Janice Dickinson. The woman that once declared herself the first supermodel ever (which isn’t true. Janice, have you ever heard of Twiggy or Jean Shrimpton?), spectacularly enjoys red carpets and their accompanied moments of attention. Posed perfectly, she tilts her smoothed out cheeks towards anyone with a flash. Janice is not the worst as she spins and twirls for each clicking camera. But our Janice got to experience first hand that fame really is relative during the recent fashion weeks. While plopping down front row is standard for her in New York, the greeting in Paris was a little less cordial.

We found her near the entrance of the Grand Palais, just ahead of the Chanel show, deliciously cavorting and frolicking for the photographers. Yet as Grace, Anna, Vanessa Paradis and I walked past the doormen, entering onto the sacred ground where the show would take place, our photographer stumbled upon poor Janice just outside. On the street. Between the ‘rabble,’ without tickets for the show.

Janice was clearly so desperate, that she piled her hair up, leapt into a taxi and dived into the middle of the fash-pack, pretending to be one of the guests. This way, she got photographed and gawked at, and her daily shot of attention, all at the start of the day

Janice is probably pretty pleased with her moment. I found the whole thing rather sad, and not at all up to her usual standards. My advice to Janice; nestle on a sofa in the lobby of the five-star Le Meurice. Order a thé verveine and appear unavailable as the world goes by. Every visitor will assume that you have just come from Chanel, or are almost going to Valentino. Celeb-spotters and guest bloggers will more than likely grab that much needed snapshot, which you so desire. A lot more comfortable than soliciting on the Avenue Winston Churchill, and you save a heap of taxi money and embarrassment. Come on Janice, although you would never admit it, you’re already 57. Give yourself a break. You are worth it.