I love fashion and I love the New York Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week- the glamor, the lights, and the music and energy of live runway shows at the Bryant Park tent. Yes, I've been fortunate enough to see some live runway shows and yes, the models are impossibly rail thin and there are so many posers in this scene, but I take it all with a grain of salt and just enjoy it, and see it for what it all is.

On Saturday I went to an off-site show where a new designer was debuting. It was a much more intimate setting with the theme of a "tea party." Alongside the runway there were small round white table-clothed tables for guests to sit as they sipped tea and sampled finger foods from a long table of mini-food stations.

The show started without the usual fanfare of loud, pulsing music, but with a pianist seated at a grand piano playing familiar sounding jazz tunes.

The models walked out in elegant silk crepe creations- there were billowing blouses, flowing dresses and sumptuous gowns. One by one they came down the runway, and then a second time- this time pausing at three points on the runway for guests to take a closer look, and then a third- pausing again at the same three points on the runway, and again... I stared at their expressionless faces. As the piano music paused and continued, they walked on like droids pausing at their preassigned intervals, as if on an assembly line in an seemingly endless loop. I started to have an unsettling feeling.