Fashion always outruns the victim.

So fashion week came and went. As usual, there was more ado over who wore what off the ramp than on it. The smoking area was the hub of pre and post show discussions - everything from anticipation about a new designer debut to rip offs, repeats of previously displayed collections and Bollywood showstoppers made the rounds. Embroidery techniques were analyzed. Silhouettes were clinically dissected. And boob job botches were the flavour of the day.

The Grey Goose lounge was relegated to last season so time between shows was spent sans espresso martinis in a sponsor lounge that barely gave guests enough room to parade their 'it' bags and air kiss with flamboyance.

Coming back to the shows, it didn't matter which designer you were going to see, all that mattered was where you were seated. First row meant you knew the designer, the organizers or your daughter was the showstopper. Second and third rows meant you knew of the designer, had a friend working in PR or your ensemble consisted of more than two designer labels and a large bag. Anything beyond the third row was frowned upon, even by the ushers.

Some of the shows were pure drama. Some were fun. While some were so drab, even women with fresh botox hits managed to crack a yawn.

After a show, models flit around and take pictures for the press, sip a glass of wine, smoke a cigarette, and dutifully repeat it after every show for the rest of the week. As for the guests, well, they pretty much do the same.

But fashion week is quite a learning experience. Here's what i learned: Eating small portions of food throughout the day balances off the alcohol. Carrying extra cigarettes is vital. And saying that something is 'So last season' is so last season.