It was so dark in the warehouse where Y-3 was held on Saturday afternoon that we literally ran smack into erstwhile America’s Next Top Model personality Jay Manuel. He was wearing a skirt, blazer, and wellies — very English schoolgirl — and was totally unfazed. He may not have even noticed us.
There were a lot of noticeable people crammed into the front rows, however. Y-3 regular Isabel Lucas (wearing one of her usual beaded headpieces, and looking from the neck up like she’d just fallen out of the background of Game of Thrones) was seated next to Like Crazy’s Anton Yelchin, whom we overheard noting good-naturedly, “It didn’t feel like a festival” — presumably regarding his experience at Sundance, since as far as we know he didn’t have a film in Toronto this season, and because he then started waxing adorably poetic about “the independent spirit” he felt while filming the aforementioned Like Crazy. We can’t believe he’s been mulling over the disparity between filming an indie and promoting it for this long. Sundance was ages ago! Live in the now, Anton.
Down the row from Isabel and Anton sat Michael Stipe (who may not know until he reads this that the dude sitting behind him was giving him rabbit ears in most of the pictures for which he posed), as well as Lupe Fiasco and rapper A$AP Rocky, who wore his hoodie pulled up as far over his head as seemingly possible — but who also seemed to find Stipe endlessly fascinating. Hey, the nineties are back!
“Just sit down somewhere, on anyone in the front row,” a woman said, pushing past us. She was wearing sunglasses despite the intense dark, and we spied her nearly crash headlong into Grey’s Anatomy’s Jesse Williams — whom we would not mind crashing into ourselves, not least because he came out from backstage carrying a glass of Champagne. But the person whom everyone in the building wanted to crash into the very most emerged from backstage last.
“OH MY GOD IT IS,” a young black-shirted volunteer shrieked, as David Beckham — wearing jeans, green kicks, and a pleasantly snug gray T-shirt — strolled out to take his seat next to an excessively bedheaded Natasha Bedingfield. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the entire press corps kind of lost their collective mind attempting to get a shot of good old Golden Balls. “This fucking sucks,” the photographer next to us sighed. “I totally can’t even see him.” Sorry, dude, but we could. And he looked good.