Playing Goddess

Stopped into a showroom on the Place Vendome yesterday just next to the Ritz to see the newly relaunched Vionnet collection, being sold exclusively at Barneys New York.

I joked the other day that there are no dead designers only dormant ones. And it's true. In her heyday in the 1920s and 30s, Madeleine Vionnet was known for her superb draping skills and her goddess dresses. There was a goddess moment happening in fashion a little while back. But the Lummen family, owners of the label for the last 20 years, waited until this season to trot out the name again. Go figure.

There were a number of beautiful pieces here, designed by the talented Greek-born Sophia Kokosolaki, particularly a black gown with twisting straps and a metallic bronze cocktail dress in a fabric with the look of an egg crate.

But far more interesting was the scene at the showroom. The Vogue staff was there to see the informal presentation, and I have to say, as polite as they all were, it was terrifying to sit in dead silence as Anna Wintour watched the models come in and out. She didn't take a single note, but her minions scribbled and sketched madly. The tension was enough to drive me crazy, but I felt even more sorry for Kokosolaki, who must have been counting the seconds until it was all over.

I found myself fixated on the pink crumb I left behind on the otherwise immaculate white conference table, after nibbling on one of the rose macarons passed around as a snack. Should I wipe it away? Is it spoiling Ms. Wintour's view of the coat in front of her? Am I ruining this poor designer's shot at a Vogue cover? Why did I have to eat the damn macaron anyway? Nobody eats during Fashion Week.

Clearly, it was time for me to go home. I had completely lost the plot, caught up in a world where platform shoes are everyday wear and a $1,000 dress is a bargain. Right now, with another season behind me, all I want to do is fall asleep to the jazz from the club down the street from my hotel in St. Germain des Pres.