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Wednesday, October 21,2009

Bash Compactor: Best Bets

Tulle Time: Betsey Johnson at National Arts Club.

By Jamie Peck
. . . . . . .
As an overgrown teenager who can never get enough ruffles or lace, I was ridiculously excited to go see Betsey Johnson receive the Medal of Honor for Lifetime Achievement in Fashion at a dinner party thrown by the National Arts Club. I walked up the steps of the grand Tilden Mansion and into a scene straight out of Gossip Girl, with fancifully attired glamazons of all ages sipping champagne as they milled about the club’s resplendent parlor. The NAC’s President, eccentric Luddite Aldon James (possibly the original steampunk) peered through rosy spectacles at a woman who’d asked him about his recent profile in the Times. “I have a pet raven,” he confirmed, “he’s here tonight.”

 

NAC Vice President Dianne Bernhard was equally poised in a green tutu and black bustier (by Betsey, naturally) as she discussed her soon-to-be-unveiled portrait of the designer. “I played the music from Chicago the whole time I was painting,” she said in her sweet Southern drawl. “There’s a rainbow that follows Betsey, and I hope I was able to capture that.”

Over by the bar, a familiar pair of faces, those of DJ outfit Andrew Andrew, caught my eye. “I heard there was something to do with fashion going on,” deadpanned one Andrew as the bartender spritzed two glasses with atomized vermouth,“but we joined for the martinis.”

Just then, I spied Matthew Settle, aka Rufus Humphrey, the hot dad on Gossip Girl. OMFG! As it turned out, the show actually had shot there, at which point James invited Settle to be a member. Life, meet art. “It’s educational,” Settle asserted in an effort to explain why the sex- and scandal-laden show was so popular. “They mention Andy Warhol, Jeff Koons...it teaches kids how to be savvy in a way that not even kids could really be.” How did Rufus pay for that loft? Eyes smoldering, he leaned in conspiratorially: “I’m playing it like he has secret money that no one knows about.”

By the time Johnson gave her acceptance speech, everyone was stuffed and sauced. Rocking an outfit of her own design, she tripped up to the podium like a girl who’d just won her first spelling bee. “Thanks for the membership...I can teach sewing,” she sang out, and I could have sworn the room grew several watts brighter.

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