Finally: the Versace at Barney's party

There are many things which and many people who are considered to be quintessential parts of the New York experience. I’ve done pretty well at ticking off a lot of them in the past year, but some have eluded me – until last week. I firmly place Woody Allen on the list, so his under-stated entrance at the Versace party last week made the evening for me.

I’m no starf**ker,(you just can’t be in my job), but he is so synonymous with Manhattan that I was completely over-excited to see him, standing rather awkwardly as the tweedy filling in a photo sandwich between the resolutely un-fashion Soon–Yi and Donatella.

However, to my eternal shame I have to report that B and I were even more excited to see Leighton Meester (aka Blair) from Gossip Girl working it in blue Versace over by the Champagne bar. I know thirty-somethings shouldn’t be into Gossip Girl, but we are, so suck it. She’s incredibly pretty, looks relatively normal and is as tiny as all screen stars are in real life.

Donatella, on the other hand, whilst tiny, looks relatively abnormal in the flesh. She is such a construct, that I can’t begin to imagine what she must look like sans bleach, tan and maquillage. There is absolutely no sense of what her real self actually looks like. I do have to give her props tho for being able to walk in the highest pair of stripper heels I’ve ever seen in action outside of a lapdancing bar.

Fashion PR parties such as this one (to mark the launch of Versace menswear at Barney’s) are odd affairs. Firstly you have to disabuse yourself of the idea that they are parties. What they are are photo ops for all concerned. Very few people are there to kick back and have fun. (The worst ever was the Kate Moss for ToSho launch also at Barney’s).

I normally loathe them (my thoughts here - scroll down to fashion parties), but this one was actually rather enjoyable. Lots of eye candy (all those sexy gay boys), rivers of fizz, delicious canapés (altho I do wish Barney’s wld ring the changes as they serve the exact same caviar/truffle fest at every party), and great music from an extremely hot female DJ. It wasn’t over-crowded (except in the area by the lifts where the snappers where practically orgasming over Woody, a fur-clad Patti LaBelle and Busta Rhymes) and we (well, I) proceeded to get tipsy on three glasses of Laurent-Perrier. Oops.

Party pics are over at Style.com