Fashion Week just OD'd. But I'm comforted by the fact that its sexy corpse will rise again to do another skeleton dance on the catwalk, seduce the style-obsessed among us, and throw up at an after-party at Indochine.

Once upon a time the John Varvatos store reeked of rat poison, sweaty skinheads and Iggy Pop's low-hanging balls. But last night, the scent was decidedly sweeter for me, because I totally partied on a tour bus with Perry Farrell.

I couldn't get into the big Marc Jacobs party at Hiro Ballroom last night. I didn't get to see Lady Ga Ga play a white piano, nor did I witness her violate a completely-shaved centaur backstage with a strap-on.

Superstar MisShapes DJ and lovably icy ingénue Leigh Lezark may be the Anna Wintour of the downtown scenester set. Does that mean we can't be friends?

I went to Fashion's Night Out at Bergdorf's last night to see you bartend, but you were gone. Always wanted to thank you for that magical moment we shared at the Beatrice Inn. So I thought I'd do it here!

I may still be on my couch wearing a rum-stained terrycloth bathrobe, but I'm about to undo my sash. Do you know why? Because tonight is Fashion's Night Out! Here are just some of the super-funtastic festivities.

Trust Fund Boyfriends! Marshmallow Fantasies! Lecherous Photographers! We invade a Ford Models mixer to find out what exactly is bouncing around in those beautiful noggins.

Chris Wilson loves Fashion Week parties like unicorns love rainbows. But ten consecutive days of late-night bacchanalia can damage both body and soul. Last night he hit Paper's 25th Anniversary blowout to find out how to make it out alive.