July 2007

July 19th 2007
Florence, Italy

July is always crazy here in Italy, with everyone cramming to get work done before the August holiday while simultaneously cramming to have Summertime fun before Fall sets in again.  I am guilty of this and have been burning the candle at both ends, including attending Glynn Cohen’s party this week at his Villa Mangiacane.

Villa Mangiacane is one of the most gorgeous jewels in Tuscany, and also happens to be one of Glynn’s private homes which he has turned into the ultimate luxury boutique hotel & spa (see http://www.villamangiacane.com/).  As you can imagine, any party in this breathtaking setting is destined to be amazing, and when my friend Ileana Turrini (see July 2006) and I pulled up in my rented dirty Ford Fiesta and parked next to someone’s shiny private Sikorski Helicopter, I had a feeling I was slightly out of my league.  Nevertheless, we headed to Glynn’s football field of a lawn which overlooks the rolling hills of Chianti and was decked out with tents, Persian rugs, pillows, bars, and an infinity pool with real sand beach.  Nice. 

The party raged on for hours and all of the BPs were certainly there to attend due to Glynn’s legendary party-throwing skills, which drew people from all over the world just for the occasion.  Unfortunately for you, I was enjoying myself too much to take more than 2 shots, so you’ll have to wait for next year’s party when I promise to be more camera responsible.

In between parties I’ve actually been getting things accomplished, and HOLLYWOULD’s Fall 2007 Collection, which hits store in September, will be my favorite to date.  Oh the studded shoes.  Oh, they are so beautiful.

Tomorrow I head to Capri for the weekend and promise to take more photos there and give a full report, so stay tuned…

July 14th 2007
Florence, Italy

It’s Saturday and Florence is packed with no one but tourists and the dregs of Florentine society.  You may think I sound snobby, but the truth is that in July anyone who can get to a car, train, bicycle, scooter, or bus vacates the city and heads for the hills or ocean due to the oppressive heat in town.  The only people who don’t manage to escape are those who are just too dysfunctional and lazy, along with Your’s Truly, who is stuck in town because I have loads of work to do in order to make sure you girls get your Fall 2007 HOLLYWOULD on time.

As I sit at my desk procrastinating by writing this, a crowd of riff-raff, tattooed faced Italians sit beneath my window drunkenly butchering Pearl Jam’s “I’m Still Alive”.  This would be fine and I might even sympathize if it weren’t 11am in the morning, and if they hadn’t just serenaded me with an even worse version of “Hotel California”.  It’s also hard to sympathize with people who choose to tattoo their faces - unless, of course, the tattoo is of a dancing shark in a top hat & cane, which clearly screams ‘klassy’.

The good news is that HOLLYWOULD’s Fall 2007 looks gorgeous and truly classy, and so will all of you as soon as it arrives in stores in August & September.  My favorite items include jersey cowl neck mini dresses and black riding boots that are so Athina Onassis chic they might make you want to marry your riding instructor.

….Oh no.  They have just begun “Stairway to Heaven”.  Looks like I’m off to the beach…

July 7th 2007
Florence via Paris via NYC

One week ago today I was in NYC having a civilized dinner with my friends Jen Bell & Co at an Upper East Side spot called Per Lei.  If you haven’t been, Per Lei is a fabulous little Italian restaurant on an unsuspecting corner, and is the closest experience I’ve had in NYC to actually feeling like I was eating dinner in Capri.  The evening had planned to be casual, ending around 10pm so we could all go home and get to bed early.  I don’t know if it was the Capri ambiance, a long day at work, or my great dinner companions, but somehow my “only one glass” of wine decision turned into two glasses, and then somehow… four.

I don’t know about you, but four glasses of wine is never a good idea for me, as it always triggers sloppy decision-making and plans gone awry.  No sooner had I finished my fourth glass than I announced to the table that we were all going downtown to the Rose Bar at the Gramercy Park Hotel.  So much for bed by 10pm.  My other genius idea was that I would pop home and change on the way downtown, as I was currently sans makeup and dressed a tinge too “UES” (Upper East Side). 

As you may or may not have experienced in your own life, putting on makeup and getting dressed for the evening while three sheets to the wind is always, without fail, a very, very bad idea.  I don’t know what thoughts must have been going through my mind when instead of throwing on a “downtown” ensemble as planned, I decided to put on a costume that would only have been appropriate if we were headed straight to the Love Boat’s Acapulco Lounge, circa 1982.  I don’t quite remember the effect of my hair & makeup, but in the past when I’ve had to put on makeup under these circumstances I’ve ended up looking like a Broadway cast-member from “Hello Dolly!”, so it’s safe to assume that night was the same.

We somehow managed to get into The Gramercy, which has very strict admissions, despite my Julie McCoy appearance.  Thank you very much to the doorman for understanding.  From there we should have all gone to bed, but since there was already no shot of hitting the hay at a reasonable hour, we instead headed to late-night party haven, The Beatrice Inn.  In recent months The Beatrice Inn has become so über famous that it now has many shortened names, such as “TBI”, “The Bee”, “The Inn”, “Le Beatrice” (pronounced in Italian), “The Beatrish”, “The Eviltrice”, etc.  I don’t know what I called it that night, but thankfully I am now in Italy for a month or I might have had to just start calling it “Home”.

As soon as we arrived Chez Beatrice so did fashion-designer-artist-genius-slash-DJ Benjamin Cho, along with Chloe Sevigny who looked gorgeous and had clearly not had 4 glasses of wine before getting dressed for the evening.  My favorite braided bartender Eric proceeded to hook up more drinks, which he couldn’t have known was evil, but it was.  I would like to take this moment to please ask that anything I said, anything I did, any text messages I sent, anything I wore, any calls I made, and any way I danced be struck from the record for that evening as I was clearly incapacitated.

So much so, in fact, that we decided to head to Bungalow 8 just for old time’s sake.  I remember being inside.  I remember leaving.  I remember eating street meat bought from a hot dog vendor.  I remember knowing it was repulsive and probably not safe.  And, I remember finishing it anyway.  Am never drinking again.

I had barely recovered by Monday when I was off to Florence on the 11pm flight via Paris.  Because it was Haute Couture Week in Paris, the flight was packed with fashionistas including my seating partner Julie Gilhart who just happens to be the legendary Fashion Director of the ultimate cool store, Barneys New York.  Oh la la.  By the time we landed in Paris I had missed my connection to Florence, so rather than hang out at the airport for 9 hours I decided to hang out with friends in Paris instead.

Despite the fact that I had no makeup, no change of clothes, and not much sleep, my fabulous friend Polina Aranova offered to let me crash on her couch, and we headed to Hotel Costes to for un aperitif with Lars Nilsson.  From there we headed to my favorite Chinese spot Davè (see Sept 26, 2005) for dinner, and from there to The Ritz, where we were met by Victor Glemaud, Treena Lombardo, Robert Burke & Co for a hilarious nightcap.  J’adore Paris.

The next morning I was up at the crack of dawn and am now safely in Italy for a month long stint of work and healthy living.  A presto ragazzi…