Unlike at most shows, where there’s a chunk of front-row real estate earmarked for famous people, Diane Von Furstenberg tends to spread out her celebrity guests — which can be good for reducing media logjams on the runway, but makes a fast, comprehensive chronicling of the show’s star quotient very tricky unless you are omniscient. At Sunday afternoon’s show, for instance, we didn’t see Rachel Zoe until she and Olivia Palermo hustled out of there, chatting feverishly, and, in Zoe’s case, greeting a zealous fan in a white Muppet coat by pausing, tensing, and abruptly turning around and trying to run the other way. Our eyes didn’t land on Nicky Hilton until after the show began. And we almost missed Chelsea Handler entirely until DVF kissed Anna Wintour during her bow and we saw Handler’s tousled blond head nearby. They weren’t sitting together, but maybe we should start a Vogue cover rumor now anyway, just in case Chelsea performed some across-the-runway hypnosis on Anna, or slipped some bribery vodka into one of Wintour’s tall, black flat boots.
(Sidebar: When even the Vogue editrix — who has a guard and a driver — is wearing sensible shoes, it’s time for the other tottering, skidding fashionistas to get with the program. Vogue clearly agrees that bruised tailbones are not on the menu for spring.)
Pretty Little Liars’ Shay Mitchell was hard to miss, in cool candy-pink pants that she picked out from the DVF store. We couldn’t resist asking Mitchell if she, too, sometimes finds herself with no freaking clue what is happening on that show. “I have to watch the episodes,” Mitchell confessed. “There’s so many twists and turns. And then sometimes I accidentally talk about one that hasn’t aired yet, so I have to be like, ‘Wait, stop and think, talk slowly … ’” Good advice, as we’re pretty sure A has a grisly attitude about spoilers.
Smash star Katharine McPhee was also pretty easy to spot, clad as she was in a top cut down to her waist. The braless McPhee coyly shrugged off the notion that she was superglued into that sucker, but we figure it can’t just have been a miracle of physics — every time she turned to hug someone (like when she met Allure’s Linda Wells) or pose for a photo, we saw more square inches of breast than are generally recommended among strangers, and yet somehow none of the X-rated bits flashed themselves. McPhee should take more credit for pulling off that kind of science. We got shooed away by photographers before we could ask McPhee how morale has been on Smash’s set since the infamous 1.1 rating, but she did offer up some comments about the plot cooking along, and used the words “love triangles,” so clearly somebody at Smash is hoping its leading ladies can convince people to keep watching. Or start.
She also said that despite being a west-coaster — and having an essentially nude torso on this day — she is learning to embrace the less balmy climes of Manhattan. “A California girl never gets used to the elements, so I am definitely a bit of a whiner when it gets really cold,” she admitted. “But I love living here and I don’t know if I will go back. Snow and hail and rain are just part of New York and you just have to put your boots on and deal.” Spoken like a true native-in-training. Anna Wintour probably would approve; maybe we should start those cover rumors with Katharine instead.