La Dolce Musto by Michael Musto ashion Week started with a promotional bang, the press getting a mailed advisory demanding that we refer to it at all times as Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week. The Oxygene perfume launch at Tribeca Rooftop was findable, but mainly by thick-skinned celebs like Jason Sehorn , who bravely showed up despite the Super Bowl, and Donny Osmond , who insanely attended despite Inside the Osmonds . We don't like reading about ourselves.
People are mean.
But everyone screamed with joy when Eric Goode and Sean MacPherson's sprawling new restaurant, The Park, had a bash celebrating Jalouse magazine well, almost everyone. It was especially thrilling to see Monica Lewinsky there, though she now seems to decorate all the same B-list parties I'm at and will no doubt touchingly and feelingly reunite with Bill Clinton when he hits the very same circuit. The screams were internalized at a weird MAC party at Tuscan Steak where no one actually partied they all stood solemnly in place staring at the spectacle of Mary J. Blige and Lil' Kim being photographed against a MAC backdrop for hours. Someone must have put something in the mascara. And then, after a few more shows, a dozen more nightmares, Anthony Haden-Guest lighting up like a Christmas tree when I gave him a drink ticket at Eugene, and Puffy admitting he kills animals but not people, Mercedes McCambridge Fashion Week came to a glittering end, and it was back to cleaning toilets.