At Commandant Graydon Carter’s party for Vanity Fair’s best-dressed list, Brooke Shields wore black, Victor Garber wore black. The Knicks’ 7-foot-1 Tyson Chandler wore black, models taller than Tyson wore black.
In Mad Ave.’s NY Palace Hotel courtyard, it was chilly. His annual Tribeca Film Festival party, also outdoors, is also chilly. I’m thinking we should chip in for an indoor event.
The most warmth came from jeans-wearing Fran Lebowitz. Her hot mouth said: “I’ve gotten 1,000 robocalls from Anthony idiot Weiner. He wanted me to vote for him? I only want him to shut up.”
Speaking of the best-dressed, Fashion Week lasts a month—NY, Paris, Milan, London. Stylists don’t get back into their Dr. Dentons until October.And everyone’s nervous.
Christian Siriano: “Ostrich feathers, each sewed by hand, was the most expensive material I ever worked with. And I risked never-tried-before new woven handmade raffia fabrics so delicate I had to find how women could wear them.”
Quest still on
Nelson DeMille’s jazzed up his old 1975 paperback novel “The Quest.” Written before becoming a bestselling author, this search for the Holy Grail he calls: “ ‘The Da Vinci Code’ meets Indiana Jones.”
Out in hardcover the 17th, watch it hit the List first week.
Butt, why?
Liev Schreiber’s “The Butler” toilet shot brings up Ralph Fiennes’ lack of using a bottom double in “The End of the Affair.”
Fiennes says: “I’d done no butt workout so I was embarrassed. This meant good lighting. My Julianne Moore scenes were difficult. Simulating intercourse while wires and mikes are being adjusted and serious men are ignoring you to concentrate on what they’re doing, is absurd.”
Who’s where
January Donna McKechnie starts a Birdland bimonthly variety show with guests Tommy Tune, Andrea McArdle, Faith Prince. Cover charge, $30. . . Philip Seymour Hoffman dining in Village’s Olioe Piú . . . At Nello’s over pasta, Damien Hirst drew artwork with sharks and butterflies for owner Nello . . . Trading coasts: Drew Barrymore moving from LA to here. Matt Damon moving from here to LA.
Sure burlesque bet
Dita Von Teese. Biggest burlesque body since Gypsy Rose Lee tells me she’ll bare her bones, boobs and butt locally.
“I’m opening Sept. 30 for one week until Oct. 4 at the Gramercy Theatre. My striptease act is called ‘Strip Strip Hooray.’”
Great. I guess MoMA was booked.
A couple of questions
Many anchors back from holiday with bright yellow streaks or newly blonded hair. Delivering wartime massacres, won’t someone tell them they look fake and phony? . . . Billboard’s top albums include one by Juicy J. By coincidence, my Yorkie’s named Juicy and Juicy’s Yorkie brother, also J, is Jazzy. That entitle me to anything? . . . And here’s a question: When chemists die, do they barium?
Face in book
Ladies crowding the runways spilled unniceties about Facebook’s Sheryl Sandberg: “On the road hawking ‘Lean In,’ doing countrywide p.r. for it, Bloomberg’s book party, heading panels? With two young kids and a second husband, she’s writing at home until 4 a.m.? Please, with daily responsibilities this chief operating officer was writing on company time.
“While she talks of women’s rights, she’s hired unpaid interns. She’s a hypocrite.”
Ingrid Robinson’s suing a Seventh Avenue spa for its “unsecured and unlocked improperly maintained table collapse” during her massage. Court papers allege they were “negligent, careless and reckless in hiring untrained, unskilled staff” wherein “permanent, lasting severe injuries to her nervous and psychic systems” render her “sick, sore, lame and disabled in body and limbs” plus “physical and mental pain.”
She wants $6 million.
Only in New York, kids, only in New York.