A frenzied scene met us outside Alexander Wang this afternoon. As each tinted-windowed town car rolled up, a screaming team of pap photographers would swarm the exiting passenger. If a socialite appeared, a phalanx would form, moving slowly backwards as the guest attempted to enter the building. If it was a regular joe, the group would heave a collective sigh and recede to the trenches to wait for the next. Courtney Love caused a stir, Glee‘s Lea Michele had an effeminate teen in tears, but it was Alicia Keys who really got the crowd going. When her blacked out SUV arrived, she kept the photographers waiting five minutes with the doors closed. “Is it Kanye? It’s gotta be Kanye,” said one. “Maybe it’s Pippa Middleton,” piped up another. “Na-uh,” cried the effeminate teen, “I just know it’s Mama Madonna.” Despite their predictions falling short, all seemed pleased.
Inside was the same. When Linda Evangelista made her way over to say hello to Carine Roitfeld, she was accosted by a pack of 25 snappers; James Goldstein – that professional enjoyer of life – stood in the middle of the catwalk just waiting for something to come his way; and Terry Richardson held two thumbs up to one and all as he posed alongside Vogue Paris‘ Emmannuelle Alt and Mario Sorrenti.
The show had four highlights: luggage in the form of pristine leather golf bags slung over the models’ shoulders, outfits that were reminiscent of Tron: Legacy fighting uniforms, Kiwi girl Emily Baker making an appearance on the catwalk and Alexander Wang’s triumphant runway sprint at the finale. As I left the building, I saw Bryan Greenberg chatting with a fan. His being invited to sit front row at Alexander Wang would suggest he’s finally figured out how to make it in America.
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