Finding Myself in Fashion by Jeanne Beker Page B

lingerie were sneaking too many cigarettes, and in the downstairs den, a couple of babe-acious twins were watching The Parent Trap . All the girls were wearing tiaras, vintage Betsey frou-frou, and gobs of makeup.
    â€œShe’s obsessed,” confided Lulu, Betsey’s twenty-something daughter. “She worked on every detail for days. She stressed me out so much yesterday, I cried all day!” Evidently, life with a mum like Betsey wasn’t easy. But could it possibly be more fun? It was Lulu, for years Betsey’s muse and right-hand woman, who had urged her mother to get a place in the Hamptons, where the social scene ruled. Still, the senior Ms. Johnson’s passion, first and foremost, had always been her work. And for the past few years, she’d had a cause to fight for as well. In 1999, Betsey was diagnosed with breast cancer. With her sense ofhumour intact, she had shown her spring ’00 collection on Playboy Bunnies. The concept garnered an unprecedented amount of publicity, and happily, Betsey made a full recovery.
    Today the birthday girl bounced out of the house wearing a royal-blue tulle skirt with a matching corset and dazzling tiara. “This is me!” she gushed. “This is my dream … my collection … my home. I really want to share it with all the people who’ve supported me for all these years.”
    â€œBut what really keeps you going, Betsey? How do you explain all the success and personal fulfilment you’ve achieved so far?” I asked.
    â€œThe secret is, you’ve got to be terrified,” she told me. “Every time I do anything, I’m always scared. I think that’s really important.”
    â€œGuess that’s what keeps you on your toes,” I said.
    â€œAbsolutely! I’m always insecure. Like even today … I’m thinking this is such a crazy idea. What are all those people gonna think of me? What if they think I’m just a dumb little girl, with this dumb little cottage? I’m never sure anybody will like what I have to offer. But it doesn’t matter. Gotta do what I’ve gotta do!”
    Betsey spent the next couple of hours rushing around from room to room, directing and coaching her models, pumping them up to play out her fantasies. The attention to detail was astonishing. Betsey knew exactly what she wanted, and the young girls were inspired.
    â€œShe’s incredible,” a Ukrainian model told me. “Such an amazing woman!”
    â€œI want to be just like her when I get older,” said a Belgian beauty.
    I relayed the compliment to Betsey.
    â€œYeah, I guess it’s important to have leaders. For me, it was always Tina Turner!” she said, laughing.
    Down by the front gate, Betsey smashed a mini Champagne bottle and cut a ribbon. The guests streamed in as a rendition of “My Blue Heaven” wafted through the air. The models in the gardens were working it—Mary, Mary Quite Contrary watered her flowers; Miss Muffet fed a fake spider; and Bo Peep gazed through binoculars for stray sheep. People drifted in and out of the house, enchanted by what they saw, high on Betsey’s dream. The designer Nicole Millersat on a bench with her little boy. “She’s really stuck to her vision,” she commented. Nikki Hilton rushed by in a transparent pink Versace top. “My sister and I have been wearing Betsey’s stuff since we were little,” she told me. The Sex and the City stylist Pat Field talked about how she and Betsey had started in the fashion biz at the same time. And then we all gathered around the pool for the runway presentation, with the Stones’ “Miss You” filling the air. The models marched out in gold mega-platform sandals, each sporting a classic Betsey look: a capri jumpsuit in olive-green chiffon; an aqua ruffled micro-mini adorned with rosettes; a chintz crinoline skirt with an emerald lamé bra. One by one, the models