Janice Dickinson. The woman who calls herself the first supermodel ever (which is not true. Janice, have you ever heard of Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton?), particularly enjoys red carpets and the accompanying moments of attention. In the perfect pose, she turns her smoothed-out face towards anyone who wants to take a picture. Janice is not the worst and poses and spins for every purring camera. But the relativity of fame was also experienced by our Janice during the past fashion weeks. While she usually plops down in the front row in New York, she is received much less warmly in Paris. We found her at the entrance of the Grand Palais, prior to the Chanel show, happily darting and spinning for the present photographers. But when Grace, Anna, Vanessa Paradis, and I walked past the doormen and entered the holy ground where the show took place, our photographer found poor Janice just outside. On the street. Among the ‘plebs’ who had no ticket for the show.

Janice was SO DESPERATE that she had put her hair up, jumped into a taxi, and pretended to be ONE OF THE GUESTS among the fashion crowd.

In this way, she was extensively photographed and observed and had, nice at the beginning of the day, taken her daily shot of attention. Janice must have been quite happy with the moment. I found the whole thing rather sad and not up to her standards. My advice to Janice; settle on a sofa in the salon of five-star hotel le Meurice. Order a thé verveine and look particularly occupied with the world. All visitors will think that you just came from Chanel or are about to go to Valentino. Celeb spotters and visiting bloggers will surely take that much-needed snapshot you long for. A lot more comfortable than tiptoeing on Avenue Winston Churchill and you save a lot of taxi money and embarrassing situations. Come on Janice, you wouldn't really say it, but you are already 57. Give yourself a break.