style council: Land of the Lost

"It should be right there," Steffie said pointing at a deep roadless ravine. I consult the loose tatered Thomas guide page again. "Maybe we didn't go far enough?" I suggest. Lina, Steffie and I have been trapped in the car for 45 minutes and I am cursing Kari Feinstein, the PR maven who gave us the bum directions. "Sunset Plaza Drive all the way up to Blue Jay Way"— was the message she sent wirelessly from her blackberry. We had naively piled in the car believing the directions were just that simple. They were not.

We were on our way to "the Style Lounge," a swag fest set up in a Hollywood Hills mansion, so that new designers, jewelry makers, and other merchants could heap tons of free goods on celebrities and their stylists, in the hopes of their product being seen on an actual celebrity during the MTV Movie Awards. This was the one of three gifting suites set up around the city in honor of the ceremony.

We wound our way up Sunset Plaza Drive, around dangerous curves without guard rails, even past signs that clearly stated: "DO NOT ENTER: PRIVATE ROAD." We did what you're supposed to do when lost in the hills, follow the hipsters. Unfortunately for us, we weren't the only ones lost, we realized when people started following us. We asked gardeners and dog walkers, even a nice man in a shiny silver Jag, all they could tell us was Blue Jay Way, was "down the hill." Finally, a patient soul asked to see our Thomas guide remnant. "It doesn't connect." WHAT?! "Blue Jay Way doesn't connect, you have to take Thrasher..." Sure enough, a crease in our beat up page gave us the faulty impression of a road. But it still didn't explain why Kari Feinstein had forsaken us.

We finally find the spot, valet, and are shuttled up in a Lincoln Town Car, only to find our names were not put on the list, despite repeated emails with Kari herself. The check-in girl exhausted shrugs and gives us each a red wristband, and black "shopping bag."

The place was packed with people, their bags overflowing with swag, leather bags! dresses! perfume! We saw Vivica Fox loaded down like a Grand Canyon mule. But first things first, we headed to the food table, seared tuna, lamb chops courtesy of Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. As we nibbled we watched waifish starlet after waifish starlet wander by with bulging bags. We finally move into a "gifting suite" and were greeted by a woman who said she represents craft artists and helps them get press. One of the items we loved was an eye mask in quilted calico that had the words, "sod off" embroidered on it. I hand her my card. I'd love to do a story about this company, handmade little trinkets. She hands me a gift bag, which had all the company info inside. I'd like to tell you all about the cool stuff you can get from them. But unfortunately, a few moments later the woman who owns the company comes back to retrieve the gift bag she gave me and Steffie. I looked at her in shock. "We don't have that many left," she says. "And my friend didn't know who you were." I suppose she meant we weren't famous. But we were press. Now even 13-year old Tatiana McLane designer for Queenie 4 ever, knows how to pitch press. With her mother Venice Wong at her side, Tatiana told me how she is inspired by local designers Megan, and Tarina Tarantino, and started designing clothes at 10. And Jamie Harris from a company named This is J, was happy to talk to me. She and her sister make some cool headbands that are tapered at the back, perfect for keeping hair in place in my Jeep with the top down. Jamie Harris, the owner of the company even showed me how to put it on, face framing layers outside, suddenly a headband made me feel like Bridget Bardot. She gave me my pick of their hand printed bands.

We headed upstairs where many of the companies were packing up. Damn, if we hadn't gotten lost! Tucked in the corner we spotted leather clutches and wallets from HOBO. We drooled over them. The lovely woman from the company told us to pick out whatever we wanted. Steffie chose a gorgeous pearly pink over-sized wallet (which could easily double as a clutch), and I got a sky blue full-size clutch of soft buttery leather. I was so happy and that was even before we got jeans from The Myth of Jade. Now, of course they were last years jeans, bootcut. But Steffie had the great idea to have them tapered.

Just when we were feeling good about our swag, reality hit. As we were ogling satiny blue-ish silver dresses and cream colored lace baby dolls, the woman who was running the La Rok booth awkwardly explained to us that she can't give away clothes. "They're expensive, you know," she said condescendingly. The words are barely out of her mouth, before she turns her back to me and begins tearing dresses off the rack and shoving them into the arms of a stylist to a woman I have never heard of. Oh, it's like that. I'd have settled for a handshake, look book, or a business card, instead of the cold shoulder. But today, it's all about the celebrity endorsement, the Ugg Way. Companies go after the names, A-list, E list, someone. Anyone, to sky rocket them into Kitson.