Just got home from the You Wear It Well screening at the Tribeca Grand. Although I hesitated when I was running out the door -- in the middle of hours and hours of work, I had no time to change -- and realized I was wearing Birkenstocks, a neon orange tennis skirt, an embroidered top that cost me a buck-fifty at a thrift store in Bellevue, Nebraska, and a busted-up bag, albeit Prada, that's been repaired more times than I care to consider, and some seriously nerdy glasses, to the premier fashion film festival. Not quite the statement one longs to make, but off I went and am glad that I did. The drinks were delicious, the films by Maison Martin Margiela, Jeremy Scott, Patricia Canino & Sergei Pescei and more even better, and I sat in the back with top literary escort Dino Dinco and whispered in the dark. Of course my dream is that Stephen Lance will someday make me a film of "Dress Like a Cat Until You Get What You Want," preferably in time for the next edition of the festival. Oh and Bernard Wilhelm, if you ever you change your mind, I'm first in line. XO.