Fashion Week has gotten exponentially less dangerous since we started covering it six years ago: This time, we had no photo-pit tramplings. No near-death experiences at the hands of packed venues alarmingly full of candles. We were never inadvertently part of a mob scene trying to crash a show (R.I.P., Heatherette), and we never got swept up in a paparazzi scrum chasing Lindsay Lohan to her waiting limo. When you consider that on our first day ever at any Fashion Week we saw Nelly punch some dude in the face at a Baby Phat show, these are some major achievements. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fun week. Here’s our traditional farewell superlatives post, noting everything from best-looking in person to worst hair to our favorite cases of mistaken identity. See you in February, when hopefully all of the above will still hold true. Although, if Nelly wants to start something, we won’t complain — a fistfight makes for great copy.