The art of parties and beyond

Kate Moss, Topshop

TUESDAY, MAY 8, 2007
What do you get when you throw up—as they so charmingly say in the UK—a fast-fashion High Street chain, a stuff-of-legend English supermodel and a very exclusive U.S. launch party in Manhattan? Kate Moss ad nauseam, a media feeding frenzy that nearly eclipsed the Queen's visit stateside (a simultaneous sojourn, though little chance of the two wearing the same outfit). Such is the sway and sparkle of Madison Avenue. Which isn't to say we don't absolutely love Kate or want her peddling her debut Topshop collection at Barneys New York, because we totally do. After all, we have a thing for heroines, so to us, with her infamous fall and rise, now a distant memory, she can do no wrong. Besides, the party (and The Costume Institute's party of the year) brought out some of our favorite Brits: a moral-supporting Sadie Frost, journos Suzy Menkes and Hilary Alexander, Pop covergirl Agyness Deyn and designer-of-the-mo Christopher Kane, not to mention DJs Queens of Noize, who played fun 80's radio hits. And certainly there's a lot to love in the high-style, low-priced collection itself, also available at Opening Ceremony. It's just that, well, when they said it was modeled after her own style, we thought it would be a mirror reflection of her floaty, barely-there, chiffon-like existence. When, or why, did everything surrounding the original '90s waif get so heavy? You know, like the arrival of Harvey Weinstein that sparked Hollywood speculation, the £50,000 thank-you ring reportedly given to Kate by Topshop boss Sir Philip Green, and let's not forget those yoga-contortioned, feet-behind-head, in-your-face bronze statues by artist Marc Quinn, currently on view at Mary Boone gallery. Weighty stuff, but at least we could take solace in the easy-breezy after-party, held in an airy garden atop the Gramercy Park, where the likes of Cameron Diaz, Ziyi Zhang, Marc Jacobs, Kate Bosworth, Mario Testino, Winona Ryder, Lily Donaldson, Daria Werbowy and another Brit, Amy Winehouse, rolled up. No complaints here, but we long to see that most familiar and comforting of sights, the image of an ethereal, inaccessible Kate knowingly yet blankly staring back at us from the cold pages of a magazine.

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