After a Fashion

CLUBBIN' In an independent study done by a team of doctors, it was determined that the Club DeVille show is my favorite fashion show of all. Noted photographer Todd Wolfson once told me, "Watching a fashion show is fun. Watching you watch a fashion show is more fun." I know. And it's a compliment -- I get excited about what I'm seeing. Is that a problem for someone who covers fashion? I think not. Whether I like what I'm seeing doesn't really matter ... even bad clothes and a bad presentation can elicit great emotion from me ... and are often more fun to write about. I care deeply about this show and what it represents about Austin fashion and retail. It runs the gamut from chic to shocking -- just like Austin fashion does. Season after season, I like to pull my chair up reeeeeal close and watch carefully as the clothing parade begins. And we see it all; the best part is watching the show, like fashion itself, evolve. Aside from the clothes, I never know what I'm going to get hit with when I'm sitting in my place of honor. Glitter, champagne, and confetti, as well as embers from sparklers and lamp oil from fire-dancers. I even got hit in the eye with a candy bar once. When the Legs Diamond models set up the beer bong onstage in the second act, I hid behind my fan knowing they were going to pull something. I emerged from the threat with only a medium-sized sprinkling of beer and, later, a splash of orange cough syrup in my eye (don't ask). I think I should bring an umbrella and a sheet of plastic like they do at those Gallagher shows. Messy, yes, but I was touched by the concern from the show's host and hostess, Emily Fawcett and Joel Mozersky, when Joel asked the models, "Please don't drip anything on Mr. Moser unless he specifically asks you to." Isn't that sweet? They make me feel like such a star. And now, I've been accused by one participating store as always saying the same thing about them. In deference to that, I'm only going to use one word for each store. Legs Diamond: racy; Shiki: lovely; Therapy: trendy; Flipnotics: clever; Upstairs: edgy; By George: faaab; and Blackmail: yes. And that's all I'm going to say. OK, this is where I have to give a plug to Rounders Pizza. Seems that when Emily stopped in and asked if they'd be interested in catering the fashion show, they said, "Yes, as long as you get some Rounders Pizza into the mouth of that guy who writes that column in the Chronicle." Presumably he wanted me to try the pizza. And I did. And it was fabulous, delicious New York-style pizza. Don't ask me what flavor it was, I couldn't tell you ... it was dark out.

RAMBLING I love reading the Shot in the Dark ads in the back of the Chronicle. Of course, I always hope to recognize myself in the descriptions. Unfortunately, I can skip right past the ads involving a yellow halter-top, an SUV, and a car wash, or especially the ads that begin with, "I see you on the trail every morning!" But I long for the day when I read an ad such as: "You: girthy, glamorous socialite wearing big sunglasses in frozen-foods aisle of Central Market. Me: wealthy, handsome, devil-may-care playboy who stalked you from frozen foods to the produce aisle. Wanna toss some salad?" ... Don't you love the term "embedded journalist"? I do, but somehow it makes me feel like a tick. It's one of those terms (like "upskirt") that seeps into our collective consciousness and suddenly people pretend like they've been using the phrase for decades. Whatever. I can tell you all about embedded journalists: I've been feeling poorly lately (I know -- I didn't want to tell you, so you wouldn't worry about me ...), and I've had to spend lots of time in bed. But I did a great deal of writing while I was in bed, not unlike when I had back surgery a while back. Remember that? I was the bravest little soldier on Earth to continue reporting to you from my sickbed, and look how close we've remained since then. We were there for each other. When I knew I was going to be embedded for a while, I rearranged my bedroom, got new linens in lovely colors, and made sure there were lots of beautiful fluffy pillows around. I set up my computer monitor on my night table and kept my keyboard in my lap. With fresh flowers, a few scented candles, and some soft music, that was embedded journalism at its finest... And I saw Zach Scott's production of Love! Valour! Compassion! at its closing show. I'm way, way, waaay sorry I didn't see it earlier so I could rave about it while it was running, but it was fabulous nonetheless...