Someone tweeted that they skipped yesterday’s Jeremy Scott show because they weren’t sure they could handle him so early in the morning.

You don’t really know what you’ll get with Scott, though bright colors and something giggle-worthy’s guaranteed, but this time he wasn’t just inspired by a particular pop culture icon, he actually sent the Flintstone family down his runway.

Pixie Geldof stood in for Wilma, Chanel was the perfect Bam Bam and Cole Mohr, well his barely there Speedo wasn’t exactly Fred-like, but he was still head of the house in his “Your Cave or Mine?” shirt.

Even more disturbing than the dude in a hot pink one-strapped Borat-like bathing suit was the amount of weight Daisy Lowe appears to have lost. Between her and Lara Stone’s new approach, we’re already lamenting the loss of a single curve on next season’s runways.

The second biggest talking point of London Fashion Week, post-Fast, appears to be this picture of Anna Wintour and Alexa Chung front row at Twenty8Twelve.

I was sitting there, staring at the back of Anna’s head and wondering how her hair stays so strangely perfect, when Alexa and Pixie Geldof walked in. Anna kept her head down and sunglasses on as the PR tried to sit the it-girl duo next to her. Alexa pushed Pixie, Pixie pushed Alexa, someone even pointed at Anna until finally Alexa got stuck sitting next to her and Pixie moved closer to a red-headed Peaches.

I would have loved to see what happened if Anna had to sit next to a platinum, dirty-haired, ripped tights-wearing Geldof, but she graciously looked up at Alexa, shook her hand and laughed.

So I think that face she’s making has more to do with the clothes than Alexa (after all she is this month’s Vogue it-girl), because while I loved all the denim and corsets and rompers and boyfriend shirts (and Alice Dellal’s full head of hair), the collection didn’t exactly scream Vogue.

Henry Holland for Topshop?

We wish. Instead he’s heading to their stateside flagship to celebrate the launch of his brilliant new tights collection, or so we hear.

The legwear, launched in collaboration with Pretty Polly, launched at Dover Street Market last week, though we’ve already seen them on Agyness and the Geldofs. The tights go for about $15 and mimic the pastel stripes of his AW09 collection.

We’d love Henry to be here for Fashion Week.

In fact, we think he’d fit into Intermix’s Fashion’s Night Out party, hosted by Sienna and Savannah Miller, quite well.

Avedon Chance: The International Center of Photography’s launching a Richard Avedon exhibition next week. It focuses on his work in fashion in particular from 1944 to 2000. {TheMoment}

Fairy Dust: Pixie Geldof’s interning at LOVE. Apparently she talks too much and befriended a meerkat — or they’re just as fun and silly as we thought. {LOVE}

Circus Time: Paolo Roversi shot a Lucinda Chambers-styled Guinevere Van Seenus for the new Vogue UK. The results - gorgeous, if not a little creepy - make us wish shirts were optional in real life. {Models}

Time Will Tell: Just in case you still have hundreds of thousands of dollars handy and you’re shopping around for a pretty watch, VF’s lined up some winners. {VanityFair}

Last week, Lydia Hearst told me she’d be walking two shows this season: An unnamed exclusive in Madrid and of course, Pringle of Scotland in Milan as one of the brand’s new faces.

But you guys noticed that Lydia was MIA in Milan, even though Pixie, another new Pringle face, sat front row.

Apparently, it’s because she’s off to Cairo on a mission for Operation Smile with her sister and brother-in-law. The heiress and model is this year’s official ambassador for the charity, and we guess she got her date book a bit mixed up.

Anyway, as for us, we’re off to Paris! Tomorrow look for tweets on just how many LVMH-ers are in Gareth’s front row.

Like any good American girl, I’m obsessed with Topshop.

And like any good fashion obsessed girl, I love Katie Grand.

But I have to admit, the Katie Grand styled Topshop Unique show was kind of a mess.

The clothes were very new rave, neon and kind of grungy. Liu Wen, Karlie (walking her first London Fashion Week), Jourdan & co. stomped down the runway in hooded anoraks and massive, blanket-like scarves. There were Balmain-shouldered sweatshirts paired with patchwork leather skirts, ill-fitting tube dresses and a hooded multi-colored sequined jumpsuit to top it all off.

Meanwhile, the accessories rocked, especially the glow stick necklaces and clutches.

Before the show, Hanne Gaby Odiele complained about her fat legs.

During the show, I sat right behind Daisy Lowe, Pixie Geldof and Lydia Hearst (from here on out referred to as the Brit It-Girls). I’d stuffed my face half full of delicious Topshop meringues before someone was kind enough to point out that I’d be in every single paparazzi picture this side of the Atlantic.

Whatever, the meringue was delicious. Wish the clothes were, too.

Sitting at the Charles Anastase show, we felt like London Fashion Week had really started.

It was a sweaty, hot, mad mess in what looked like someone’s really large flat. The PR’s screamed: “Is Suzy coming?”, “Yes!”, “No, I’ve just rung her driver!”, “Get Tim Blanks!”, “Is he downstairs?”, “Yes! Yank him up the stairs!” while Pixie Geldof held court in the front row with Diane Pernet and Daisy Lowe crashed half way through.

The collection was part punk, part wearable. We’d rock the plaid jackets and striped skirts anywhere, though we probably wouldn’t tie our arms down with rope; the oversized pink cardigan was striking, though no hand chains, please; the shoes were unreal though we’d need them 3” shorter and minus the smeared mud.

Shirts came printed with “Dementia,” “Don’t Kiss,” and “Malia Obama” and the models wore the goth red lip that was everywhere in New York.

Very excited chatter led the way downstairs.

When we told you that Blake Lively would be Vogue’s February cover girl, most people flipped out and claimed that this was just the worst of many recent examples of the economy informing the magazine’s cover choices (as in, going more mainstream to up those single copy newsstand sale numbers).

A lot of fans bemoaned the death of Vogue and advised that critics would be happier reading Vogue Italia or Vogue Paris because neither would ever do such a thing.

But now it’s come out that Pixie Geldof, sister to Peaches and poser for Agent Provocateur and Pringle of Scotland, is on the February cover of the beloved Vogue Italia, and appears inside the issue in a 14-page spread with fellow spawn of fame, Daisy Lowe.

So does that mean that the recession has finally hit Vogue Italia, too, and they desperately needed to get some press to follow up the madness of last July? Or was Steven Meisel really so taken with the socialite that he convinced EIC Franca Sozzani to agree in a very public way?

We’ll probably never know, but you can guess which side we’re on.

We somehow missed this over the weekend:

Pixie Geldof has followed in the footsteps of big sis Peaches, and added modeling for Agent Provocateur to her resume which, as far as we know, consists only of modeling for Pringle of Scotland alongside Daisy Lowe (another former AP girl) and Lydia Hearst.

Pixie plays a virgin, but back to reality:

Kind of makes you pine for the days when all Agent news revolved around Kate, no?

Pringle of Scotland’s recruited Daisy Lowe, Pixie Geldof and Lydia Hearst to pose in their Fabien Baron-directed Spring ad campaign.

Someone’s having an identity crisis.

The “troika” of It-girls, (and never has “it” meant nothing more than the sum of daddy’s money), star with two actual models in the black and white, sixties style spread shot by Steven Meisel.

Pringle says, “We were looking at iconic faces and Pixie Geldof had been on our radar for a little while, and then we started looking at the friends she hangs with….I liked the feeling of reality…it’s not just pulled together for an ad campaign.”

We say, “If you’re revamping your image to appeal to a younger demographic, just say it. Please don’t call Pixie Geldof’s face iconic. Please don’t assume Lydia Hearst hangs out with Pixie just because they’re both rich and please don’t pretend your carefully calculated ads are snapshots of reality. And please continue to use models.”

On another note, Adidas is adding Jeremy Scott to its list of “celebrity faces” fronting the Spring 09 ad campaign which begs the very important question, do actual real-life customers even know who people like Jeremy Scott, Pixie Geldof, Harley Viera Newton, etc, are?

Because companies are shelling out way more dollars for these people than they would for unknown and gorgeous models, and we’re dying to know - is it worth it?

We couldn’t decide which was stranger about PPQ’s Spring show: the celebrity quotient or the collection itself.

Front row held, in no particular order, Kimberley Stewart, the Geldof sisters, Russell Simmons, the Klaxons, Cory Kennedy, the Horrors, Henry Holland and Alexa Chung.

And the randomness did not stop there.

On the runway were ruffled mini dresses (on the likes of Daisy Lowe) we’d wear any day, but followed by pants and headdresses straight out of I Dream of Jeannie. One of the final looks was a black romper devoured by ruffles - a Spring trend that apparently did not stop in New York - on top but missing crucial fabric on the bottom.

We loved the popsicle colors, similar to the ones we saw earlier in the morning at Topshop, but they seemed a bit over the top when put on such silly shapes.

And we loved watching Ali Michael strut down the runway.

The show was a blast to watch, as was the befuddling front row. But we’re not sure how easy it’d be to wear, unless of course you’re Kim Stewart.

Because then we totally get it.

“The “morning after” look has morphed from ignominy to desirability — the walk of shame has become chic. Pick up any tabloid and there they all are, the cream of London’s youth, working the look. Peaches and Pixie, Agyness Deyn and Alexa Chung, all caught in daylight dressed in night-before clothes — metallics, men’s cardigans, smudgy make-up, unbrushed hair and a squirt of eau de sex.” - Alice B-B, on the walk of shame, in the London Times.