From Tim McKernan: I'd like to welcome a new addition to the insideSTL.com staff. Her name is Beverly Brentwood...or at least that's the name she's going to go by. Beverly recently moved here from a large city, and she's going to give her perspective on St. Louis each Tuesday in STL Ladies. I thought it would be strong to have an "outsider's" perspective on so many of the things that many of us lifelong St. Louisans take for granted and/or don't know any better about...because we never leave here. You can contact Beverly Brentwood at bbrentwood@insidestl.com, and you can leave comments at the end of her article by logging in and posting below.

So, here I am in St. Louis… the Lou, if you will. Interesting. Definitely not what I had pictured myself getting into. Not as much BBQ, there are no cows aimlessly wandering about, no cornfields. It’s like, a city. Yeah, a REAL city. But it’s no L.A. and I didn’t think the STL was trying to be…at least not until a couple of months ago.

I’ve found St. Louisans to be uber proud of their St. Louis staples: toasted ravioli (which honestly, what the hell?), pork steaks (just wrong on many levels), provel (there are no words for it’s level of disgustingness) and gooey butter cake (fabulous! The only one worth a damn.) And I get it. I have the same pride for L.A; the endless amount of fake tits, the shameless celebrity obsessions, cars worth more than your house, etc. But something very “LA” found it’s way into St. Louis and suddenly I was confused. I saw an ad for: “2008 St. Louis Fashion Week.” Fashion Week? Like, THE fashion week? Brilliant, I’m in.

Surely this will be like the countless other fashion weeks I’ve attended in NY/LA, right? Dolce & Gabbana, Valentino & Stella McCartney will show their collections to the social elite, the Olsen twins will be front row emaciated and stupidly rich, Paris and her “flavor of the week” friends, Lindsay Lohan coked out of her gourd fresh from rehab; you know, Fashion Week! Of course, when all is said and done I’ll be broke from wearing as much of each collection as I can afford because everyone will be wearing it and I wouldn’t want to be the only one without, now would I? And it get’s better. Afterwards, we’ll go to the hottest new club (which will surely be called “Dolce” because clearly that’s a great name for any restaurant you want to be a success; anywhere.) get a table, bottle service and get drunk. Never forgetting to exchange numbers with everyone because we’re now best friends and we’re definitely doing lunch tomorrow.

Yes, fashion week!

Now I’ve R.S.V.P’d to each night because that’s just what you do. I arrive at Lumiere Place, where the hoosh-eoisy meets the bourgeoisy. Everyone frantically setting up lights and name badges and music and blah, blah, blah. Already not feeling it, but I’m VIP, so where’s the bar? So I sit down with my good friend Bombay Sapphire awaiting the hoopla that is fashion week. Much to my disappointment there’s no Lindsay, no Paris, no Olsen twins. No celeb sightings at all…I mean, really? They couldn’t at least pull Kimora Lee Simmons (in all of her fabulosity) for this?

The show finally starts and they parade the “models” down the runway in the clothing of designers I’ve never heard of…most of which I could have seen at Neiman Marcus. It’s like watching a live taping of America’s Next Top Model but worse. Now I’m pissed. How dare they use the words “Fashion Week” in vain. The after party better be fucking amazing or at least mildly amusing.

Lucky for me, it was the latter. Another Washington Avenue “Lounge/Bar/Restaurant/Grocery Store/Loft” rich with the St. Louis elite all posing for the picture that no one is snapping; drinking cosmos made with Pearl or New Amsterdam or whatever sponsor it was footing the bill for this sham of a “Fashion Week.” One word to describe the whole scene: boring. Even worse, there was no one with an ounce of fashion sense in the entire building. You mean you didn’t pick up any tips in that parade we just saw an hour ago?

I would say an all around waste of money. I mean except for the charities this is “benefiting” (which I’m sure is at the forefront of everyone’s mind as they get hammered.) If you’re going to do fashion week, DO IT RIGHT DAMMIT! I would suggest getting some coked out celebrities, some serious designers á la Cavalli, Dior & Armani and it better affect more than the 200 people who get invites (albeit they’re invited to everything). Or better yet, leave it to the pros and leave fashion week alone.

Next week: “Leggings: One Size Does NOT Fit All”