Vanity, still the fairest of them all

Tomcruise_charb_12910163_600

Forget that nonsense about Graydon Carter's Vanity Fair party being over. Last night's bash was bigger and  hotter than ever. And once again, it felt like a galactic collision of celebrity universes from the worlds of politics, books, music, art, photography, fashion, film and TV.

I dutifully arrived at the VF party for my appointed time slot of 11:30 and was told "NO notebook, NO tape recorder and DON'T make us come in there and find you" - before being allowed inside for half an hour to get party "color."

Entering the party felt like being sucked into a vortex of fabulousness and I was swiftly trapped in a salmon spawn of celebrities, all frantically wiggling their way through Morton's, struggling to find a few inches to stand in, sit on or just get outside to the smoking area (cough, cough) and into huge pink-lit tent in the back. Trust me, you rub way more than elbows with stars at a VF party. It's more like doing a provocative public bump-and-grind. And the music is very good, but very loud. You can't hear yourself speak, much less anyone else. So the tape recorder wouldn't have helped. I think celebrities' ears must be more attuned to congratulatory conversations, like dogs that can hear certain decibles that humans can't. All I know is what I saw...