V.F. Camera

Slaves to fashion

If it's still true that autumn in New York "spells the thrill of first-nighting," as Vernon Duke alleged some 60 years ago, we have Fashion Week to thank. For while Broadway's spigot merely trickled last fall, its spirit hopped a couple of blocks east to Bryant Park, where the big tents fairly bustled with a Busby Berkeley burgoo of beauties, buyers, bigwigs, editors, celebrities, and the great unwashed (er, Mickey Rourke)—the same sort of lineup that used to first-night at the New Amsterdam back in the days when there were first nights. Compared with Paris and Milan, New York is still new at this business of staging collections. For the city's style arbiters, Fashion Week was a liberating opportunity to get gussied up like prom-goers and show off the home base. For designers, it was a chance to experience fashion-asRanger game. For model fetishists, it was yet another occasion to check out Linda, Nadja, Helena, and Kate. And for the tent dwellers of Bryant Park, it was a time to watch a new New York tradition take hold.