You remember, don't you? I was sitting in the back room of the Beatrice about a year ago, drinking a Stella and checking out the 2 a.m. dance floor scene. You walked over and said, "Did you used to work at Page Six?" I agreed that I had, and you sat down next to me.

I was impressed that you were smoking a Marlboro Red and drinking what looked like a whiskey on the rocks. You told me that you had just filmed an episode of Weeds for Showtime, and asked what I was up to. I said I was working at Maxim, which was true at the time. Or maybe I said that I owned Maxim. Or owned all magazines. Let's just say I was trying to impress you.

I don't recall much about the rest of our conversation, other than you were very sweet, were wearing a lot of black eyeliner, and that your hair kind of smelled like clouds. But I do remember that once we were done with our surreal little chat, you said, "Well, I just wanted to say that you look really good tonight." And then you got up, walked across the room and sat with the friends you came with.

I wondered if I had just been totally goofed on. Because by that point in the night I was most likely a wobbly, red-eyed beast who was only capable of engaging women by doing that magic trick that I do with the handkerchief and the collapsible wand. You know the one.

But in retrospect I think that you were probably just in a really good mood. Had you not been Mary-Kate Olsen, I would probably tried to get your number, or at least asked if you wanted to take a ride in my van. But instead, I just smiled and accepted the compliment. Always wanted to say thanks for that. But I've never been able to, because that was the last time I saw you!

So I thought I'd finally have a chance to tell you in person last night when I saw you at Bergdorf-Goodman, where you and your twin sister Ashley were doing a relentlessly-hyped bartending appearance for Fashion's Night Out.

I knew it was a big deal because my cab driver actually asked if I was going to "the thing were the Olsen twins were bartending." We pulled up to a mob of several hundred eager young women clogging the front entrance. I talked my way into a side door and began to look for you in the oppressively-lit department store that reeked of decades of perfume-squirts and shoppers' flop sweat.

I navigated past the throngs of girls roaming the racks to get on the escalator to the 7th Floor, where you were allegedly pouring drinks. Even the escalator was jammed with squealing humanity, and I started getting claustrophobic and sweating a little myself. Honestly, I hadn't seen that much hubbub since the last time I attended a Jonas Brothers lunch box signing!

But once I got to the 7th floor, you were already gone. Mind you, this was only 7:30, and the event started at 7. When I said, out loud, to no one in particular, "Where are the Olsens?" a sad-eyed teenage girl told me that you had left the building. This was particularly devastating because at this point I really needed a drink.

So I pushed through another mob that was surrounding stylist Rachel Zoe as she was shot by about 20 photographers, towards the nearest fire exit. When I finally made it outside, a black Escalade slowed to a stop in front of the crowd spilling outside Bergdorf's. I thought maybe it was you, but it turned out to be designer Zac Posen, who popped out of the sun roof and waved at everyone.

I went to a few other insanely crowded boutiques before I headed back downtown: The Versace store, where the MisShapes deejayed and Taylor Momsen darted past me wearing a garter belt and a white dress shirt; the Calvin Klein store, where the disturbingly pretty male model Jamie Burke played a set with his band; and Barney's, where so many strangers rubbed up against me that I felt like I owed them money afterwards.

But you weren't at any of those places, so I hopped a cab back downtown and met some friends at the Jane Hotel, which is kind of like the Beatrice was, except not quite as much fun.

Your pal,

Chris

P.S.

Call Me!
Mary-Kate Olsen serves the drinks, for a change.
Sarah Jessica Parker can barely stand the funky music from Oscar de la Renta, Barbara Walters, and Bette Midler. Neither can we.
Fashion Victim.
Grace Coddington is the only Vogue staffer allowed to laugh.
This leatherman is the ghost of the the Meatpacking District past.
Someone tries to mess with The Tinz' perfection.
Radical knitting group tries to take over Barney's handbag department in hopes of reinvigorating interest in wool handbags.
Gossip Girl-on-girl action.
Food! You don't serve food at a fashion party!
Booze. Now that's more like it.
Blake, what if we told you there will be blow at the afterparty.
That's more like it.
Running out of live celebrities, Bloomingdale's hired wax Leonardo DiCaprio to make an appearance.
Fashion's Night Out works! This woman came out to shop for the first time since 1977!
Charlize Theron is beautiful. That is all.
The only way to shut Isaac Mizrahi up is to ask him to sing.
Don't knock these boots.
"Uh, who are we waiting for?"
Give Georgio Armani five.
Rhianna got the dates confused with July 23, which is Fashion's Day Out At The Beach.
Anna Wintour has decided to start talking shit about Sienna Miller to her face.
Jill Zarin inspects her human avatar.
The rare site of Lindsay Lohan shopping.
Last night Jonathan Adler and Simon Doonan made that rhino while playing Ghost.
André Leon Talley shows off his latest Snuggie.
Victoria Beckham thought she was showing up for a literacy benefit.
Michael Kors tries to slap Debra Messing when she points out the step and repeat matches his skin tone exactly.

MisterHippity's new line beats the original, Ghost of Hairdos Past Stalks Fashion Week.

Creative director Fabien Baron was flabbergasted that Mendes' nipple flash was deemed unacceptable for Middle American sensibilities:

“You must be kidding me. This country really needs a new president — this country is so messed up,” said Baron. “It’s such a joke and it’s quite upsetting, frankly, how hypocritical this country has become. It’s OK for children to see people killed by guns? Spreading a little love right now would be a good idea.

“She is being a little sexy, but they are not provocative,” added Baron. “They are really well done. The spot is really beautiful — I really can’t believe this is happening.…I don’t know what else to say.”

So the company will run an edited version, the racier cut will be an online smash, the new perfume gets a ton of free media, and Eva Mendes can raise her asking price for her next film ever so slightly. It's all quite repetitive, isn't it? That won't stop anyone from watching this ad though:

[WWD]

• Kate Hudson totally finished her first Tour De Lance! Congratulations! [P6]
• Donna Karan is going to Africa with Calvin Klein and two Vanity Fair editors to try and find inspiration for her new collection, "Urban Zen." Because when you think of Zen, you think of the continent of Africa! [Observer]
• Despite rumors that Matthew Broderick cheated on Sarah Jessica Parker with a 25-year-old youth counselor, everything is totally fine in their relationship. You can tell by how hapy they look in the attached photo. [OK!]
• In jail for soliciting a 14-year-old prostitute, billionaire scuzz Jeff Epstein "has a cell to himself and spends his days at the library e-mailing various models he befriended in New York." I'll bet he does. [P6]
• So, wow, it turns out Amy Winehouse didn't go to the hospital due to legal addiction-busting drugs after all! Go figure. It turns out ecstasy was somehow involved. Also there was a four-hour drinking game and 11 prescription pills. Now her father is trying to figure out which devious soul slipped drugs into her drink. Um, gosh, no idea.
• Ben Silverman, onetime NBC golden boy and close friend to Rupert Murdoch's daughter, may be done for at the network if his fall shows do as poorly as his summer shows. [P6]
• OMG Lauren Conrad cried at home recently once. This means the Hills star is an "out of control... emotional train wreck" who is "wallowing in the misery that she feels her life has become." Someone stop her before she cries again! [Star]
• Though probably drunk, Shia LaBeouf may also have been the victim of a red-light-runner and thus not at fault in his big accident. [People]
• Britney Spears spent $22,000 per month to go from 144 pounds to whatever pretty hot weight she's at now. [Mail]
• The doorman who won $5 million in the lottery has been fired. [Post]

• Denis Leary's wife, Ann, has for years been secretly not cool with the comedian having dining, hanging out with and getting diet and exercise makeovers from his knockout friend Elizabeth Hurley, so she sadly channeled her frustrations into a thinly-veiled "novel." Something tells me Denis, in a similar situation, would have just cussed and yelled about it for an hour or so until the situation somehow resolved itself. Not that there's anything wrong with different "communication styles." [R&M]
• Another source agrees with actor Rupert Everett that Madonna's husband Guy Richie is homophobic. "At their wedding, [Madonna's gay brother] Chris made a joke about Guy being gay. That set the tone for their relationship." [R&M]
• Naomi Campbell had considerable trouble staying upright outside a nightclub at 3 am, but her spokesman said she was just "pretending to fall." The best headline, of course, is from the Sun: "Stupormodel." They are so getting a cell-phone beating.
• John Mayer is hanging out at Jennifer Aniston's house, and the couple are finding his annoying need for control dovetails nicely with her neediness.
• Fashion bigwigs Calvin Klein, Andre Leon Talley and Anna Wintour are hosting a big fundraiser for Barack Obama, while Barabara Streisand is now offering to do basically whatever the Democratic presidential candidate wants.
• But can we really trust all these creative New York types to choose our next president? According to the totally objective Post, this one showbiz Obama supporter, comedian Robert Klein, was talking to an innocent conservative and tried to bludgeon him into voting for Obama because Obama's "a Harvard guy." The McCain supporter calmly tried to explain how Obama is a closet Marxist, but Klein got all shrill and liberal on him, because he's a tone-deaf elitist, Obama supporters suck so much The End.

Considering the fact that Moss's fashion career grew more successful than it ever had been post CoKateGate, we suspect Klein knows exactly what he's doing by casting an otherwise-unimpressive actress in a starring role, just as she happens to hit the skids. As you'll recall, within days of Moss's 2005 snort scandal, she was dropped from million-dollar deals with H&M, Burberry and Chanel. But within two years, she'd scored countless new contracts. Burberry even reneged and offered her her former contract back, and TopShop jumped on the comeback bandwagon last year by giving her the chance to design her own (sold-out-within-minutes) collection.

But back to Mendes: the actress, though beyond gorgeous, is no Kate Moss when it comes to iconic figures in fashion. Which leads us to groan and bring up a little lady named LiLo, whose deal with Jill Stuart was perhaps the most short-lived in campaign history: weeks after shooting ads for Stuart in Tokyo, Lindz had her first run-in with the law (and a tree). We're not betting types, and sure, we hope Mendes/Klein turns into a Moss-like rise from the dead, but the prospect of Mendes putting on Cokepants by accident seems slightly more likely than Mendes becoming the new Cindy Crawford, no?

• EVA MENDES: CALVIN KLEIN'S LATEST OBSESSION [TMZ]

Model 1: So I have to do this live CK billboard thing in Times Square and I have to be playing a guitar or dancing or something; I'm so embarassed. They want all the original people from the old billboard so I have to do it.
Model 2: How much are you getting paid?
[whisper whisper]
Well, it could be worse. I did [muffle] last week for $200.
Model 1: Yeah, we'll probably just get drunk first.

Fair enough: We usually get drunk too before we have to "touch it" for $200. But to pose in the Super Fantastic Live Billboard Adventure while intoxicated is taking things a bit too far. We're buying into heroin-hotness, not boozy-hotness. Unless those models are wobbling about exclusively because of a syringe in their arm, we're inclined to deem this whole boondoggle a demonstration in false advertising.

Come one, come all, and behold the glory that is Calvin Klein's new Times Square campaign! Gaze upon the starving models — all real, all live — as they inhabit a giant perfume-bottle house and slouch about New York City's first "live" billboard. Taken just this morning, we can see the specimans have risen from their beds and are loping about their new surroundings, marking their territory with the disaffected scent of skank-chic.

Go to Times Square now while this amazing spectacle lasts — we give it about 15 hours before it turns into a Manhattan version of Shoot the Freak.

CK One Live [CK]
[Image courtesy of the ubiquitous Bucky.]

From Chic Happens: Calvin Klein used the dreaded c-word to insult Joan Rivers and her daughter, Melissa, at a star-studded dinner for the AIDS charity AMFAR. Klein was dining with Elton John and his boyfriend David Furnish, Elizabeth Taylor and Bianca Jagger at the Cannes Film Festival when Joan and Melissa came over to pay their respects. Still smarting over a nasty crack Joan made about him many years ago, Klein snapped, "You're nothing but an old cunt, you cunt!" The elder Rivers didn't hear it, but Melissa relayed it to her mom. "Excuse
me," Joan said to Calvin, "but Melissa said you just called me a cunt" Klein replied, "I sure did, and your daughter's an even uglier cunt!" Klein then bolted up from the table to leave, but hooked his ankle on the chair and fell over sideways in front of the whole dining room.

From Page Six: "Calvin was a little tipsy," Rivers confirmed to PAGE SIX. "He fell over and we all picked him up. He apologized, and we kissed and made up. It was a lovefest. It was very showbiz—Elton John helping him up while Elizabeth Taylor watched! It was very funny."