Studio 54 remains part of clubland mythology because it was meritocratic. The Shah of Iran may have been too square to enter, but his limo driver could get in as long as he stripped to the waist. Once inside, you would see Liza Minnelli not only wearing Halston sequins and Elsa Peretti's ''diamonds by the yard'' but partying with the designers. Studio 54's regular fabulous nobodies Rollerena, Disco Sally and Potassa were as high on the celebrity food chain as YSL, Warhol or Princess Grace. Just gaining entry into Studio 54 made you a star.
Fashion is equally meritocratic.
A feathered necklace bought on a Navaho Indian reserve is as cool as Ungaro's interpretation. At last the door policy to clubs is in tune with the way we want to dress in 2000. As the puckish owner of Studio 54, Steve Rubell, would tell the masses at the velvet rope, you can't buy style. You've either got it or you've got a cab home.