Once upon a runway in Culver City, there was an entire week dedicated to the adoration of fashion. A week of both expected disappointments and unexpected surprises. A week of low-cut highs and thigh-high lows. A week of hot lights and even hotter models. A week of dressing to the nines, staying out 'till 4, going to bed at 5, and waking up at 6. A week of transvestite underwear, Scientologists, nipples, and the Hilton sisters. For even more sordid details, take a look at our diary from Fashion Week: seven days of pure, unadulterated material worship.

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