Fashion week has star power

Suzy Menkes, the venerable British critic whose signature swooped hairdo is as much a fashion show staple as stilettos, lends credibility to designers just by showing up. But this week at Mercedes-Benz Shows L.A., she stashed her notebook when the celebrities arrived and snapped pictures with a disposable camera like a tourist. After a particularly raucous Joey and T show, Menkes moved backstage among the towering, half-nude models, paused for a shot of heiress-mascots Paris and Nicky Hilton, and in her clipped English noted: “It’s quite a scene, isn’t it? They didn’t even hold the show for Britney Spears! How cool is that? It’s like a cinema version of Hollywood!”

True to form, Los Angeles donned its low-rise jeans, newsboy hats and lip gloss for what is considered the city’s best shot yet at the fashion big time. That’s because it’s the first year that New York marketing giant IMG was in charge. It tented a parking lot and dressed a few second-floor rooms at the downtown Standard Hotel to stage day-and-night shows, nearly all of which were standing room only. Even more shows, coordinated by Max Factor heirs Dean and Davis Factor, took place all week at their SmashBox Studios in Culver City.

While Spears arrived late (with an eight-member entourage) and left early, her star power wasn’t missed. Inside the giant white tent, self-styled honorary L.A. mayor Ozzy Osbourne and his wife, Sharon, fielded questions about the war in Iraq from Access Hollywood. “I’ve not been very motivated in any way, shape or form,” said Ozzy of his wartime mood. The couple waited for their daughter Aimee to take to the catwalk for Joey and T’s show. (Ozzy’s mood lightened considerably after the topless models appeared. “I enjoyed it thoroughly,” he said afterward.)

Janet Jackson (and just one bodyguard) sat in the front row for David Cardona’s collection. Afterward, she raced backstage. “Can you make one of those jackets for me?” she asked Cardona, referring to a series of sexy leathers. “They’re so beautiful!” He nodded enthusiastically, and then she was gone through a back exit.

In one of the smaller rooms, after models toured a floor-level hot pink runway wearing Trina Turk’s smart, but small, collection, Angela Bassett went away wanting more. “It was just a little short,” she said.

Peter Cohen’s show lured his fan Lily Tomlin, who arrived a bit late because she had gone to the Sunset Boulevard Standard Hotel by mistake. Later she cooed over the designer, who she said “gave Ernestine a new look” for a series of TV commercials starring her telephone operator character.

The shows themselves cast a glamorous spell, with music and movie dialogue clips played at earsplitting decibels, the storms of flashes as yet another celebrity was spotted, the hierarchy of the seating charts, the catty front-row commentary, the starlets posing as models (Jamie Pressley, Taryn Manning, Ryan Starr) -- and the clothes.

Inside the dimly lighted lobby of the ultramodern hotel, people-watching of a different sort unfolded. On the hour, troops of magazine editors, slowed slightly by their fashion-forward shoes, staggered from tent to escalator. A cheery young woman posted near the door offered $14 brown-bag lunches for those too consumed by fashion to break for food. There were few takers. Perhaps the flavored waters were enough to sate this (mostly) lithe crowd.

At the top of the second-floor escalator, two models embraced and shared their feelings in model-speak. “Are you Richard Tyler?” asked the one wearing enormous rollers in her hair. “No,” said the other, “I’m Peter Cohen.”

Meanwhile, at the bottom of the escalator, the Hilton sisters were turned away after trying to crash the Frankie B show with four friends. “This is so lame!” barked Paris.

Inside the show, a publicist identified one young woman in the audience for his boss, Fern Mallis, the New York-based executive director of 7th on Sixth and vice president of IMG, the company coordinating the shows. “She’s one of our groovy, faux-actressy types,” he said. Mallis nodded knowingly, as if this were a familiar species.

The scene was Fellini-esque at the Wednesday night show for Heatherette, the label of New York club-kids-turned-designers Richie Rich and Traver Rains. As hundreds of people filed into the tent, the bald but beautiful James St. James greeted drag queen Jazmine, a standout in a giant cascade of blond hair, oversized pink faux fur coat and 6-inch Lucite heels. James puzzled over the Hilton sisters’ recent reported skirmishes: face-grabbing, drink-tossing exchanges with Shannen Doherty, Lisa Marie Presley and others. “What is with them?” he asked. “They’re so bipolar!”

Actor Fred Savage emerged from backstage griping, “Those guys are idiots!” Beyond him stood transgender model Amanda Lepore, naked except for dozens of carefully placed gold stars and a tiny pair of panties. A couple of the models held Chihuahuas. Someone in an enormous Hello Kitty suit danced amid the clothing racks as Rich and the Hilton sisters entertained the “Entertainment Tonight” crew. “L.A. feels a lot more laid-back,” said Rich. “It’s the more fun side of fashion.”