If I had a sugar daddy...

Snakeskin lamé skirt by Yves Saint Laurent
$1,550 at ysl.com

If I had a sugar daddy...

Uptown patent bag by Yves Saint Laurent
$1,995 at saks.com

If I had a sugar daddy...

Patent leather wide-buckle belt by YSL
$396 at bluefly.com

If I had a sugar daddy...

Mary Jane 'Tribute' pump by Yves Saint Laurent

$660 at saks.com

From neck to knees -- perfect.

From neck to knees, actress Emmanuelle Chriqui, who (apparently) is on that overrated show "Entourage" but to me will forever be the object of Lance Bass' affection in the stellar On the Line, looks downright perfect with a little help from this gorgeously girly halter-style plunge-neck bit-of-summer-temptation courtesy of Yves Saint Laurent.

But before you anoint her and her beyond enviable and unsupported B-cup cleavage the best new Hollywood has to offer, let's take a look at the rest of this ensemble, shall we?

Hair -- not so much a fan of the four-inch high bangs. I like a slight hump, a Gwen hump, but I need a more graduated sleekness to the sides of this 'do. To put it (not) delicately, sister looks like she's trying to bring back the Arsenio Hall flat-top.

Earrings -- too big and too teenager-at-the-mall to pair with such a ladylike frock. Plus, it's never a good idea to have less than an inch between your jewelery and your frilly neckline. The result is busy, busy BUSY. Had I been her stylist, I would've pushed pearls on her. I know, I know, how very DC of me, but truly, when it comes to eyelet and white summer cotton, there are few jewels that don't by comparison to the delicate fabric look like hardware. Pearls, simple diamonds and maybe white opals. Studs, not drops and certainly not chandeliers.

Eyelashes -- this is where she really lost me. Those lashes aren't even Les Deux on a Friday night appropriate, much less Yves Saint Laurent white cotton summer dress appropriate. Unfortunately, what would have been a very sweet, very minimal, very let-her-natural-beauty-shine-through makeup job ended up looking freakish. Not even the amazing dress, flawless skin or Leiber clutch can distract from the horror that looks like spider legs crawling out of the poor girl's eye-sockets.

Let's now go below the knee.

Shoes -- with the delicacy of the fabric and the femininity of the cut and detailing, I would not have gone with a severe, chunky wedge slingbacks with wide black criss-crossing leather straps and gold metallic siding. I know it's a popular fashion statement to have one aspect of your outfit represent one extreme and another aspect represent its opposite - in this case, lady and boho chick - but in this particular outfit, on this particular girl, it just looks foolish. I would have chosen a nude or caramel brown sandal like this 'Very Prive' platform pump by Brian Atwood ($640 at saks.com). With Chriqui's tanned gams, the shoe would have extended and blended perfectly to not only make her look taller but thinner as well.

And there we have the transition we need to discuss Emmanuelle's unfortunate legs. Unfortunate calves, to be specific. I understand not every woman is born blessed with a predisposition for calf definition, but my goodness, for someone who claims to be "a lifelong runner" and who has signed on to serve as the face of Reebok's "Run Easy" campaign, what a disappointment to see on her a pair of Mischa Barton-esque sugar-cone legs.

With such a pretty face, such a spectacular rack and (a stylist with) such great taste in red carpet dresses, Ms. Chriqui will no doubt do well for herself in this industry.

I do, however, recommend she lipo those pumpkin knees, trim that flat-top and buh-bye those Shu Uemura knockoff lashes. Everyone starts somewhere, sweetie, and since you came out of the gates playing a gay pop singer's love interest, you have nowhere to go but up!

The exhibit.

Today was the perfect New York Saturday.

I woke up to crisp, Upper West Side hotel sheets, had an early-morning, on-the-go breakfast of Spanish tortes and cappuccinos from Zabar's, and enjoyed a long sunny walk through a Central Park teeming with runners, strollers and in-love couples.

Finally, we exited the park in the 60s and made our way up the flight of shallow concrete steps to the entrance of the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art.

'American Chic' was a much smaller exhibit than I expected, both in size and audience. Housed in one of the Met's smallest spaces on the lowest level, Nan's collection of evening gowns, pantsuits, resort wear, jewelery, and high heels was only given one medium-sized room and three tiny auxiliary rooms, all of which were completely devoid of natural light.

And any sort of guidance.

Harold Koda, the exhibit's handler, offered his patrons very little insight as to why or how he chose and grouped the pieces he did. Within some of the individual showcases, themes were identifiable - in the stunning 'black and white evening' collection, for example, where I learned that this classic combination, in Nan's own words, "is often the guise of the vamp and the femme fatale" and "allows a woman to project a quietly charged elegance and controlled allure" - but for the vast majority, there seemed no obvious logic behind Koda's selections.

In the room off to the right of the main hall, a one-shouldered seafoam green cashmere column dress was flanked on one side by a pair of navy, high-waisted raw silk trousers and on the other by a red bandeau bikini. In another showcase, a very '80s long-sleeved tri-colored velvet knee-length holiday frock stood shoulder-to- shoulder with a sleeveless beige Yves Saint Laurent silk crepe cocktail dress with matching shell-button bolero. And next to that, Mrs. Kempner's 1949 pink and purple strapless coming-out gown.

Huh?

One might have thought the essays preceding each floor-to-ceiling display would have served as a guide to that particular collection, but again, no. Though they were extraordinarily well-written, these pieces were little more than general commentary on Nan's upbringing, her lifestyle and and her couture-as-art viewpoint.

Overall, it was a showcase hardly worthy of a woman whose style Andy Warhol called "iconic."

But as I told R in response to his apology for our mutual disappointment, the privilege of getting to see the 1969 Madame Grès bordeaux silk jersey gown with crucifix-esque back - the one I risked getting booted to capture on film when I snapped the illegal photo above - was well worth the trip.

Well, that and the triple berry pie from Cafe Lalo.

Gotcha!

I could only find a good picture of 'em in red, but the color is immaterial. What's important here is that the Gwen Stefani mystery shoe is no longer without a name.

These six-inch, sure-to-be-sold-out-before-they-even-hit-Bergdorf's beauties are none other than the Yves Saint Laurent 'Tribute' pumps.

These will probably set you back three DVF wrap dresses and a couple of Kir Royales at the St. Regis, so I find it highly amusing - and very characteristic of the eh-it's-just-money attitude in the fashion industry - that YSL's lead designer Stefano Pilati had his delicate red suede stilettos come down the runway caked in mud.

Now that this mystery has been solved, I just need to track down (and acquire) Jessica Biel's *perfect* blouse...