At New York Fashion Week, celebs, magazine editors, and other members of the bold-faced contingent seem to be taking high-fashion to torturous new levels.

By Barbara Stepko
February 18, 2015
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Do you really need to suffer for beauty? Who the hell knows? But this much is for sure: At New York Fashion Week, celebs, magazine editors, and other members of the bold-faced contingent seem to be taking high-fashion to torturous new levels.

Manhattan, along with much of the Eastern seaboard, has gone all Zhivago—minus the ticked-off Bolsheviks—with plunging temps. Nonetheless, unfazed celebs and fashionistas have been braving the single-digits to sit bare-limbed at the Lincoln Center shows.

Zosia Mamet and Dylan Penn sat defiantly cross-legged at Jill Stuart. Rihanna, Katie Holmes, and Uzo Aduba brandished naked stems at Zac Posen (above). Kelly Osbourne, meanwhile, refused to go full-commando by rocking a pair of cute ankle socks at Christian Siriano (wuss!).

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What gives? Let’s chalk it up to a serious case of machismo…make that, machisma. To this crowd, tights and pantyhose are for pantywaists. Not unlike a burly Green Bay Packers tackle playing in the Frozen Tundra with bare-armed bravado, these women want the rest of us to know that not only are they able shake off the chill—they’re oblivious to it. (And really, why let a little thing like chapped thighs stand between them and a really good photo op?)

While it’s true that they most likely took a car service to the events—unlike mere mortals who were relegated to flagging down taxis or trudging a few blocks in the deep freeze—it’s hard not to admire their bravado. A little.

From where we sit (certainly not in the front row at Marc Jacobs) trying that hard to seem cool, well, isn’t cool at all. It’s cold.

Really, really cold.

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