But if I get to Chanel and everyone's name is written in impeccable calligraphy and my nameplate happens to be next to Brad's, as in Rachel Zoe's assistant, then I am fighting for it.
And so, after a heated discussion in the best French I could muster, I took my seventh row perch (the Grand Palais offers fancy stadium seating, about twelve rows) and wondered how to start a conversation with Brad and his red bow tie. But then I read that Kate Moss was front row, got flustered, and before I could decide if I should search for Kate or talk to Brad, Karen Elson was in front of me in black and white tweeds and a whirlwind of models stormed the glassy catwalk.
Sasha, Stam, Freja, Angela, Eniko, Vlada and company wove their way in and out of the labeled doorways, sometimes not so gracefully, in their Edwardian collars and ruffled cuffs. The collection took a turn toward the playful in the middle with pink and green knit accents - tights, bags, ribbons - on the mainly black and white collection. Jourdan carried a 2.55 encased in plastic, Lara wore a giant pink cream puff sweater and Jessica Stam's ensemble was hip Miss Havisham.
And of course Karl threw in two healthy doses of Sebastian and the boys for good measure.
At the end, trap doors opened from every doorway and out hopped Karl in his sequined blazer smirking, as if to say, "You did not expect me, no?"
The surprise end, maybe not. But these clothes? Definitely.