I hope all of you are happy and healthy and snug in your homes. I'm enroute from the bosom of my mother and father in snowy, arctic Massachusetts to NYC and my nest in Brooklyn Heights. With little contact with the outside world for the last several days, I've spent my time going through the stacks of magazines that have collected dust since the days I bought them in 1978. Vogue used to be a large format magazine with all sorts of fascinating clothes and designers. It was a mysterious memory tour back to the days that inspired me to run headlong into the glamorous world of fashion. I've been suspended in a time warp that was peopled by the likes of a boyish Calvin making the most beautiful clothes, Blass all bombast and swagger, Trigere cutting anything in bias that wasn't nailed down and other stars we've lost track of like: Gil Aimbez, Julio, Clovis Ruffin, Chester Weinberg, Giorgio di Sant Angelo and Mary McFadden, just to name a few. Oscar was trading on his Latin lover good looks and cloying charm, Galanos and Beene were just hitting their stride and Halston was making everyone stand up and listen. Those were heady days. Now back to the future and all of its uncertainty. I'm off to Vienna and Prague tomorrow if the coming blizzard doesn't ground us indefinitely. I'll be in touch with you all with the report from uber stylish Vienna and the glory that is Prague. Mommie gave me the Pucci book for Christmas and it's a beauty. I had to buy another seat on this train just for it but it's worth it. Take it easy and enjoy the holiday. Remember, if nothing else, it's only a dress. And in case some of you are wondering, I know it too.