There were many things that had me “fuh-reaking” out while watching last night’s season 2 premiere of The Rachel Zoe Project: huge navy moments, Rachel’s Chanel diploma, the evolution of one of RZ’s signature phrases into “shutting. shit. down”, the fact that indeed everyone does look better with seven more inches…everywhere, Brad’s giant bow tie, desk disobedience, the list goes on and on!

And while we all knew what the girls were going to end up wearing to the Globes, the process, was as always, fabulous to watch. Like Brad and Rachel, I was dying over the couture clutches that had amassed in the studio for Annie, Demi, Cameron, et al. I’m not really much of a small bag girl, even for evening, as I’m fairly terrible about editing down the contents and usually end up rather annoyingly over-stuffed. But, wow, did those Viviers make me rethink my position.

We know you spent last night in front of the TV, but prepare to park yourself there tonight, too.

Before Anna Wintour’s late night debut comes the second season premiere of The Rachel Zoe Project and here’s a new clip to get you even more excited for fluffy dresses and Brad’s bow ties.

It’s the day of the Golden Globes and even though Rachel’s studio’s so stuffed with shoes and dresses that no one can move, she hates it all. Life’s rough when you’re trying to make sure Anne Hathaway always looks “new and exciting” now that she’s “exploded” into a major movie star.

We just got an email this morning that The Zoe Report, Rachel Zoe’s daily newsletter will finally be launching tomorrow.

When it was first announced, many compared it to Gwyneth’s GOOP, which you know we love—but realize that many don’t. Though considering that fashion/style/beauty etc is what the woman actually does for a living, we can’t imagine it will be greeted with quite so many naysayers.

And we’re hoping for some guest appearances from Brad.

We’ll let you know what we think tomorrow morning. Sign up here to get the newsletter so you can weigh in too.

We made our way to the 13th for the Galliano show last night.

Our cab driver dropped us off in the middle of the anti-fur gauntlet, “Ass-ass-in / Gall-ian-o.” One of us was wearing fur and bolted. The other lingered to Twitter a picture. We walked through security gates into a heaving crowd waiting for entrance to the venue - we were already ten minutes late.

We squeezed our way in between Lady Bunny, Carine Roitfeld and a sequined Balmain jacket - we had to stick our hands in our pockets not to reach out and touch the shoulders. But “in” was only a holding cell, and so we lingered by Milla Jovovich and talked about the fancy portable toilets.

They let us in and we thought, this must be what all those abandoned factories in Greenpoint look like on the inside. So we sat and watched the Times editors and Vogue writers hug their scarves around themselves. Rachel Zoe’s Brad gave Robbie Myers a kiss hello while Rachel posed for the cameras and her husband tucked into the back. Everyone was freezing and it started to snow.

Roxanne blared and a parade of hoop-skirted Russians came walking through the tunnel of blue and green light. They wore lace-up boots with tassels, coin-covered scarves, and corseted jackets. The last few virgin brides wore sheer white gowns with silver jewels and intricate head pieces. Editors choked and cried and coughed, but gleefully enjoyed the spectacle.

The girl next to us grabbed our arm and exhaled, “Now that is what fashion is all about.”

Under normal circumstances, if I get to a show and someone is sitting in my assigned seat, I let it go and take the next one over.

But if I get to Chanel and everyone’s name is written in impeccable calligraphy and my nameplate happens to be next to Brad’s, as in Rachel Zoe’s assistant, then I am fighting for it.

And so, after a heated discussion in the best French I could muster, I took my seventh row perch (the Grand Palais offers fancy stadium seating, about twelve rows) and wondered how to start a conversation with Brad and his red bow tie. But then I read that Kate Moss was front row, got flustered, and before I could decide if I should search for Kate or talk to Brad, Karen Elson was in front of me in black and white tweeds and a whirlwind of models stormed the glassy catwalk.

Sasha, Stam, Freja, Angela, Eniko, Vlada and company wove their way in and out of the labeled doorways, sometimes not so gracefully, in their Edwardian collars and ruffled cuffs. The collection took a turn toward the playful in the middle with pink and green knit accents - tights, bags, ribbons - on the mainly black and white collection. Jourdan carried a 2.55 encased in plastic, Lara wore a giant pink cream puff sweater and Jessica Stam’s ensemble was hip Miss Havisham.

And of course Karl threw in two healthy doses of Sebastian and the boys for good measure.

At the end, trap doors opened from every doorway and out hopped Karl in his sequined blazer smirking, as if to say, “You did not expect me, no?”

The surprise end, maybe not. But these clothes? Definitely.

I got stuck in the pit at Stella McCartney’s show this morning - I should land there more often.

My pictures aren’t blurry! And I was smack in the middle of the PR scramble which went something like this, “Kanye said he wants coffee with “mad” cream and sugar.”

“No way. The show’s about to start.”

“I thought Beth Ditto was coming.”

“She is.”

“But they gave her seat to Kanye’s girlfriend.”

“Where’s her dad?”

“Kanye’s girlfriend’s dad?”

“No! Stella’s!”

“Shit!”

And so on and so on until finally everyone who needed to squeeze into the front row - Kanye, his McQueen-wearing girlfriend, Pink, Beth Ditto, Thandie Newton, Twiggy, Paul McCartney & his girlfriend, Salma Hayek, Francois Pinault - sandwiched between Ingrid Sischy and Jefferson Hack.

Stella’s stellar Spring collection was hard to beat. For Fall, you’re already set if you own a slinky negligee or floral slip. A boxy masculine coat with a skinny belt would help, too. What you don’t have is the only thing that kept the clothes from looking ten years older than Stella’s usually do - the full leg faux-leather boots. They had me gasping for air, prompted Rachel Zoe’s assistant Brad to say, “Bet they’re made from potatoes and mashed up cauliflower,” and will be every vegan’s dream answer to next season’s number one trend.

Meanwhile Lara Stone wore an unfortunate velvet sack and the silver tinsel from Raquel’s closing coat fell off and floated through the air while she stormed down the runway.

But it was a Stella McCartney show, which means everyone leaves with a smile.