All the blog postings listed below this entry are from Fall 2006's Fashion Week back in February.

Just a little note to let you know that if you're reading below here, you're reading old material. However, it's quite amusing material so feel free to continue reading.

- M

By Mark La Monica

I'll just let that headline up above tell you everything you need to know about what you are about to watch.

OK, one more thing: The file is a bit on the larger side -- what isn't in today's America? -- so please give it a moment to start downloading into the blog. This video player works much the same way as YouTube. Enjoy the show.

By Mark La Monica

My credentials to cover Fashion Week are slightly less peccable than they were seven months ago, mainly because I've already blogged one Fashion Week and because I saw "The Devil Wears Prada" in theaters this summer.

But still, a wise journalist, no matter how much an event lacks serious world news implications, does some research before arriving at his destination.

In my travels through magazines, newspapers, Web sites and wire services, I came across two items of note.

The first came from a story Thursday on the AP wire:

"bare delicate tops" and "printed and screened T-shirts for the guys."

Hmmm, "bare delicate tops." I think I like how that sounds.

"T-shirts for the guys?" Hey, maybe I really am qualified to judge style. I live in T-shirts, preferably with no sleeves.

The second item caught my eye when skipping through Thursday's New York Post on the train ride into the city.

"Naomi Campbell is walking in jeweler Chris Aire's show wearing the first gown made entirely out of the designer's signature red gold -- it's valued at $50 million."

I know it's the Post and all, but are you kidding me? Fifty million? That's like walking around inside Tony Montana's bank account. I gotta know what a $50 million piece of clothing looks like. The Chris Aire show starts at 10 p.m., which is unfortunate for my schedule, but fortunate for my "Things I Must See in This Lifetime" checklist.

By Mark La Monica

I woke up on the corner of Designers Way this morning (which is an amusing coincidence), compliments of Doctor friend Sophie's extraordinarily comfortable futon.

The cab driver dropped me off near Bryant Park before 8 a.m. and when I caught my first glimpse of the tents, here's what my mind produced in roughly 11 seconds of think time:

1) Maybe that last drink last night wasn't such a good idea.

2) Wait, last Fashion Week, they had free bottles of water under the tents.

3) Wait, last Fashion Week, they had free peppermint patties under the tents. Oh lord, please make sure York isn't a sponsor of this Olympus Fashion Week. I'm starting to have flashbacks.

4) This will be a very fun week.

5) I can't even imagine what sort of hijinks I will get into and then write about.

6) I hope I have enough room in my bag for all the free goodies.

7) I can't believe the cabbie didn't have change of a $20 for my $6.10 cab ride and happily just took the $5 bill I had in my pocket. What a great day! I won't even put that in my expense report. That's how cool it was for a cabbie to do that for me.

8) I can't wait to take my first four elbows to the ribs from paparazzi fighting for a good spot. Note to self: Check with insurance company to see how much an emergency room co-pay will cost me.

Uh oh, they just opened the gates for us media people to go get credentials.

Uh oh, my legs are asleep.

By Mark La Monica

The scene on the steps of Bryant Park early this morning went a little something like this:

A long-haired fella with a baseball cap on backwards gave that "I think I know that person" look.

I stared back with that "You tryin' to get gangsta on me" look.

"You're Mark, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied in a polite yet alert tone.

"I recognize you from the video Mike sent me," he said.

The video in question is my fashion makeover video "Make Mark Cool" listed below in this blog.

I immediately laughed and enjoyed my 15 seconds of fame. Then I realized the long-haired fella was Rob, a friend of Insurance friend Mike. I met Rob once about four years ago and I was inebriated at the time, so I can still chalk this up to being important to the world, at least for a few seconds.

By Mark La Monica

In keeping with Fashion Week tradition, the dirty brown Budweiser T-shirt made its appearance on the first day. As does a running diary of the first show. This time, we trade Kenneth Cole in The Tent for John Bartlett in the Atelier tent.

This trade is right up there with the Mets sending Scott Kazmir to Tampa Bay, but we are a soul-less culture if we do not uphold traditions. So, here goes:

9:22 a.m. - I stumble into the show with a laptop, notebook, camera and a WE bag.

9:23 -- Hey, there's Photographer friend Rob, who informs me that Phil Donohue is sitting in the front row over there.

9:23.30 -- I threaten to walk out, on principle.

9:27 -- I come to my senses and realize that tradition is tradition and I must follow through on such things regardless of who's in the front row.

9:31 -- The show starts with some deep bass music.

9:32 -- Some dude strolls down the runway in a sportcoat and short shorts. Um, yeah, not a good look.

9:33 -- Models are supposed to look hard and stare blankly when they walk down the runway, but this one dude looks like he either just stabbed somebody or is about to stab somebody. I have no idea what he was wearing, but I know it wouldn't be wise to pass judgment on it.

9:33.20 -- Oh great, the first show of the day and it's time for the no-shirt dudes to come rolling down the runway. As if I didn't already feel inadequate being at Fashion Week, I get to start it by looking at Joey Abs.

9:34 -- Another dude with no shirt. Not for nothing, but how hard is it to design a shirt that doesn't exist?

9:36 -- This slowed-down, techno remix of Madonna's "Get Into the Groove" sung by some guy is alarming and disturbing.

9:37 -- OK, now let me get this straight. This piece of clothing in the John Bartlett Spring 2007 collection looks like part overalls and part one-piece Beastie Boys jumpsuit? AND it has a hood in the front and the back?

9:38 -- The show ends with a huge round of applause. It was more than just gratuitous, too, which makes no sense to me. Then again, I'm wearing a Budweiser T-shirt and a Steve & Barry's $4.99 buttondown shirt, so what do I know.

Photos from the show

Gotta love Mama La Monica checking in from Majorca, Spain, to see how the first day of Fashion Week was going. Gotta love how she also wanted to be sure I picked her up a WE bag.

By Mark La Monica

In the photography pits -- they call them media risers at Fashion Week, but they're photography pits -- it's customary for people to designate their spot with tape and to write their names on the tape.

Of course, no one really seems to respect that tape or the names written on it.

Standing in the back row awaiting the Perry Ellis show, it became clear that no one really seems to respect the people who are standing in untaped areas either. I blocked off a nice, standard-size square for myself and my camera, laptop and notebook. Apparently, that wasn't good enough.

Some dude decided my Nikes were unacceptable in their current location on this planet and started taping around me.

Never at a loss for words -- except for "the cheetah incident" a few years ago -- I decide to inquire. "Why is this dude taping my feet?" I said alone to no one in particular as I stared at him.

No response.

"Seriously, was I not standing here?"

No response.

I waited for him to finish. He was kind enough to work around my other foot. When he was done, clearly anguished over having to adjust for my size 12.5s, I walked to the other side of the risers.

Now he's got an oddly shaped spot to stand it. Take that, pal!

By Mark La Monica

OK, now this Perry Ellis guy is a name I know. I've actually sought out his clothes in stores back in the day when I had money.

Walking into his show seemed intriguing, seeing how it was much easier to envision those clothes in stores, on racks and then in my closet.

But then the show started and the disturbing Spring 2007 trend of long sportcoats and short shorts that developed in the John Bartlett show continued right there in the Promenade for Perry Ellis.

Disturbing.

But it does bring to light one very important rule of thumb for men's fashion: Men's legs were built for shorts that reach the knee, extend past the knee or come very, very close to reaching the knee. Short shorts are for chicks, not dudes.

He did, however, give out free T-shirts after the show. Hey, maybe fashion blogging isn't so different than sportswriting. It's all about free T-shirts. The only difference is at Fashion Week, an attractive hands you the shirt. At sporting events, the shirts are shot out of a cannon, air-powered gun or rubber slingshot.

Photos from the show

By Mark La Monica

Fashion Week is, in theory, about fashion. But there's so much more to it, such as who can be seen looking at such fashion.

Thus we present the debut installment of "Famous Faces," which lists the celebrities that have been fortunate enough to cross paths with me for a fleeting moment of excitement . . . for them!

It began with Phil Donahue at the John Bartlett show. He shouldn't be a celebrity worth reporting on, but he was on television for a long time, so I really have no choice but to mention him appearance.

Sophia Bush was snapped by about 32 photographers walking out from the backstage area after the BCBG Max Azria show. The "One Tree Hill" actress was very accommodating to the photogs who kept yelling "Over here, Sophia, one more shot behind you, please turn around." But she was upstaged by a blue-collar worker on a nearby truck saying, "Over here, over here!" That was funny.

Then we had Carmen Electra stroll on by my two very eyes. Two interesting observations about our encounter: 1) She's much better looking in real life, which is rarely true of famous people; 2) She's so much harder to recognize in real life, which is rarely true of famous people.

A young blond believed to be Kristin Cavallari from "Laguna Beach" fame pranced her way through the paparazzi walk of fame. She's rather attractive, if you can look beyond the fact that she is a reality TV star.

More to come as the days goes by.

By Mark La Monica

The free WE bag remains all the rage during these strange days that make up Fashion Week. Not exactly sure how or why that happens, but they do "sell out" early each day.

Rumor has it if you don't get one before the second show of the day starts, you better hope you have a pass for another day because that's the only way you'll get one.

This edition of the WE bag has a springtime feel to it, smart considering it's spring preview week.  It's a light green canvas bag with with a dark brown leather strap. Oh yeah, can you feel the "Step into a Slim-Jim" excitement?

By Mark La Monica

Let me preface this by quoting myself from earlier adventures in life: "I am not a smart man."

I hadn't planned on attending the Marc Bouwer show if for no other reason than I needed a break. I held firm to that plan.

As I sat in MAC Cosmetics' Backstage booth (strangely, it's in the front section of the tents) to rest and write, I looked up at the television to watch a live feed of the Marc Bouwer show.

This seemed like a good idea. Why risk liver and pancreas transplants from the elbows and such I would receive in the photographers' section when I can sit back and enjoy the show from the comforts of a cushioned couch?

Let me continue this by quoting myself from four paragraphs ago: "I am not a smart man."

Every woman in the show was attractive and scantilly clad. And I watched it on television instead of in person. After all the dudes in no shirts and (Who wears) short shorts from the first two shows, I decide to get stupid and miss the Best in Show so far. This is disappointing.

As the lovely representative from the MAC booth said, "Well, what's the difference between watching a football game live versus on television?"

Excellent point!

Let me end this by quoting myself from four paragraphs ago: "I am not a smart man."

By Mark La Monica

The LCD screen on the digital camera said it all: "Batteries exhausted!" Gee, ya think?

Even the four double-A batteries couldn't handle the hotness of the runway at the Gottex show.

Whoa, nelly, lemme tell you 'bout some hot, real-looking women shaking what their mamas gave them in swimsuits!

Quick tip for the fellas: If you've got a girl you call your own, go buy some of these Gottex swimsuits because they're ridiculous. If you're more single than a stripper's garter belt, find out where they sell Gottex swimwear and move to that city because the women who live there will buy them and wear them.

Every suit save for one or two was fantastic to look at. They were curved in all the right places, tight in all the right places, cut out in all the right places, blah blah blah. If you saw a woman rocking any of these bathing suits on a beach, you'd be mad at the world for about three days. The divorce rate might even double/.

Standing in the risers as one woman after another approached my direction (and the direction of everyone else there, but whatever) I felt like Chris Tucker in the massage parlor with Jackie Chan in "Rush Hour 2."

The real enjoyment, though, was the sight of real women, not 16-year-old sticks with Eastern European influence. The cookie-cutter model type of this era was nowhere in sight, and that my friends, is a wonderful change of pace.

These women were shapely and when they walked, you could actually see parts of their bodies move other than their legs. (Get your minds out of the gutter; there's more to life than what you're probably thinking.) Such a refreshing moment to experience.

Click here for more photos

By Mark La Monica

One of the appreciated perks of this gig is free junk. Some is readily attainable. Some requires an invitation. Some just fall into your lap.

Lounging in a lounge area near the Moet & Chandon booth (one of those free things that requires an invite), a promotional gal asked me if I wanted a little jar of mints with caffeine in them.

"Oh, gladly," I said.

Bawls Mints. High caffeine guarana candy. Hey, free junk is free junk.

I popped the little blue pill in my mouth. You think Altoids are "curiously strong?" These things are four cans of Red Bull on steroids packed into one little pill. I'm willing to wager a few scheckels that if an athlete took one of these mints, they would fail at least seven drug tests.

By Mark La Monica

No surprise here to experience the phattest beats of the week at the Baby Phat show. Yung Joc's "It's Goin' Down" and Justin Timberlake's "SexyBack" drew the most in-seat movement from the super fly crowd.

Jade, a contestant of the sixth cycle of America's Next Top Model, is without a doubt the best in-chair dancer I've seen since me three years ago in a club. (Thanks, ANA.)

But before the beats started, we almost had a beatdown.

50 Cent was sitting in the front row and someone near him started some static. It likely wasn't the person directly to his left, given that Tommy Hilfiger (or maybe it was his stunt double) isn't gangsta.

It was unclear what triggered 50 Cent to jump up from his seat and turn around. But it was crystal clear what triggered photographers to pounce and people in the crowd to yell "Fight!"

Security rushed in and squashed any potential rumble and the show went off peacefully.

The show was hot, too. It was pure hip-hop. If ever there was a doubt about the impact of hip-hop on all areas of our culture, they were eased by Kimora Lee Simmons' Baby Phat show.

People of all races enjoyed the scene, the music, the clothes and the idea of being there for Baby Phat.

The models were rocking these crazy pseudo-mohawk type hairdos and they all had some serious grillwork done for the show. We're talking Pall Wall bling in the mouth. Usually, I find that stuff to be lame, but when the whole show rocked it just to do it, it worked well.

Baby Phat fashion show photos

By Mark La Monica

Is Long Island in the house, say what now?

Rocking a front-row seat to Baby Phat was the pride of Jericho, Jamie-Lynn Sigler. You know her better as Meadow from "The Sopranos." I recall her from earlier days when her dad's baseball team, the Jericho Mets, used to play my dad's baseball team, the Sportsfair Yankees. Regardless, she's beautiful in real life.

She was with her male companion, Scott Sartiano, who is a co-owner of the downtown celebrity hot spot Butter. He's also reportedly the subject of a number of recent lawsuits involving the embezzlement of millions of dollars from the club.

Also in the house for the Baby Phat show:

Jade, from the sixth cycle of America's next top model. I don't watch that show but she's gorgeous and has a distinct look. I'm hoping she wins. (Thanks, ANA.)

50 Cent, minding his business in the front row until a brief GGGGGGGGGGGG-Unit moment. Quick blast of static, but security handled it. Not clear who was at fault.

Remy Ma, aka Remy Martin. Her arms stayed breezy with a knit shall-type shirt she wore.

Andre Harrell, the hip-hop legend of founder of the once outstanding but now defunct Uptown Records.

Farnsworth Bentley made an appearance. Good to see Diddy gave him the night off. (Just kidding, we know he's no longer Diddy's "butler.")

Phillip Bloch also took in what is widely considered the most exciting show of the day. Some people call him the top celebrity stylist in Los Angeles. I prefer to think of him as the dude who sold Vincent Chase, Johnny Drama, Turtle and E new suits for Ari Gold's daughter's bat mitzvah in the second season of Entourage.

Dirty South rap queen Trina and R & B singer Amerie were also spotted at Baby Phat.

As was Lyor Cohen, the co-founder of Def Jam. Sadly, he did not acknowledge my "Who the [bleep] are The Fugees?" That was his greatest quote of all time. It's from the MTV Def Jam special when someone mentioned the hip-hop trio of Wyclef Jean, Pras and Laryn Hill. It's the second greatest quote in MTV history, topped only by Vanilla Ice's attempt to explain the difference between his beat for "Ice, Ice Baby" and that of Queen's "Under Pressure."

By Mark La Monica

I brought out the digital camera for the Chris Aire show since I had good access and fresh batteries. Click on the photo for a full-size shot of Famous Faces in the crowd on the last show of the first night of Fashion Week.

By Mark La Monica

DJ Clue (Desert Storm) walked into the Chris Aire show moments before it began. He was dressed in a properly colored Yankees hat and a royal blue golf shirt.

He was recognized by myself and the photographer next to me and no one else from media land. Sometimes I enjoy knowing things outside the world of fashion. This was one of those times.

My camera was off because the batteries were an issue (again!), but I still hit him with a "Clueminati!," his signature phrase on the radio and his mix tapes.

The photographer girl next to me got ready to snap. Her camera didn't work. Clue was kind enough to wait a moment.

The photographer girl next to me got ready to snap again. Her camera didn't work again. Clue was kind enough to wait a moment again.

The photographer girl next to me got ready to snap for a third time. Her camera didn't work for a third time. Clue said, "You better get that to work before the show, baby!"

I laughed. I yelled, "Clueminati!"

By Mark La Monica

A life spent in and around sports can be a grand background for journalism life in other areas. Example: Ron Artest walked into the Chris Aire show late Friday night and none of the paparazzi there knew who he was.

None but me, that is. The other photographers know their fashion kings and queens, but only I recognized the Sacramento King. I was sitting on an exclusive right there.

As he walked in front of me, I hit him with a "Yo, Ron, what's up, guy?" He acknowledged the recognition and appreciated the love in his hometown. (Artest grew up in Queensbridge.)

A few minutes later, the paparazzi swarmed on the runway. I got nervous. Was my exclusive torn to shreds? Nope. They were all up in Lil Kim's business. (Interesting tidbit: Lil Kim and Foxy Brown, mid-to-late 1990s rap-diva combatants, were both in attendance for the show and no one got shot or beat up.)

I had all of zero runway access to this show but security seemed lax enough for me to take my shot. I crept up the runway and snapped a pic of Lil Kim because I knew I might need one. Then, as everyone fawned over the Queen Bee, I went after the Sacramento King.

"Hey, Ron, how about a picture?" I asked.

"Sure," he said.

Boom! Got my exclusive photo. Well, exclusive until about 10 minutes when someone else figured out what I was doing. Damn!

That's OK, though, because he didn't have enough sports knowledge to capture the Riverside Church AAU summer team reunion between Artest and Elton Brand.

After I snapped this pic, I turned to my new photographer friend (read "Clueminati!" for her story at the Chris Aire show) and said, "Check out the Riverside Church AAU summer team reunion over there. I wonder if they're talking about that summer season when they went 64-1."

She had no clue what the heck I was talking about. It was fantastic. Then, Chris Webber made his way into the scene. As a good North Carolina Tar Heels fan is supposed to do, I turned my head in the other direction and yipped "Timeout!"

By Mark La Monica

It's 8:19 a.m. and I'm stuck outside the tents at Bryant Park. So much for getting here early to see how the fashion industry handles the fifth anniversary of the terrorist attacks. Let's take a look around anyway and see what I can find.

Near the press entrance on the corner of 40th Street and Sixth Avenue, there is no indication that today is Sept. 11th.

I'm not surprised by this and hypothesize that A) Fashion is a very international world; B) Perhaps some people just don't want to hear about it anymore; C) Maybe it's just too early; D) All three.

I worked my way toward the main entrance on Sixth Avenue opposite 41st Street. Still not allowed inside yet, I noticed a large American flag hanging from the rafters by the main lobby.

It's comforting to know that, no matter how exclusive and shletered the fashion world may appear to be, someone responsible for the planning of this Fashion Week had the common sense to at least show some respect for those people and this city who were so greatly affected by that day five years ago.

By Mark La Monica

We all know what today is. We all know what happened and we all will relive it to some degree as this day progresses.

It will be everywhere we look. Newspapers, television stations, Web sites, e-mails.

I've already taken my moment to reflect on how five years ago, my brother was in the air from Newark to Atlanta and how my dad worked five blocks from World Trade and how my mother was a nervous wreck as 50 percent of her nuclear family was potentially in harm's way.

We'll all handle this day individually, but we must continue to live our lives. September 11th is and always will be a strange day. I'm wondering how far I can or should go with jokes and amusing tales from Fashion Week on this day. I'm thinking right now that since my theory has always been "Laughter is the best medicine" -- taught to me by Pops -- I'll proceed as usual with this blog. Maybe people need a good laugh.

By Mark La Monica

First rule of WE Bag Club: There is no WE Bag Club.

Second rule of WE Bag Club: Get here mad early because they're gone quickly.

Before I even put my laptop down, set up camp inside the press room and snapped the photo of the American flag shown in a posting below, I went straight for the WE booth. Had to get my hands on another bag for Aunt Keekee, what with Mama La Monica calling "shotgun" on the first bag while she was lounging in Majorca, Spain, on Friday.

"Do you give out WE bags this early in the morning?" I politely asked the nice WE bag girl at the counter. It was 8:31 a.m.

"We do," she said. "Hey, you had longer hair last year, didn't you?"

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? Is she serious? That was seven months ago and she dealt with at least 1,000 people per day then. Did I mention that was seven months ago and she dealt with at leat 1,000 people per day then? Not to mention all the people in life since then. I mean, honestly. Sure, I have a dapper personality, a distinct fashion style (I call it "diner" style -- a little bit of everything whenever you want it), and two different eyes. But, seriously, how did she . . . oh Jesus, please tell me she doesn't remember "The WE Bag incident" from last February.

"I did indeed," I responded, half-nervously, half-excited. "Had to shut that down. Got long. But I'm just glad I have some hair left."

"Well, it looks good."

Whew, no mention of the WE bag incident. This could have escalated quicker than the television news team rumble in "Anchorman."

It was just some polite banter amongst familiar faces. This being recognized thing is pretty cool, especially in a world where I know no one. If this keeps up, I may need to get some headshots and ship them around. Anyone know when an Apple store is giving their next Photoshop or digital photography lesson so I can get photos done on the cheap?

Now if only the paparazzi would start snapping my photos when I walk around, then we'd have something. The regular people would be asking, "Who is that guy?" And I'd be responding, "What's up, guy?" I've got four more days to pull it off.

By Mark La Monica

Surely by now, you've seen those Maria Sharapova "I feel pretty" commercials. Well, men can't feel pretty, but we XYs certainly can enjoy the way we wear our gear some days.

This is one of those days.

I'm rocking exceptionally comfortable jeans with some tattered cuffs (from wear and tear rather than a purchase by choice).

For above-the-waist coverings, I've got the Yankee sleeveless T-shirt (a staple in any New York Italian's collection) and an extra-long plaid shirt from 626 Blue consisting of small white, light blue and olive green vertical stripes. On the street, it looks like I used to be 6-foot-8. In the tents, it looks tres chic.

It's not exactly "Gibauds hanging baggy, Hilfiger on the top, knapsack on the back," but I do have an over-the-shoulder bag. Sorry, Grand Puba fans.

On the feet we have some Sandro Something-or-Others. Black, soft leather shoes that could double as bowling shoes. This too is considered chic in these parts.

These shoes highlight a good rule of thumb when it comes to nice footwear: They should be Italian and at least three syllables. Anything shorter than that and you might as well cut off your feet.

My belt is from Spain. Made there. Purchased there. Delivered here. My watch is from Rome. Made there. Purchased there. Delivered here.

I feel cool. This feeling likely won't last beyond the evening, but for now, I will revel in my status as Fashionable Male.

By Mark La Monica

In The Front Row Daily, a glossy rag mag distributed for free every day here at Fashion Week, we came across a beauty tip quote.

What the quote said is of no particular significance. How it ended, however, well, that's screaming for some commentary. The quote was attributed to Tinsley Mortimer, Socialite.

Here's my question: What qualifies one to be a socialite? Do they need to just have a lot of money or is there more to it? Is this a "job" and if so, does being "employed" negate one's status as a socialite? Is it knowing a lot of people? Or is it simply being photographed in lots of different places? Maybe some combination of these three and a few other things?

Is there a class us regular folk can take in order to learn how to become a socialite? Or is it as simple as wearing a fedora to the Kentucky Derby on Saturday then flying to New York for brunch at the Four Seasons on Sunday?

Can we get an internship somewhere or should we just watch the Paris Hilton E! True Hollywood Story?

If a socialite applied for a job in the regular people's world, what would their resume look like?

If a socialite is seen wearing a regular Hanes T-shirt and a pair of ratty sweatpants, is that "the new trend" because they're a socialite or is a moment of weakness or an "oops" pic?

If a socialite falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does the socialite lose their status?

These are the things I think about.

By Mark La Monica

Upon my return to the tents after an afternoon break to pursue extra-occupational opportunities, I stumbled into a long line. That long line became much shorter when my new photographer friend pulled me into her spot.

Yes, movie fans, I immediately looked for Derek Lutz (Robert Downey Jr.) and hoped he didn't tell me to get a note "from each and every person behind" him in line.

He wasn't around. Apparently, that only happens when watching "Back to School" or when Lawyer friends Steve and Tim are involved.

So, my apologies to the 100 or so people suddenly behind me, but hey, these are free custom-made Havaianas sandals we're talking about here.

I knew nothing of these Havaianas sandals until I got in line. What I learned then was that they are made entirely from rubber instead of foam and are Brazilian in origin. A U.S. size 12 equals a Brazilian size 45. That's a large foot, regardless of country.

They come in a number of colors including white, black, brown, pink and blue. Sandal straps come in black, gold, silver, pink, blue and white. I thought about going with the pink sandal and gold strap if for no other reason than I could laugh about that and be mocked endlessly by my compadres at work. But wait, what if I ever want wear these things again? So much for the pink and gold. Reason consumed my brain and I went with brown and gold, which turned into brown and silver because they were out of gold.

Here's my story in photos (click thumbnail for larger photo):

The sign on line

The styles to choose from

My sandals at conception

Strap it up!

Keep strapping!

Sold!

Those feet may not be all that exciting to look at, but those Havaianas sandals rock. And they're back here on Tuesday. Hello, pink and gold!

By Mark La Monica

Any attempt by myself to dissect this world's God would be so much more than futile. But observing Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour, the God of the fashion world, is truly inspiring. She is hardcore.

So, I shall recount what I saw and what I thought when I saw it at the Max Azria show on Monday.

Prior to the show, Wintour took her seat in the front row on the side of the runway where the models walk out. (The runway was a horseshoe with right-angle turns.)

She was dressed classy, as you would expect from a woman of her stature. (After all, the novel and subsequent movie "The Devil Wears Prada" is supposedly based on her.)

Wintour seemed approachable before the start of show as she shared a laugh with the young woman sitting next to her. Not that I had the audacity to get that close to God and perhaps consider sharing her air without signed legal documents allowing me to do so. Besides, I was wearing white socks with black shoes, a strict no-no for everyone except the T-Birds in "Grease."

Once the lights began to dim and it appeared the show was seconds away from starting, boom! Wintour slapped on a pair of black, oversized sunglasses and assumed her role as judge of all things chic and stylish.

As each article of clothing from Max Azria's Spring 2007 collection crossed paths with Wintour's gaze, Wintour never seemed fazed by anything. She just sat there expressionless. Models could have given her the finger and she would not have budged a centimeter.

It was truly amazing to see such dedication to stoicism. Some people may not like that, but I was enthralled. Here sits God and she has nothing to say or express. No pursing of the lips. No body language to suggest anything. No flick of the hair. That is Almighty power.

Warning: Do not play poker against this woman. Her 2-7 offsuit will beat your aces before the turn every time.

I'm wondering if underneath those sunglasses, she ever blinked. I'll bet no. A friend of mine in Vegas said the over/under at The Mirage on blinks by Wintour underneath her sunglasses at any fashion show was 2. I took the under.

Once the show ended, Wintour took off her sunglasses and exited the building through the front lobby where the -- gasp! -- general public mingles. Who says God doesn't love everyone equally?

I caught up with Wintour on the street by accident. I was surprised to see that she only had one bodyguard. I figured there would be at least 10 or so acolytes waiting. Wintour then walked halfway up 41st Street before hopping into her car and being whisked away.

It was a rather intriguing exercise in observation and pseudo-clinical study. Watching people command respect and flaunt their power just by walking into a room is very interesting.

Oh yeah, Azria's collection was pretty decent. Although, I was left wondering why many of the spring dresses looked like extra-long smocks without buttons. Some of the gear looked extremely pleasing to my untrained eye, but others looked like those who failed to qualify for "Project Runway." A woman's body is naturally shapely and attractive and should be accented, not stuck in a painter's dropcloth with one shoulder strap. Of course, that's just my opinion. I'm not God. I wouldn't even be allowed in her building.

By Mark La Monica

Number one question asked of me by my peoples: "How's fashion week?"

Answer: "Ridiculous, as usual."

Number two question asked of me by my peoples: "What's it like inside the tents?"

Answer: Watch the little flash photo album below. It includes some photos from the mannequins in the fountain in the middle and some booths and displays around the lobby. If you don't have Macromedia Flash, download it here.

By Mark La Monica

Monday was a rather disappointing day, Famous Faces-wise.

I met food-eschewing actress Kate Bosworth, tennis stud Roger Federer, actress Milena Govich ("Conviction") and the Hilton sisters. Just one problem with that: I met them all through the laptops of other media people here in the tents.

And when I read the morning papers and Web sites, it turns out I missed my star crush Emmanuelle Chriqui at a show over the weekend. (She plays Sloane on HBO's "Entourage."

That was a severe Bald Bull uppercut to my life's dreams right there. Now I'm mad at the world and am staging a serious stakeout at the backstage entrance to The Tent before the Bill Blass show which starts at 11.

I need me some Famous Faces. I mean, honestly. Who comes to Fashion Week to look at regular people?

I've got 4 brand-new AA batteries, which based on previous experience, will likely last me all of four pictures. I am considering going hardcore paparazzi-style, but I've only got one day's worth of stubble on my face, good water wax in my hair and a nice buttondown shirt. Later in the week, I'll wear the ripped T-shirt, mesh hat backwards and have that unshaven, straggly look. Then I'll be Joey Paparazzi and I can legitimately scream at celebrities to get them to look at my camera.

By Mark La Monica

My decision to stake out the celebrities proved fruitful. Here we go with the list of famous people who became slightly more famous by standing within 10 feet of me.

After the Monique Lhuillier show this morning, Jamie-Lynn Sigler walked through my lens space and allowed the camera to take a picture of her.

This is her second appearance in "Famous Faces" and the guess here is that it won't be her last. Two reasons: 1) She seems to attend a lot of shows; 2) She's a Long Island girl and I have to stick to my roots.

OK, three reasons: 3) She is ridiculously attractive.

Next out of the box we had LeAnn Rimes. She seems like a very nice, wholesome girl.

Granted, that's the image her record company and publicists want to project. I'm just letting them know it's working.

After a brief lull in the action, Liza Minnelli arrived on the scene. I have no interest in her, aside from when Maya Rudolph impersonates her on "Saturday Night Live." But other people do, so here's the picture of her on the way into the Bill Blass show.

Betsey Johnson, the fashion designer, has her show today at 3 p.m. and is a must-see (actually it's a must-listen because last time around, she had the best music). Hard to tell if she's really crazy or just knows how to maximize her publicity. Or both.

By Mark La Monica

I like to lay the occasional bet in a casino. Let me rephrase: On the occasions when I go to casinos, I lay down cash on bets.

Here's my lock of the week: Mark La Monica is the first person in Fashion Week history to be inside the tents and listening to Terry Cashman's "Talkin' Baseball" at the same time.

Say hey! Say hey! Say hey!

We're talking Willie, Mickey and De La Renta!

By Mark La Monica

The fancy car deposited Liza Minnelli at the backstage entrance to the tents midway between Sixth and Fifth avenues on 40th Street. The paparazzi swarmed. I casually strolled over. I was in no rush to see that nutjob.

"Liza, over here!" a photographer shouted.

"OK, now over here, Liza!" another shouted.

And so on down the line they went. My inner voice -- and thankfully it didn't become my outer voice -- said, "OK, I get that Liza is a big deal, but seriously. I mean, they play her rendition of 'New York, New York' at the Stadium when the Yankees lose, not win. There's a reason for that."

Start spreading the news!

By Mark La Monica

Celebrity stakeouts are fun . . . for about 11 minutes. After that, it's an exercise in stupidity unless you treat it as a beautiful avenue for observational psychology.

Most of the time, photographers are just standing around. But on those occasions when famous people appear, photographers turn into Olympians. They sprint. They hurdle. They speed skate.

They turn the corner like an All-Pro running back. They box out like Shaquille. They really are amazing specimens. They should be tested for performance-enhancing drugs. I think I saw BALCO founder Victor Conte talking to one of them earlier today.

In the downtime, the paparazzi mingle with one another. They compare their $5,000 cameras. They ask the classic question, "Who did you get?" It's about as ubiquitous a phrase as me walking into the office and saying "What's up, guy?" to everyone. (For those who don't know me, that's all I say.)

But once the celebrity reaches lens range, it's all business. Rookies should wear a flak jacket to protect their rib cages. It's more dangerous than going over the middle to catch an NFL pass. They will jump right in front of your shot and not apologize until afterward.

I learned that one first-hand. Of course, I couldn't really complain since "getting the shot" is their entire life's work and I'm just standing there with a handheld Canon PowerShot S1 that I don't even own and making mental notes for this blog.

There are four types of people at a Fashion Week celebrity stakeout in New York:

1) Paparazzi - Hey, it's their job. 

2) Joey Autographs - He's the stargazer who wants to feel better about himself by experiencing three seconds of personal attention from a pretty woman. He's usually carrying a notebook with all his signatures in it. It's not uncommon to see these people on the news being arrested for stalking a celebrity. It is very easy to hate on Joey Autographs until you realize he plays a vital role in celebrity photography. Joey Autographs forces the celebrity to stop for an extra moment, which allows paparazzi more photo-op time.

3) Joey Pictures - This is the guy who puts on the nice shirt, gels up the hair, uses a handheld digital camera or perhaps a disposable camera and asks every celebrity, "Can I take a picture with you?" He's harmless. All Joey Pictures wants is a shot of his arm around a famous shoulder. Can't really hate on Joey Pictures for that. They make for great Christmas cards. I'm still in search of a photo of me and Jay-Z so I can send it to my friends and family with the stamped greeting: "Merry Christmas from me and the Jigga man." That's just plain funny.

4) Random onlookers and passers-by - This is New York City, where everything happens. Seeing celebrities is fairly common. Seeing big events take place right on the streets of the city is extremely common. Yet we still love it. We want to know what's happening. The approach is simple: Saddle up next to someone who was there before you, give a head nod in the direction of the event and say, "Hey, what's goin' on over there?" Works every time. These people are good to have on the payroll because they can do your reporting for you. A competing media outlet may not want to tell another photographer who they're waiting for, but they will tell a random citizen.

By Mark La Monica

I put my burgeoning obsessive-compulsive disorder on lockdown for 40 minutes or so and snuck out of the tents for a lunch not consisting of Aquafina and Aquafina.

What a beautiful day it is in Midtown. Real world, real people, real food.

Of course, maybe the en fuego chicken fajitas from Chipotle wasn't my best call of the week, but it looked much less painful than the 9-foot thick burrito Media friend Matt endured.

The reality check was nice. But as I sit here right now in the holding pen for photographers awaiting entrance into the Betsey Johnson show, I'm strongly reconsidering those bottles of Aquafina. They are a much safer play than Mexican food.

By Mark La Monica

The Black Eyed Peas asked the question a while ago: "Where is the love?" They even got some help from Justin Timberlake.

And now I have to wonder where the love is when it comes to The Front Row Daily, the glossy rag mag they distribute in the tents. I've been nothing but kind to them. I love that mag. It's incredibly compelling to look at.

So, why - why?!!!!!!!!? - would they torture me by putting a pic of Emmanuelle Chriqui from "Entourage" on their first editorial page? What did I do to deserve such hatred?

Clearly, they don't understand how immaculate she is. It's obvious they didn't read my Entourage blog. If they had, they'd know the deal. Her flawlessness makes it a tough world to live in.

In fact, it just makes me mad to see her. Fellas, especially Insurance friend Mike and Jitsu friend Joey, you can understand this logic. If a woman is that disgustingly perfect, you don't even want to look at her.

By Mark La Monica

Fashion designer Betsey Johnson may indeed be whacked out of her entire brain. Since Pluto lost its planetary status, perhaps the scientific community could see it in their wisdom to make Johnson the ninth planet. Clearly she is not of this Earth.

Where else but at a Betsey Johnson runway show could you hear the following musical mixes:

- The reggae beat from Sean Paul's "I'm Still In Love With You" with the lyrics from Queen's "We Will Rock You."

- A ramped-up hard rock beat with a slight techno infusion mixed with the lyrics from "Candy Shop" by rapper 50 Cent.

- Madonna's "Holiday" instrumental with the lyrics from "Milkshake" by hip-hopper Kelis (wife of Nas.)

That is equal parts insane, amazing and cool. Betsey brought the pain once again with the musical accompaniment to her clothing. (Although, she couldn't outdo Baby Phat this year, and I doubt anyone will.)

As for her Spring 2007 collection, it was just as insane, amazing and cool. Some were just off the wall but since it's Betsey Johnson, you know what you're getting once you walk into the show or her store.

Ladies, her spring fling dresses are a delight. Her cocktail dresses are sexy. Her more elegant dresses are classy. Her red swimsuit is hot, even with the little nickel-sized pockets in the front. (I told you she was crazy.)

Fellas, her spring fling dresses will send your hormones in a rage (provided you're not the one wearing them). Her cocktail dresses will make you seek out cocktail parties to attend. Her more elegant dresses will make you appreciate the difference between a "woman" and a "girl." Her red swimsuit is hot!!!

So break out the credit cards next spring and treat your ladies. You're really just treating yourself.

To end the show, Betsey began her thank-you walk down the runway holding her grandchild. It was a nice touch for those who also saw her Fall show in February. She ended that show with a nod to her status as impending grandmother. From my vantage point in the risers, it was hard to determine if it was a grandson or a granddaughter. But the parade of pink balloons (click on photo above) following Betsey down the runway suggests granddaughter.

And yes, she did signature cartwheel. And yes, she mugged for the cameras afterward. She's crazy. She's cool.

By Mark La Monica

Some friction developed in the line area for the free Havaianas sandals moments after the Betsey Johnson show let out Tuesday afternoon.

The first wave of people were already nestled within the stanchions, while dozens of others muddled about the lobby.

The security detail for Havaianas -- one young woman with a headset -- tried explaining that no line could be formed outside the the plastic ropes for safety purposes. She suggested that people return every 10 minutes or so and if the people already in line had dwindled, then she'd let the new crop of free-sandal seekers inside the ropes.

Then, 10 seconds later, she opened the rope and let people in. Then, 10 seconds after that, she said no line existed. Confused? You should be. It made no sense.

But I possess a small amount of observational intelligence. I told the overwhelmed security gal that no one is leaving because you keep letting them in every 10 seconds. I coun