Remember when Tommy Ton threw the whole world into fits of jealousy after shooting French Vogue’s Emmanuelle Alt wearing Isabel Marant’s studded booties mere hours after last season’s show?

Because we do - and despite their sold out status, we’re still lusting for them. So is Steve Madden. Surprised? Just another opportunity for him to cash in on someone else’s great design.

Steve’s Blitzi booties are an obvious knock-off of Isabel’s Rider. He’s managed black suede, a rounded toe and the low slung black leather strap underneath the studded cuff. His studs are silver, which is spot on, but he got lazy in the back and replaced Marant’s black suede cone heel with a chunk of square brown synthetic wood - they’re still almost $200.

Save your pennies for when Marant opens that Soho store early next year.

Ga-Ga for Ikielene: Iekeliene Stange gets naked behind a bamboo screen for this pretty awesome editorial, without a stitch of fashion, in the new issue of Velvet. {FashionCopious}

LV Leak: Kanye’s fashion fascination culminates in these strange (alleged) ads for his Louis Vuitton sneakers. {NahRight}

Say What?: The pretty people behind pretty pictures speak which makes the pretty pictures on this blog even prettier. {BackyardBill}

Plastic’s Fantastic: Nylon’s launched their own record label. Their first band? The Plasticines, four French girls with some serious fashion cred. {Nylon}

More to Come: French Vogue’s Emmanuelle Alt is the woman behind Michael Jackson’s dumbfounding day of Balmain and apparently, she has plans to further enhance his wardrobe. {Fashionologie}

This morning’s Lagerfeld show was scheduled for 10:00 am. Doors started to open at 10:49 am. It was cold and it was raining and this is what I heard - all polite, all amusing.

Hilary Alexander: “Get me someone from the press office please. Are we just supposed to wait here in the rain? Karl would be furious if he knew about this.”

Virginia Smith & Filipa Fino: “Standing’s over there,” says the security guard.

“I’m not standing though,” Virginia politely responds.

“Standing’s to the right,” he turns around to ignore her.

“Grace! Can you please help us?” she asks.

Grace Coddington walks by with the Harlechs in tow - both Lady Amanda and Tallulah - and even they can’t get Vogue’s Fashion and Accessories Market Editor past the man who’s devoted his morning to making sure she stands. (She made it through a moment later.)

Glenda Bailey: “But she’s very important! You must let her in,” because Roopal Patel’s hard invitation was missing.

Clueless, but magnificently dolled up older woman from the middle of the crowd: “This is outrageous! You must let us in! Why would you let her in and not us!”

Her was a Margiela clad Carine. The only person who slipped by without an ounce of trouble and the only person with a personal umbrella holder named Emmanuelle Alt.

I held on tight to my Nina Ricci invitation all day.

Hard invitations are gold in Paris - no invite, no luck - and I wasn’t going to miss Olivier Theyskens’ last Nina Ricci collection for anything.

Unfortunately, my cab driver, or the traffic ahead of us, didn’t care that I had to get there, and so, at 7:27 I bolted out of the car and ran, desperately looking for a familiar face or anyone significantly underdressed for the Paris cold. Finally, I stumbled past a very serious security gate and into my seat with seconds to spare.

Paparazzi descended upon the front row, a hippie-headbanded Milla Jovovich was sandwiched in between Carine and Lou Doillon (side note: Earlier today, an editor suggested that I remind them of Charlotte Gainsbourg to which I almost actually said, “I die” out loud. Time to stop quoting Rachel Zoe in my head and time for said editor to get glasses), with Leigh Lezark and Emannuelle Alt on each end. Five camera flashes and the lights went out, a model started walking and the music clicked on - in that order.

The clothes were gorgeous, of course, but the shoes were literally breathtaking. The ball of the foot rested on at least a five inch platform while the heel ascended another few inches, without an actual heel which made it look like the girls were floating on air. Gowns came with giant sheer black ruffles, hot pink and turquoise glitter and beaded floral trains. The red jacket and long skirt caused the audience to spontaneously combust in applause mid-collection (something I’ve never seen, Natalie once at ThreeAsfour) though front-row grins lingered for the duration of the show.

Though I’d corrected at least three people throughout the day, “But it’s not confirmed that he’s leaving! He might make it!,” there was no questioning Olivier’s wave good-bye and the enthusiastic but sad standing ovation.