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I get into the swing of Fashion Week with the Van Cleef & Arpels show, Une Journee A Paris.

Ashley Olsen, with bodyguard in tow, enters the venue as flashbulbs pop, and gives a particularly freaked-out expression to one photog as she dashes across the hot pink carpet. Vanessa Carlton, wearing a white dress, and Marcia Gay Harden, looking fabulous with a choppy bob, don’t do interviews, but friendly and fun Sarah Michelle Gellar, wearing Chanel, keeps coming back for more, bless her heart (and her uber-powerful publicist).

What’s her favorite thing about Fashion Week? “Shopping!” Ms. Freddie Prinze Jr. tells me. “It’s actually the only way to shop.”

Designer Zang Toi, who once told me his muse was Farrah Fawcett, drops by to chat. Lake Bell wears jewels borrowed from her jewelry-aficionado grandmother and mother, and Tinsley Mortimer confesses her favorite thing about Paris is … eating! Eve is sporting her ankle monitor, Bryant Gumbel meets up with his wife and Rachel Zoe enters the fray moments before show time.

Arriving late are Demi Moore, wearing Lanvin, and Mischa Barton, who commutes in from the Hoboken, N.J., set of her movie. Demi’s accompanied by designer Alber Elbaz, and Mischa’s joined by Canadian supermodel Irina Lazareanu in the VIP section, where they catch the spectacular line of shimmery dresses for Spring 2008. One model has a YouTube moment when she slips at the end of the runway – and one Barbie-style doggie has her coat dyed fuschia to march in the show. It is hilarious when a gray poodle refuses to leave the stage – he enjoys the pulsating beats and bright spotlight much too much!

After the fashion show ends, a lounge singer entertains with a few numbers in French as Vanessa waves her hands in the air and charges toward the stage to get a better view. “Merci beaucoup,” the singer says, making us feel like we’re totally in the City of Lights as we nibble on lobster rolls and trout mousse. Meanwhile, Lake hangs back with two friends in the VIP section for a performance by Parisian cabaret dancers called The Lido. Their showgirl-style revue shocks revelers who can’t miss several of the heavily-costumed dancers baring their breasts. Parisian all-girl punk band The Plastiscines cover These Boots Are Made For Walkin.’

Vanessa takes off around 9:10 p.m., just as I head out the door. A few blocks away — while my movie producer pal begs me for fashion show tickets for his German fiancée — some guy attempts to steal my bag. I thank my lucky stars that my vice-like grip keeps me from losing the goods because that would be scary.

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