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A lot of Fashion Week-ers complain about the hot venues. You think, “Could it really be so bad?”—until you find yourself sitting inside a clear plastic tent in the middle of the day. Remember holding a piece of glass over ants to fry them with the sunlight? It’s the same concept.

Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I got a text from Stacey yesterday: “I’m at Dior, and it’s sooo hot here!”

But she at least had something to distract her. Five minutes later she texts this: “Sting and Trudie are 4 rows in front of me! Trudie has on a very French beret!”…

It turns out I had two misses last night: I did not get to meet The Sartorialist and give him my pitch on Chicago style,* and I did not get to see the Yohji show (no cabs, merci rainy Paris weather!).

It worked out okay, though. I still got to attend the coolest party of the week, at the coolest store in the world, Colette. The soirée was to fête street photographers and bloggers…

The Berlin art collective Bless showed its Spring line in a warehouse in the northern part of Paris Sunday night. How’s this for a presentation idea: the show was a soccer game! The models split into two teams and really had at it for about 15 minutes. I was in the front row and had a good laugh when the models kicked the ball to my shins…

If you want to talk trends, here’s the real scoop on what Parisians are wearing: the motorcycle jacket, or as the French say, “Le Perfecto.” Biking around the Bastille area on Saturday (in Paris it’s already cool, with highs around 60), I saw about two dozen women in cropped leather jackets. Where did this come from? I’ve got two guesses…