I grew up with a dad who is fifteen minutes early to everything which means my single act of adolescent rebellion was being half an hour late to everything - something that’s generally ok in this industry.

But I’d never been to one of Marc’s shows and I was not going to be one of those distraught people stuck outside three minutes after start time because the new Marc is both fit and punctual. I gave myself one hour to go pick up my ticket, walk back to the Louvre and take my seat for the 2:30 show.

At 2:33 half the venue - a tent set up in one of the Louvre’s giant courtyards giving tour groups a major surprise - was still empty. There was an open seat behind me, in front of me, across from me and next to Carine. But sure enough, a re-mixed version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” switched on at 2:37 and the first model stormed out in a black lace number layered over a pink and blue skirt with killer shoes. Meanwhile, a couple of models in, Suzy Menkes tumbled across the runway into an open aisle seat.

The collection was like everything good in life rolled into one - if half of me wants to wear Giles everyday, the other half wants to wear this. Marc threw lace into everything, used bright lingerie over sheer neutrals, tucked metallic mini-skirts under camel pea-coats and ruched leather into retro skirt suits. There were bunny ears and giant pearl hat pins stuck into fluffy buns. The girls wore platforms and thigh-high lace-up boots. Raquel Zimmerman had on amazing blue capris with ruffles at the bottom, Catherine McNeil a Working Girl red coat and Vlada rocked the perfect shade of green.

It’s clothes - and shows - like this that make people fall in love with fashion - it was the perfect fantasy. And with that, it’s back to Brooklyn.

Morning.

Half of us just got back from the Louis Vuitton show in Paris, and we’re super excited, because the show was pretty sick.

So if you’re not already clicking on our homepage incessantly, please do check back in about thirty minutes, or however long it takes Britt to upload her 70+ incredible pictures.

In the meantime, enjoy the (semi-NSFW) sneak peek.

Talk soon.

xo

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.”

I do love Paul & Joe.

Sophie Albou’s clothes are always cute and relatively affordable, her Target collection was a hit and I usually linger over the summer dresses on Net-a-Porter - but when you throw them onto Angela Lindvall and Eniko Mihalik and Jourdan Dunn and put them on a runway under bright lights, yikes.

Her Fall 09 collection included a couple of jumpsuits that looked like pajamas and a Pepto pink halter version. There were fringed shirts tucked into white jeans with over-the-knee boots - in pink. There was, seriously, a fox stole with the head still on that had been dyed turquoise and bedazzled around the mouth. The show closed with a handful of sequined minis, or fabric printed to look like sequins, that were so tiny I was afraid someone’s bottom was going to pop out in Amy Astley’s face.

But it’s the first time I’ve seen Paul & Joe on a runway, so maybe when I see it in a store, without that terrifying fox stole, we can forget this one morning in Paris.

The room at the Louvre in which Wunderkind showed their Fall 09 collection was completely coated in white plastic which lent an even creepier air to the Tim Burton-esque collection.

It started out with lots of stripes, blouse-y fabrics pulled and bowed through button holes underneath exaggerated suits with contrast stitching, and peek-a-boo slits. There were brightly checkered leggings underneath sheer overlay skirts paired with chunky striped heels. Up top, some girls wore Mad Hatter top hats while others suffered from oversized fabric head wraps topped with caps, and hands were covered in scrunched patchwork gloves. It was like, how many pieces can you fit on each girl?

The clothes were actually really pretty. The styling, however, made it look like a bomb had exploded in the poor designer’s studio. If you threw on the colorful sequin leggings with something a bit more subdued they’d look amazing. Not that it isn’t fun to see something wild walk down a runway - it’s just that the showmanship is supposed to enhance the product, not distract from it.

Hypothesis: Fall 09 is mostly a season of repeats.

Proof:

1. Balmainia.

2. The entire decade of the 80’s turning up… everywhere.

3. Marni loving Prada perhaps a bit too much.

4. Jean-Charles Castelbajac sending his models onto the runway from a giant mouth a la Viktor & Rolf Spring 08.

5. Jeremy Scott giving out his Longchamp bag to Beth Ditto and Kanye West to tote around at the Fall 09 shows like it’s really Spring 06.

And so on.

Conclusion: Discuss!

I got to Elie Saab this morning, drinking a triple espresso and eating a croissant out of a brown paper bag while laughing at my wrinkled, plaid self in the presence of Rodarte-wearing Kate Lanphear and French movie stars in sequin mini-dresses.

They were, I’ll admit, more appropriately dressed to watch a vampy collection of red carpet ready dresses parade down the white runway. Jessica Stam, looking particularly perfect and glowing, opened the show with a polished French twist, red lips and a beige Roland Mouret-y dress. The palette went black, with feathers, capes and sequined leggings pulled down over patent heels, before turning to baby blues and dusty greens.

In a Zac Posen repeat, someone murmured, “Work it girl!” when Coco came strutting down the runway - she really does ooze personality. Meanwhile Sasha looked dizzyingly thin.

There were rhinestone encrusted bodices over flowing skirts, and more than one look featured a single dainty driving glove. The only question is, who will wear the black beaded gown first, Halle Berry or Debra Messing?

The thing about Swarovski-sponsored shows is that while designers can’t afford to show without the sponsorship, the requisite use of crystals within the collection is often too forced, too obvious. So it was great to see, for the first time, a designer really make use of the Swarovski elements without ruining the actual clothes.

Antonio Berardi showed his Fall 09 collection in what looked like a little chapel in the 11th. Editors and buyers squeezed into the tiny venue like sardines. (I held my knees to my chest to avoid repeatedly kicking Glenn O’Brien, seated directly in front of me.)

I spent the first few looks staring at the hot pink lipstick but recovered in time to admire the paneled black and white dresses. Everything was level, so even in the second row I missed all but the over-the-knee part of the boots - some were loose black leather, others shearling. There were furs with crystal armbands and little lilac dresses over charcoal tights. The structured Balenciaga silhouette popped up again, like at Manish, this time in black brocade-like shifts.

The clothes were well-tailored, wearable and just plain pretty.

Jean-Charles de Castelbajac’s collection was supposed to be inspired by muppets, though the backdrop was a pixellated mouth and the clothes more about stuffed animals in general than muppets in particular.

There was one cape made of actual Kermit the Frogs and a skirt featuring that pink muppet whose name I can’t recall. But one minute, there were leopard beanie babies on a model’s hands and the next, a t-shirt dress printed with Michael Jackson’s face. There were plastic trench coats and dresses made, literally, out of laminated hair that was in the best case a twisted ode to Margiela - but that’s probably thinking about it too hard. And the cat heels weren’t just leopard print, they had tails and whiskers, too.

When one of the boys walked out in a Sesame Street print suit I thought of Jeremy Scott. And when it was followed by girls in money-printed dresses I thought of Jeremy Scott. But then at the end, models threw Obama-printed money into the crowd, and I thought of Gaultier.

At least we know he had more than one reference point.

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.

WHICH two veteran models got into a “full-on serious fistfight” in a Paris nightclub this Fashion Week? The fight was so demode, Uncle Karl himself had to break it up…

I met a hair stylist last night who readily declared that, “Everything is boring,” in a perfectly indifferent French accent.

Givenchy? “So bored.”

Stella? “Don’t care. Ossie Clark and ThreeAsfour were not awful.”

He should’ve gone to Manish Arora. The Indian designer started his show with a leopard spotted dancer who danced before and around the first model. She wore a black lace dress with glittery lion face shoulders, followed by a monkey purse, sequined birds and a dress embroidered with Simba-looking lions. Finally, a friend passed the credits sheet under my eyes and pointed to a fine print mention about collaborating with Disney and using characters from The Jungle Book and The Lion King. No mention of Harry Potter, which is strange since the moving head piece above bore a striking resemblance to the Quidditch snitch.

Regardless of the movie references, the bright colors, insane details and creative references put on a great, and never boring, show. There were a couple of dresses in there we’d even wear including the black and bejeweled structured shift and the billowy purple and white dress. And if we knew where to buy Manish in the states, we’d be placing an order for the tie-dyed tights.

Plus, as someone said walking out, “We could all use a healthy dose of positivity.”

The Who-hair at Guy Laroche made it easy to ignore the chunky sequin dresses and boxy jackets.

I went to the show because I’m still kind of obsessed with Hilary Swank’s Boys Don’t Cry Oscar dress - and even though Guy Laroche circa 2005 was designed by Herve Leroux (formerly Leger) and Guy Laroche circa 2009 is designed by Swede Marcel Marongiu, I was hoping for something of substance.

The show was small, in a room at the Louvre, and the models were good - Eniko Mihalik, Tanya D, Tasha Tilberg, Ali Stephens - but the clothes were made for the loyal customers sitting fifth row and the random New York socialites in the first. Those thigh high boots, however, a real leather version of the vegan friendly version Stella McCartney showed earlier in the morning, were made for the teenage models rocking them down the runway.

Backstage, before the show, more than one threatened to run off with them and I’ll admit, I was tempted.

There’ve been a lot of pressing model questions this show season, one of the most common being, “Where the hell is Caroline Trentini?”

It turns out she was an exclusive for YSL, which she just closed in Paris, minutes ago.

Mystery solved.

In other exclusives news, just how many do you need to stage a real Givenchy show? Not only were Dree Hemingway and newcomer Ranya Mordanova signed to make their Fall 09 debut at Riccardo Tisci’s show, but also Adriana Lima, whom you may not have recognized under all those sleeves and pant legs.

C’est tout.

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.

Paris Fashion Week is suffering from a major celebrity drought.

Which means that putting Rachel Zoe front row at Ungaro today was like feeding a pack of hungry wolves. The paparazzi went nuts and I almost believed the crush was for an A-list star.

Nope. Just Rachel and her husband, with Brad happily behind them soaking in the brightly colored and surprisingly hip Fall 09 collection that Esteban Cortazar sent down the runway at the Louvre this morning.

Everyone oohed at the royal blue chunky knit sweater - the shoulders were covered in fine silver chains and the wrapped neck practically swallowed the model’s head. There were ruffled pink mini dresses and very cool black tights covered with silver metal dots. The architectural pieces didn’t work as well but the ruched mini skirts and sheer blouses made up for it.

And the girls made it down the runway without a single broken heel.

If the hot pink helmets Stephen Jones made for Giles last season weren’t quite hip enough for you, don’t worry.

Karl Lagerfeld’s one upped the Pac-Man reference. The designer showed his eponymous line this morning and sent out a parade of models rocking fur and crystal covered helmets.

What you couldn’t see from the audience were the iPods playing a slideshow of the collection. The elbow length gloves? They came equipped with iPhone holders, just in case your clutch is so tiny it can’t hold a phone.

The helmets and the caged heels were the best part of the if-Karl-were-a-woman-this-is-what-he’d-wear collection - though watching Jessica Stam hold back laughter as Peaches Geldof and Cory Kennedy wildly cheered her on from the front row was pretty good, too.

Also, if we could ask Karl one question it used to be, “What’s it like to have a butler hold your crystal goblet of diet Coke everywhere you go.” Now it would be, “Why did three men with plastic instruments slowly walk down the runway before the models and pretend to be a band, without actually moving their fingers?”