Chic Happens
The Hollywood Style Awards were held Sunday night at Pacific Design Center to honor Tinseltown’s hottest hipsters and most stylish sirens as selected by
Hollywood Life mag. Everyone from bootylicious
Jessica Biel to babelicious
Nicollette Sheridan (presenter
and award winner) came out for the glam event.
I ran into Avril Lavigne—there presentin’ the Fashion Visionary award to Diesel’s
Renzo Rosso—before the awards show. The sometimes-spitting gal looked rather ladylike—who knew? A.L. was lovely with her blond curls and skinny black jeans. I asked if she’d had any fashion faux pas over the years. “I don’t really regret anything,” mused the former skater-gal turned girly-girl.
“You know, the ties and the wifebeaters and all...It had its time and place. And now I’m all grown up, and I’ve moved on,” Av-hon ‘splained, all stoic ‘n’
K-Fed reductive.
As soon as the awards were given out, the after-soiree kicked off in the Young Hollywood Home, a sorta swanky space in the PDC, decked out by up-and-coming designers. Something about fruity cocktails and
très expensive furniture seemed like a bad idea to
moi, but I wasn’t about to miss out on chattin’ with James Denton and Teri Hatcher. (Or maybe I was…More on that later.)
I asked James, suave and handsome in his grey Valentino threads, about his biggest fashion fashion faux pas. “Actually," he replied, "I did have one:
John Travolta invited me to one of his birthday parties.” Too much Scientology-sanctioned fun, right? Tell me more, James-doll!
“I hadn’t been in L.A. very long, and he just described it as being very casual,” J.D. continued. “So, I showed up in jeans and T-shirt…and it was
totally Hollywood-party chic. I was the only one there in jeans, and I felt like a real fish outta water, because they were all celebrities and I was, like, D-list. I looked like the biggest bumpkin, although he assured me it was fine.”
Oh, doll, I’m sure Johnny T. didn’t mind one iota! He’s
such the gracious host,
n'est-ce pas? Bet he even kissed ya goodnight!
Decidedly less smoochy-poo to my totally bitchin’ associate,
Cristina Gibson,was Teri Hatcher. C.G. asked Ter-babe, gorgeous in Valentino, if she could get a quick gab on.
“Who are you with?” she asked.
“E! Online,” Cristina replied.
“No,” she replied, quicker than it takes
Eva Longoria to get her hired help into the sack on
Desperate Housewives. “Sorry. You’re a beautiful girl, but…” she apologized, before dashing off.
Um, what the eff does that mean, exactly? Would it have helped or hurt poor Cristina’s chances of chatting if she was fugly instead?
Such thecryptic answer, Ms. H. Readers, send Cristina Care Bears right now (or Teri Hatcher dolls with needles in them—take your pick).