By an accident of fate, I happen to be in California as the Los Angeles fashion shows are going on. I met a really fun actress, Cassandra Hepburn, at a Puma dinner in London a few weeks ago and I wrote to her to see if she was around and wanted to hook up.

She invited to attend some of the fashion shows with her. While I certainly feel I've seen more than enough fashion shows in the last two months, my curiosity got the better of me. What would it be like to be front row with a hot starlet about to go huge? Cassandra stars in two films out later this year -- Hell Ride, directed by Larry Bishop and has Quentin Tarantino as the executive producer and Surfer Dude, with Matthew McConaughey.

Cassandra, rather charmingly, doesn't have a publicist. So when I arrived, phoned lovely Alison Levy from IMG and demanded to be escorted into the VIP area to find her, I found ... she wasn't there. She was in the front mingling with the civilians. Because of the confusion, I hadn't collected my ticket. Not a problem, I thought. I am with a celebrity! I just talked my way into the best shows in Paris! Certainly they're not going to give me grief at Jenny Han. Wrong, wrong, wrong. The shows may be tiny, the clothes may be average, but the security in LA is top notch. Another desperate plea to Alison and I finally secured my front row seat next to Cassandra.

The first thing I noticed is that there were a lot of people having their photos taken and I didn't know who any of them were. But they all seemed very good at seeming important.

The next thing I noticed was that, just as I suspected, the celebrities in the front row spend most of their time talking about the clothes they'd like to own. This has a real purpose, as they're not paid to attend -- at least not all of them -- but they do get clothes for showing up. I thought this from Jenny Han for Cassandra.

But more important than the free clothes are the photographs.

Some of the photographers recognized Cassandra from Sundance, others didn't. Her Russian friend Maya Volk tried gamely to get her to stand at the head of the runway with the rest of the pact, but she politely refused.

I really thought LA would be clued into who the next big things are, but as it turned out, not so much. After the show, we were not allowed out the special exit, but were dumped out onto the street to have to go around to the main check-in desk all over again. While Cassandra waited patiently for the publicist, I came up with a new reality show: Who's the Bigger Diva? The Starlet or The Editor? (Guess who won).

The next show was billed as Elmer Avenue's "A Night of Tragic Emotions Fashion Show Featuring Original Score Performed Live by The Devil's Orchestra." The Devil's Orchestra was two guys in some tight goth clothing and make-up and was so loud that ear plugs were provided for those of us in the front row.

I think the rest of the room was left to suffer.

Now I have been to some bad fashion shows in my day, but nothing has ever compared to the pretentious, annoying, too-cool-for-their-or-my-own-good display by Elmer Ave. And, like all the worst shows, it was way, way, way too long. (Cassandra would like me to note for the record that my opinions are strictly my own and do not reflect hers. In fact, she is wearing a shirt by Elmer Avenue in the photo below.)

When we were finally free and had managed to locate Maya, who has a special gift for networking, we went to Fred Segal for the "green carpet" party for the Green Initiative. On the way I asked Maya, who does intensive oxygen treatments from her spa on Sunset Boulevard, to show me all the business cards she had collected. She haded me three of her own. I explained that I was curious to see what new friends she had made. She said she doesn't take their cards, just gives them her own.

Cassandra and Maya do the photo-op

In London, in New York, in Paris and in Milan a after-party is a PARTY. Yes, the drinks are free and the provider's logo is usually visible around the place and yes, every once in a while you have to drink some god-awful concoction cooked up by the marketing team, but the events still manage to have the air of ... if not a celebration, then at least a party. But in L.A. ...? First hurdle: Security. Second hurdle: Photo area. Third hurdle: Bright lights (better for the photos, I guess) and then you find ... tables set up to promote Vegan water and eco-clothes or something. (We weren't allowed to take the press kit, but there was one there for viewing). Worst of all, no food. Not even a veggie chip. Outside guys from a eco-limo company were showing off the attributes of their fleet. It was more like a trade show than a party.

Cassandra did her job beautifully, stopping to chat about the car, smiling when asked. I have to say, I couldn't do it. And certainly not on an empty stomach.

By this point I had serious misgivings about the Elmer Avenue party and managed to convince Maya and Cassandra to go to the Chateau Marmot for dinner. We learned a way to get in without a reservation and without a room. But that little trick will go with us to the grave.