Stella McCartney's show is in the same venue as Yohji's, and the similarities stop there. We walk in, greeted by a table stacked with "so sorry you're seriously here at 10am" peace offerings, including heart-shaped champagne truffles and double espressos. I watch Stella's darling daughter hide between her impossibly gorgeous father's legs, since everyone's paying more attention to the four year old than to L'Wren Scott. I sit down and open my travel felt kit. It's too hard to explain, but fun. The only thing that distracts me from the neon cartoon mural on the back wall, is Sir Paul McCartney sitting twenty feet away. And the only thing that distracts me from the Beatle, is the sometimes sparkly, always sexy, slouchy collection his daughter sends down her runway. I remember back when Stella first showed jumpsuits and everyone laughed. I realize that the one-piece tuxedo Raquel Zimmerman wears to close the show might be the hottest thing I've seen all season. And I realize that for the first time in a long time, despite their constant appearances this past Fashion Month, sequins actually look appealing. I mentally block the out of place Leger-inspired bandage dresses that pop up for a split second, and instead enjoy my Tootsie pop, the Paul/Alasdhair/Twiggy view, and my fantasy wardrobe come to life.