Like AIDS before it, Darfur has become the shibboleth one clueless celebrity whispers to another to assure themselves that they aren't shallow and callous. With the exception of a scarce few (Mrs. Brad Pitt, for instance), these blithe young things have no idea of what they speak. But does it matter? The argument could be made, as it was last night at the Rip the Runway for Darfur event hosted by Lydia Hearst, that that doesn't matter. The words of celebrities, no less than their unshaven nether parts, carry a dizzying gravitas: If Lydia Hearst says "Save Darfur," the hope is it will trickle down until some slavering acolyte Googles the word. (Darfir? Darfer?) Call it a Reagonomics of good will. But last night, Lydia Hearst was "sick" and didn't show. Neither did other expected guests like socialites Tinsley Mortimer, Fabiola Beracasa nor Olivia Palermo. Gawker photographer Nikola Tamindzic and I were left to document Bertolli-shill Rocco DiSpirito, Hofstra senior and publicistgay Micah Jesse and an international debutante named Laura Dubois as they drank free Level vodka.