Monday, March 21, 2005

Anna Wintour Watch


(image via totallycool)

The gang at Fashionweekdaily are casing after Anna Wintour like a stripper hanging over a coked-out Wall Street broker. Restraining orders, anyone? These guys have a serious Anna fixation, not that we are presently complaining. First they note, " the number of people who discussed (Anna's) hair and how perfect it was. And now, they write:

"The Daily was dizzy over the divine appearance of Anna Wintour at Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week at Smashbox Studios. We were told that Ms. Wintour received plans of the building before the Carlos Rosario show so that she could execute her entrance and exit with precision and speed."

Ah yes, how better to avoid the unpleasant "smothering-with-gooey-pie" scenario, of which Anna has intimate familiarity. Building floor plans are the new black, fashionistas. But, fast as Wintour can be, even with the floor plan, stylish prey in heels can be a distinct disadvantage when Peter Davis is the hunter:

"Wintour, who gave a dinner at The Argyle on Saturday night for photographer Mario Testino, has been staying at the Hotel Bel Air."

One can almost imagine Davis, under the window, telephoto lense extended, chops licked, finger pointed in the wind, muscled coiled, ready for the fashion pounce.

"... Just before Rosario?s show started, Madame Vogue laughed and chatted with fellow Voguette Lisa Love. During the show, she threw on her big black sunglasses, and hard as we tried we could not decipher what she was thinking."

It must have been the CIA messages and the UFO codes running robust interference through Davis' fevered Anna-stalking noggin. Concentrate, Davis -- focus!

" ... After Rosario took his bow, Wintour and Love hopped out of their seats with a security guard at their side, and sprinted through Smashbox to a black SUV with tinted windows that was waiting out front to whisk them away.

But ... not before Fashionweekdaily actually fires off some questions here (Aww, we love you Fashionweekdaily, we don't mean to imply that behind Mr. Davis' back he clutched rags soaked with chloroform with which to "capture the social moth"; really, we don't: please don't kill us).

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