Ah, Fashion Week: Nasal passages erode like endangered sane dunes, therapists are tortured with anxiety-ridden calls regarding wardrobe selection, and both podiatrists and Mo t & Chandon executives can literally smell the revenue coming in. This is the kind of shit we live for. As part of our saturation coverage, we spent our Saturday evening experiencing the Carlos Campos afterparty at Aspen. We recognized precisely no one, the publicists were less than helpful at locating the designer, the bar line was entirely too long and the people in attendance were almost, but not quite gorgeous. Self-importance seems to be the drug of choice with this crowd, and most of the people we spoke to didn't even realize it was a party for some dude who designed some obscure line of menswear. Still, it resulted in some nice shots for Gawker soul-stealer Nikola Tamindzic. You can expect continuous coverage of New York City's Greatest Week Ever until all the models go home.