New York — 'Anybody see Naomi?" Half-naked boys and girls are being rubbed down with glistening oil backstage at Rosa Cha, and I'm on a hunt for Ms. Campbell, the Brazilian swimsuit label's star attraction.
I'm told Naomi hasn't arrived yet, but then I spot her behind a curtain, smoking - stealing a private moment before the photo frenzy ahead. Out front, there's a stampede of flashbulbs as Beyoncé and Jay-Z are escorted to their seats. The paparazzi push and shove and things verge on ugly as my cameraman and I get caught in the crush. Down the row, Venus Williams waxes on about the virtues of wearing sexy swimwear, and Cuba Gooding Jr. talks about his penchant for Brazilian women "with a lot of junk in their trunk." With all that fabulous flesh showing, it's hard to concentrate on the bikinis. They ooze down the steamy x runway, a joyride of gold fish scales and cowboys emblazoned on crotches. Appropriately, the girls all wear flesh-tone birth-control patches, from sponsor Ortho Evra. Escapism is in the air this season. Over at the Imitation of Christ show, Chloe Sevigny, the label designer Tara Subkoff's creative collaborator and best friend, is making sultry faces from her front-row seat. The lights go down, then up again as a chubby dancer with bouncing ringlets in a way-short red dress tap-dances far too long. Finally, out comes a collection of retro hits: pretty satin dresses and goddess gowns, none terribly original - but all intended to conjure up visions of old Hollywood glamour. On my way into the backstage tent for Luca Luca, I run into Salman Rushdie and his impossibly beautiful girlfriend, model/cooking show host/actor Padma Lakshmi, in tight black leather jeans. He claims she tries to give him style. She playfully derides him, telling me, "In the past four years, he's only gone shopping for clothes once!" Inside at the backstage party, everybody's swilling champagne. Italian designer Roberto Cavalli has come out to support his fellow Italian designer friend Luca Orlandi. "What makes a woman sexy?" I ask Cavalli. "Personality!" the silver-haired ladies' man assures me. I wonder if that's what attracted him to that gorgeous young girlfriend of his. I spot Red Hot Chili Peppers' Anthony Kiedis wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt. He pulls a PDA out of his pocket, and tells me he's e-mailing his mother. Ivana Trump is in the front row wearing black jersey and silver stilettos, mustached toy boy at her side. Donald is on the opposite side of the runway. Padma makes notes, as the pretty pastel dresses slink down the catwalk. Backstage at Betsey Johnson, it's all about hip-hop and bling-bling. Betsey's been taking hip-hop lessons all week in preparation for her walk down the runway with funky recording artist Wyclef Jean. And the Diamond Information Centre has set up a table laden with glitzy "right-hand" rings, which they're keen on lending to journalists and high-profile types who will unabashedly flash the dazzling suckers around all week. I can't resist, and choose a giant shamrock ring, comprising dozens of tiny diamonds. Betsey's front row has been replaced by small round tables, each with a bucket of champagne. We knock back the bubbly as we drink in her eye-candy collection, naughtily entitled "Boys Love B.J." "I used to hate my initials," confides the 61-year-old dynamo. "Now I love them!" The collection includes a hot pink chiffon "hand job" negligee and a "spank me" tee. The bikini with the "Jaws III" motif is the pièce de résistance. Models love Marc Jacobs, and wear his stuff religiously. "He pays us with clothes," Frankie Rayder tells me. She's backstage at the Lexington Armory, squished up against some guy who's got babe-licious Karolina Kurkova on his lap. Former supermodel Stephanie Seymour is chatting to Marc, who's wearing a padded collar. Apparently, he's just undergone disc surgery. Stephanie is hopping around various shows, shooting a Vogue "reportage" editorial with veteran photographer Arthur Elgort. At long last, with Hilary Swank, Gabriel Byrne, Vanessa Carlton and Sonic Youth's Kim Gordon seated, the show begins. Giselle Bundchen leads the parade of pretty dresses. It's a crowd-pleaser. But there's nothing particularly new here. Evidently, after last season's spacey Courrèges-inspired collection, Jacobs is returning to safer ground. At Calvin Klein, the iconic American designer, who sold his company this year, has passed the design reins over to his former assistant, a young Brazilian named Francisco Costa. "I was in love with Brooke Shields when I was 12 years old. ..... I never even dreamed that one day I'd be designing for the house!" says Costa backstage. In a private room off to the side, the controversial Calvin himself is standing at the bar, chatting with long-time friend and supporter Bianca Jagger and Vogue's Anna Wintour. "Michael Kors' clothes got me through my pregnancy," says Brooke Shields, who has surfaced serendipitously backstage at Michael Kors. Out front, Kors indulges in his "jet-set" vision once again this season, with a collection entitled "Crazy for the Caprese." His runway resounds with sunny Mediterranean magic, and runs the gamut from a tangerine strap maillot to a yellow and white awning strip mesh yachting dress to an ocean blue chiffon gown. The decadent "Capri" mink beach towel is to die for. Backstage at the House of Field, Pat Field is having her crimson hair curled. After all her success styling Sex and the City, she could have easily abandoned her downtown family. But the club kids, drag queens and porn stars, like the surreally swollen Amanda Lepore, just won't let this camp queen go. What a mix the front row is, from L.A.'s artsy Jeremy Scott, the official designer for Miss Piggy, to a purple-lollipop-sucking Ice T and his hot blond fiancée, to Kelly Ripa, Jessica Simpson and the tattooed Tommy Lee. With sexy rock and roll creations by Field's house designer David Dalrymple, the runway oozes attitude. The eclectic week is winding up, and Miami's 19-year-old Colombian-born boy wonder Esteban Cortazaris determined to make some noise. He's invited Cindy Crawford to strut it for him, and she's actually accepted. Backstage, in tight-fitting jeans and a teeny red T-shirt, Cindy tells me she first met Esteban when he was seven years old, then again a couple of years ago. The supermodel opens Cortazar's show with a red siren dress, and closes it with a breathtaking gown made of pale rose Swarovski crystal mesh. "Well, you could try," the sympathetic PR person is encouraging me to shove my mike into Denzel Washington's face, even though his security heavy is glaring at me and shaking his head. We're at the Chelsea Art Museum and Denzel, who's sitting next to Lenny Kravitz for the Zac Posen show, pretends not to notice me. Feeling like a loser, I give up, tired of all the celebrity chasing I've done this week. But no sooner have I resigned myself to retreating, than M.A.C's debonair prez, John Demsey, strolls in with Liza Minelli. The paparazzi come in for the kill, as Liza graciously responds to my question about Posen. "His dresses make you want to dance," she says. I boogie back to my seat, past Tommy Lee, who's now got his own TV crew in tow. The flirty collection unfolds - a slinky stream of sensuous dresses. Post-show, I'm waiting to get backstage, and Denzel brushes by me. "Hey, did you enjoy that show?" he warmly asks. I look into his eyes and melt. "You bet. Did you?" "Yeah, sure did," he says with a smile. Wow. Maybe he had noticed me earlier, on the verge of grovelling, and just appreciated the fact that I didn't. Star-struck, I make way out to West 22nd Street, tired but grateful that New York Fashion Week's celebrity component has left me feeling nearly as optimistic as the upbeat spring collections.Jeanne Beker is host of FashionTelevision on CITY-TV and editor-in-chief of FQ magazine .
