New York's Maccarone gallery buzzed with hipsters on a sugar high at last Thursday night's opening of Paul McCarthy's chocolate factory installation. Attendees gaped through glass walls at professional chocolate-makers churning out 10-inch high chocolate renderings of McCarthy's "Santa" sculpture, which depicts St. Nick holding a Christmas tree-esque "butt plug." Completed Santas headed down a conveyor belt toward a crew of Craigslist-recruited packagers, most of whom were artists of the starving variety. Sporting brightly colored aprons as they nestled each chocolate into a bed of shredded ArtForum magazines, the workers looked the part of Santa's helpers—although the gallery drew the line at having them wear elf hats (powers-that-be briefly debated the costume choice). Just before closing, the gallery had sold 477 Santas (at $100 a pop) and plans to continue unloading them seven days a week until Christmas Eve.

Read W's article about the factory here: Paul and the Chocolate Factory

Portrait by Daniel Hennessy

On a recent rainy morning atop the Gramercy Park Hotel, makeup artist Francois Nars was in town from his island home in Tahiti (he actually owns the island) to preview his spring '08 and summer '08 palettes. As aficionados know, he is both a pioneer of the makeup artist's makeup line and a champion of nude shades. "Some people think, Oh, how many different ways can you do nude? But, obviously, there are many!" But he's also a trailblazer in the subversive shade-name movement. "I keep a small Hermès notebook with me at all times to write words in," explains Nars, who christens all of his shades himself. Indisputably, his most famous entry dates back to 1997, when he scribbled down "Orgasm," intended for a bright coral blush that emitted a certain glow. "All of our blushes were named after emotions—Desire, Amour," he says. "And my line has always been about being daring, so I thought, Oh, come on! It's a makeup product! What's so terrible?" Despite the smatter of offended customers, the item became his best seller and remains so to this day. It has recently even spawned a daughter-of-orgasm product, a stick form of the original powder blush called The Multiple in Orgasm, which Nars has high hopes for. Of course, his reasoning has its own spin: "Where else can you get a multiple orgasm for $36?"

Actor Chris Klein at LAXART Benefit Auction presented by Hermès

New York during fashion week, Toronto during the film festival, even Detroit during the auto show—it's those brief times of plenty when you think how exciting it is to live in the metropolis, and how exhausting. Right now, Los Angeles is in the middle of a full season of art events, and the uninitiated might need an acronym dictionary to survive. It all began with the flashy opening of a Takashi Murakami retrospective at MOCA (the Museum of Contemporary Art). Next was the annual Angel Art auction, sponsored by David and Sybil Yurman and hosted by CAA (Creative Artists Agency). A few nights later, Hermes underwrote another benefit auction that raised $300,000—three times the expected take—for LAX Art. (The non-profit arts space appropriated the acronym used by the FAA—that's the Federal Aviation Administration, of course—for the Los Angeles International Airport.) Then LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) and artists Mark Bradford and Ruben Ochoa launched a terrific initiative to take arts education into the LAUSD (Los Angeles Unified School District.)

And that's not even the half of it. The cymbal crash at the end of this alphabetical crescendo won't resound until February, when the hotly anticipated BCAM (Broad Contemporary Arts Museum) opens with an inaugural gala. Art lovers who wish to attend are advised to RSVP ASAP.

ANDREAS BRANCH/ ©Patrick McMullan

Renaud Pellegrino; Alexander McQueen

Miu Miu; Louis Vuitton

Chanel; YSL

As the newly appointed accessories and jewelry director here at W, I could not have asked for a more wildly imaginative season to begin playing with all of the bags, shoes, gloves, glasses, hats and baubles that find their way into our office. Given all the color and whimsical themes that abound for spring, it's obvious that designers have struck an optimistic chord—or is escapism at the core? Either way, there is something amazing for everyone's mood this season. As we gear up for our frenetic winter shooting schedule, our closet is already brimming with some of the best bags the collections have to offer. From fantastical to ultracool and chic, here's a peek at what we've got our hands on this week.

McQueen: George Chinsee; others: John Aquino

Hotel La Cour des Loges

Foreign assignments, while sweet, often involve surprises. Enroute to an interview at a chateau in Provence, my plans to enjoy an easy and quick TGV ride from Paris to Avignon were scuttled thanks to the French rail union, which has decided to walk out en masse to protest Mr Sarkozy's policies.

So I  fly to Lyon and prepare to rent a car, but flight schedules dictate I must spend the night. I check in for the evening to La Cour des Loges, a beautiful and curious 17th-century arcaded structure built around a five-story central atrium. So that's where Hyatt got that idea.

The old section of Lyon, with splendid Renaissance palaces, is such a delight to walk around I almost forgive the French unions, especially as I savor the thought of dinner. That Lyon is a capital of French gastronomy was confirmed by my taxi driver, who rattled off my many Michelin options in the city (and, learning I was fron New York, informed me he was a friend of native son Daniel Boulud's cousin).
But, drat, it's a holiday. Something the French seem to have as much as strikes. So all the good places are closed. I stroll down to a local bouchon, which produces a simple but excellent entrecote.

But when I pay bills for the evening, especially the 25-minute taxi ride from the airport, which ends up being $100 U.S., I think, it's we American tourists, with our rock-botton dollar, who should go on strike.

Fraiche in Culver City

The LA food scene is hot right now, which more or less means you are constantly hearing about great new restaurants you can't possibly get into. The solution, it turns out, is easy: Dine on Spanish hours. L.A. is an early town, but most of the trendiest new joints are open late. After 10 p.m., during the week at least, you can actually drive to the restaurant of your choice, toss the keys to the valet and stroll inside to tell the hostess, "Table for two, please—no reservation." The odds of success are good, especially if you're willing to eat at the bar (which, in any case, is always the most foodie-cool spot to be). In the past week, this technique has worked perfectly at Mozza (the toughest 8 o'clock reservation in town) as well as at the brand-new Comme Ca (a baby Balthazar from Sona chef David Myers) and critic's favorite Fraiche in Culver City, which is worth a special trip just to bargain shop from the fetching wine list. Ask co-owner Keith Fox for a suggestion. The other night he produced a delicious 2004 Burgundy—it was so good that I hesitate to reveal which one—for $39.

Marc Jacobs continues his total and utter colonization of the West Village. The designer—who already has three stores on Bleecker Street—is on the verge of unveiling two more in the neighborhood: a Little Marc shop (selling his children's line) at 301 West 4th Street and, just across the way, a new Marc Jacobs Collection accessories shop at 298 West 4th Street. "They're more low-key than the others," says architect Stephan Jaklitsch, who has designed all the Marc Jacobs stores worldwide (as well as the home of Jacobs's business partner, Robert Duffy). "We tried to be more mindful of the neighborhood—the collection accessories shop has only a tiny brass sign, and the Little Marc shop doesn't even have a sign. Robert said he wanted it to feel like something you just sort of discovered." There's no official opening date yet, but the plan is to open them just before Thanksgiving. In other Marc Jacobs news, Sofia Coppola recently bought a Little Marc blue coat for her mini-me, one-year-old Romy Mars, at the Marc Jacobs store in Paris. Quelle surprise.

If it weren't for us, they'd be speaking German, goes the old one-liner. The us and they, of course, being Americans and most Western Europeans, though for my purposes here, the French. Conversely, if it weren't for them, we'd be speaking British. The latter point was celebrated with zest at the White House last week in a tête-à-tête between two wigged-out men in waistcoats and knee breeches conversing as those intercontinental BFFs of yore, George Washington and the Marquis de Lafayette, before a high-brow/dull-brow audience at George W. Bush's state dinner for French President Nicolas Sarkozy.

Condolezza Rice; French Minister of Finance Christine Largarde and Junior Foreign Minister Rama Yade

What has this to do with W's maiden fashion blog postings? Smartly brass-buttoned knickers aside, the renewal of the long dormant (or worse) Franco-American love affair holds within it all kinds of possibilities, some more important than others. Might not one have to do with matters of style? Photos from the event indicate a French female contingent that looked oh-so-much chicer than its American counterpart, even if Condoleezza Rice deserves kudos for daring to go glamorously short and red in Oscar de la Renta. Why can't we take a lesson? In fairness, few legit government types, regardless of national origin, can compete with France's young, gorgeous Rama Yade, who—forgive the stereotype—looks more suited the title of Screen Goddess than Junior Minister for Foreign Affairs and Human Rights. But is a state dinner the venue for so sensible a shoe as that worn by Wendy Paulson, wife of treasury secretary Henry Paulson Jr.? And might not fashion's greatest diplomat, Oscar de la Renta, whose suave pragmatism transcends partisan politics, convince Laura Bush to lose some of the volume from his puffed-out shirt-gown?

French President Nicolas Sarkosy, First Lady Laura Bush, and President George Bush

Baseball player Thomas Glavin and wife Christine; Secretary of Treasury Henry M. Paulson, Jr. and wife Wendy

If the French can open their minds to our work ethic, can we not open ours to their embrace of public-sector chic? (For that matter, would it be so wrong to plant a celebrity wringer or two among the guests, types with glam profiles north of Tom Glavine's? Assuming, of course, any of the star contingent would accept this particular invitation.) It would be a two-step process: First, the D.C. set would have to develop style. Then, the masses would have to applaud it, a notion to which Americans, otherwise so fueled by wealth and consumerism, have historically been resistant. Dolley Madison, Jacqueline Kennedy, Nancy Reagan—all of the White House's great fashion plates took hits from public and press, as did Teresa Heinz who, like Reagan, dared to look and act as rich as she is. Making matters worse, her candidate husband had a French connection. But those bad old days are gone. Now we love the French and the French love us. So how about muscling in on a little égalité and fraternity of the chic sort?

Rice by REUTERS/Kevin Lamarque /Landov; Actors, Dati and Kouchner by ERIC FEFERBERG/AFP/Getty Images; Sarkozy and Bushes by AP Photo/Ron Edmonds; LaGarde and Yade by HADJ/SIPA; Paulsons, Billingtons, and Glavines by AP Photo/Haraz N. Ghanbari

Rumors abound that James McAvoy, whom W profiled in its December issue, will play Nirvana rocker Kurt Cobain in a upcoming biopic.

Read W's article here: Scottish Reel

Photo by Ari Marcopoulos

Talk About Exclusive: Paris' hippest new hotel has only one room. An installation piece by Swiss artists Sabina Lang and Daniel Baumann, the Seventies-style Hotel Everland has just opened on the roof of the Palais de Tokyo and is accessible to paying guests only, through next November. On Sunday I convinced a staffer to sneak me in, to see if it merits the nightly room rate (up to $643). It does, with groovy floor-to-celing op-art carpet and a glass wall directly overlooking the Seine and the Eiffel Tower. There's no curtain to draw, but nobody seems to mind: the hotel, which can be reserved exactly two months in advance, for one night only, sells out instantly each morning.