It's What You Don't Say...

Nicole Richie, always the hostess with the mostest (well, in some ways), sounds off on what makes one slutty at a recent Fashion Week fete. And what’s got songbird Mariah Carey flippin’ the big ol’ bitch switch at a Cali concert? All that, plus an deliciously naughty new Blind Vice for ya, babes, featuring your fave: Toothy!

High in the Hollywood Hills Tuesday night, in an ever so posh pad that was ridiculously difficult to find (even with the GPS navigation on my phone), was Nicole Richie, playing über-hostess at a cocktail party celebrating her bud Charlotte Ronson's spring 2007 line. And I must say, for a bash hosted by bawdy Nicole, I was a bit surprised by the whole affair.

First off, there were no other It girls in attendance. Whuh?

Sure, Char's sis and Nic's BFF, deejay Samantha Ronson,  was there. And fallen former lord of Teddy's, Amanda Scheer-Demme, was seen chatting with Hyde's doorwoman Jennifer, but I was hoping for Lindsay, or at least Mischa might show. I mean, like, duh.

Secondly, the vibe was way tame. Think low-ambience music, dim lighting, people lounging by the pool while Char's designs flashed on TVs. No dancing on tables or impromptu karaoking to be seen. There were Tab energy cocktails for the taking, along with calorie-filled cupcakes and ice cream, all of which Nicole eschewed the entire night, quelle surprise.

I almost wondered if Nicole, clad in an odd overall-esque jumper from the line that only added to her waifish, child-like appearance, turned over a new, mellow leaf. But luckily, I got some of Nic's signature sass and sauciness. What, you think I'm gonna let Tab be my only friggin' kick o' the evening?

"How do you define the line between sexy and slutty?" I asked the gal who sometimes teeters on the boob-exposed borderline of both definitions (depending on which booby BFF is accompanying her, ‘spose).

"I think it's all about your personality," Nic said, as if she were answering in some sort of detached third person that was wholly removed from her own virgin-vamper persona. "If you're a slut, then you're gonna look like a slut no matter what you're wearing."

Très interesting answer, don't you think? Tara Reid, care to weigh in on this one?

Oh, and I had to ask about the whole Paris reunion, too.

"Why the sudden change of heart?," I asked the gal who once said she'd never make up with P.-babe. I mean, we're all wondering, right? (Pretend with me here a li'l, okay?)

"Oh, I'm not talking about that...sorry," Nicole responded, semi-sincerely.

Oh, Nic...I think you already did, didn't you?

Nevertheless, have superfun next season, you bitchin' BFF—can't live without ya!

Movie bits here and there in the next few weeks, babes, but gotta tell you two things right now: Deborah Scranton's doc on Iraq, The War Tapes, damn well better get nominated for Best Documentary. It's an ingenious approach: Soldiers do their own documenting (with handheld cameras) of their experiences in the country our country has no biz being in. Freaky-emotional stuff.

And I'm gonna be at war with some studio idiots if they don't submit Meryl Streep for Best Supporting Actress for The Devil Wears Prada, instead of Best Actress, 'cause there ain't no chance in hell Helen Mirren ain't getting that brassy accolade for The Queen. In fact, Ms. M.'s been told just this at so many damn cocktail parties, the Brit import is starting to agree with the canapé-munching ass-kissers. But don't tell anybody I said that, wouldn't wanna hurt Hel-doll's shot at the Big O. (She certainly deserves it—nobody gives prissy English royalty a heart better than Ms. M.)

As long as we're on babes regal, the emancipated diva herself, Ms. Mariah Carey, the soul sistah of va-va-voom, was evidently not bringing it at a recent show in Anaheim, California. The hottie-tottie trampesque hon, who was prolly busy primping that mane of hers, had her entourage of fans waiting (and waiting) restlessly as they cooled their kicks for almost two hours after Chingy opened for the songstress.  

Hmmm. The vamped singa finally came out, but fiery fans were way PO'd and continued to boo, did you hear? Hideous! Let's just say Mariah didn't have her rainbows and butterflies of bliss surrounding her. 

The nervy M.C. was none too thrilled with the bitter booing, lemme tell ya. She hightailed it off stage and made those peon fans of hers wait yet again. Lesson learned here for fellow Mariah fans: Never turn your voice on her, 'cause she'll turn her phenomenal pipes off. Bitch.