New York Fugshion Week: Day Six

Six days down! Two days to go! Somehow Fashion “Week” has EIGHT DAYS. MAGIC. I’M TIRED. I MIGHT JUST TYPE AND TYPE AND….no. I am okay. I am not at all a fashion week zombie. Everything is fine.

This happened last night:

Courtney Love, in case you’re wondering, is not someone who watches a fashion show quietly. She…is a flailer. And a talker. And a HANDFUL. Bless. Read about her shenanigans by clicking on this helpful link.

What else happened yesterday? Let’s see. I had a Tasti-DEE-LITE, or however it’s spelled. One of my blisters developed a blister. Betsey Johnson gave everyone mini-bundt cakes. I mistook Fran Drescher for Lucy Liu (I’m…tired. CAN YOU TELL?) and then….something else happened. Something alarming and fascinating and weird. What was it? Oh, yeah: MICKEY ROURKE SHOWED UP. And I spent that entire show longing for a pre-f’ed’up photo of him to wave plaintively in the air, like a lighter. A lighter celebrating the glory of previous hotness.