extremely chummy conversation — we can only assume that they were discussing whether Alison was wearing too many sequins (the answer: no, and in our mind there is almost no such thing), or whether Solange would ever emerge from sister Beyoncé’s shadow (no comment).

Also spotted in the front row: Russell Simmons, accompanied by his nieces Vanessa and Angela; the Veronicas, whom everyone ignored despite the fact that they went to the trouble of wearing matching patent leather Mary Janes; and Drea DeMatteo, who brought her daughter along. Also in the house, of course, was the entire Ronson clan, half of which was hard at work. Mark Ronson — whose hair is a shockingly stark platinum right now — sat with his parents, while his half-sister Annabelle Dexter-Jones walked in the show as she always does, and Charlotte’s twin Samantha took her usual spot in the D.J.’s seat. When the show was over and Charlotte popped out for her bow, we happened to peek up at the D.J. booth, and saw Sam let out a mighty cheer. We couldn’t help but think two things: (1) This family is apparently very supportive of one another; and (2) Holy cow, how relieved do you think they are to have Lindsay Lohan out of their collective hair? As are we all, Ronsons. As are we all.

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Fug Girls: Solange Knowles Teeters on the Edge at Charlotte Ronson