It took a lot of chutzpah to approach fashion royal Diane von Furstenburg. Not because she is frightful in any way, but seriously, it's DVF. My friends, the editors of Fashionista.com, convinced me to find my way to her and convinced me that she is sweet as pie -- and they were right. When I got to her front-row seat at the Barbie show, DVF threw me into a complete tailspin. Why? Because as soon as I was in front of her, she began to stroke my tresses and the fur trim on my sweater as we talked with uninterrupted eye contact. I was rendered speechless; moi, the person who has no problem opening her mouth and having something to say to anyone, anywhere at anytime. I saw Mr. Mickey later at the Alex Wang show where I gushed and gushed about the experience and we both had a laugh. But while at Barbie, DVF told me to expect the clothes at her show to be what makes sense. And when asked about her status as an icon, she brushed it off, "Oh I don't know what that means, I don't know what that means. I have always enjoyed being myself, so let's just put it that way."

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