Manolo says, there are the all too frequent moments in fashion when the movie Zoolander seems like the documentary. Behold this scene recorded by Guy Trebay of the New York Times at the end of the Evil One’s most recent Chanel show (the theme of which was apparently, “Sexy Yetis Visit the Fortress of Solitude“).
But there was also a Woody Allen moment, and it occurred after the last of the models, clad in fake fur Wookie-wear, had sloshed through the puddles and offstage, and a small group of Mr. Lagerfeld’s industry friends tried to see and congratulate him.
For reasons that were not altogether clear but may have had something to do with pooled water and electrical cables lying about, the security guards formed a human wall blocking the Vogue editors Tonne Goodman and Grace Coddington; the Vanity Fair correspondent Ingrid Sischy; Lady Amanda Harlech; Babeth Djian, the editor of Numéro; and Jonathan Newhouse, the chairman of Condé Nast International, from going backstage.
BlackBerrys were fired up. Frantic calls were dialed. Well-shod hooves were stamped. Ms. Sischy upbraided the security force, assuring them that Mr. Lagerfeld would be both furious and “triste” if prevented from seeing his adoring fans. But the guards would not be budged. Passage backstage was impossible!
Then, in an abrupt reversal familiar to anyone who has ever encountered French bureaucracy, they changed their minds. The guards moved away, and the small crowd surged en masse to where Mr. Lagerfeld posed beside his ice sculpture surrounded on three sides by television crews. Still separated from her friend and idol, Ms. Sischy called out plaintively.
“Karl, Karl, Karl,” she trilled, and for a moment one was not in Paris at all but on a floe in the Arctic Ocean, on a fragment of ice snapped off the glacial shelf. “Karl, Karl,” Ms. Sischy called, her cry like that of a baby seal.
…ripe for the clubbing.