Glamour readers, I just have to tell you about the utterly amazing day I had yesterday. It all started when I woke up, still totally exhausted. Then I remembered where I was and what day it was—the day I get to go to Marc Jacobs' show!

I quickly jumped out of bed, got dressed and then teetered down the street in my way-too-high boots. I grabbed my must-have cup of coffee at a local hangout in Williamsburg, where I live, and found myself finally coming to life. I hit up one casting appointment in the city and while I was waiting for my appointment to start, my phone rang. It was designer Rad Hourani on the line. Not just any designer but one of my absolute favorites in NYC! (I met him years ago when he was still styling, before he was the rising superstar that he is today.) Rad was calling to invite me to his show and even offered to lend me an outfit for it—plus a front-row seat! I couldn’t resist his offer and so my very patient and accommodating agent moved my schedule around. While doing so, my agent gave me another piece of amazing news: I will be walking in the Mark Fast show in London next week! What a thrill!

After jumping in another cab, I arrived at Rad’s show. The scene was absolutely insane: Everyone in the audience blended in with one another, since they were all wearing androgynous all-black garb. I saw lots of men in heels while the rest of the crowd wore layers of torn fabric—all pieces artfully ripped just so to give it the carefree edge that Rad (and his admirers) are known for. I saw fashion kindred spirits everywhere but instead of stopping to take in the view, I ran back stage to change into my Hourani outfit: Tight cotton pants with zig-zag zippers everywhere, a blouse with shiny metal strings hanging down the front, and a multi-layered sweater/jacket combo that can also be turned into a vest. I would wear this outfit EVERYWHERE! I am in love.

As for the show, it was incredible! Models with somber, haunting eyes walked languidly down the runway, with a quiet, enigmatic energy that was totally captivating. (None of the smile-y upbeat looks you might see on other runways.) I couldn’t tear my eyes away from all of the beautiful clothes. The line between male and female blended together. All the layers—including various cloths and leathers—came together in a sort of cascade of fabric, creating unique shapes that would be eye-catching no matter your size—or sex for that matter. This designer is the future of fashion and one to watch!

Later on in the day, I met with the Glamour girls at Dos Caminos and was totally famished. (Yes, models do eat--at least I do! Running around all day builds up a voracious appetite.) When I sat down, I had to fight the urge to jump across Glamour editor in chief Cindi Leive and dig into the guacamole! Instead, I patiently (and happily) tucked into my fish tacos—all while taking special care not to smear my carefully applied, bright red lipstick. (Thankfully there was good light in the bathroom so I could do a spot-check before I left.)

After dinner, we set off to the Marc Jacobs show. I tried to be cool, calm and collected, but when I looked down at my coveted MJ ticket, I let out a yelp when I saw my seat assignment: Row 1! When we got inside the show venue, I whispered to Cindi that it felt like a fashion pep rally! Fabulousness swirled around me and I had to refrain from pinching myself once again. Before I could take everything in, a voice on the loud speaker (which reminded me of the voice of Oz) asked us to please be seated as the show was about to begin.

What I saw afterward will stay ingrained in my mind forever. When the music started ("Some Where Over the Rainbow" which sounded like some hypnotic lullaby) the paper curtain around what looked like a large cardboard box at the end of the runway was totally ripped away. There, inside the box and behind the “curtain,” were dozens of models, all dressed and ready to go--inspiring all of us (well, at least me) with their whimsical looks and pouty lips.

I don’t like things that are too perfect,” says designer Isabel Marant. On this sunny weekday morning, the high priestess of French indie fashion is inspecting the window displays of her first U.S. boutique, a 2,500-square-foot showplace on the corner of Broome and Greene streets in New York City’s SoHo. Standing with her arms crossed and her head cocked to one side, her hair mussed up into this season’s topknot, Marant is sporting a studded denim shirt under a nubby tweed jacket; a flippant, pleated miniskirt made from what looks like it could be a very expensive dish towel; and a pair of shit-kicker work boots. A variation on the laid-back glamour she perfected years ago, it’s a look that fashion insiders can’t get enough of for fall. Nor can older gentlemen, evidently. When one passes by and openly admires the coltish legs displayed beneath her barely there hemline, Marant shrugs, unfazed. “I’m lucky,” she says. “I have great legs.”

But her sulky French pout dissolves into a disarming grin when conversation turns to her recent leap in popularity. “I’ve been doing what I do for 20 years,” she says, with another of those shrugs. “When Tom Ford was doing very sexy, I was doing the opposite. I never follow trends.” Marant’s genius lies in the artful mismatch of her ethnic-inspired wovens and oft-borrowed utilitarian items—mechanics’ suits, sweatshirts—to achieve a look that’s more playful than pulled together: python-print pants, say, with an oversize herringbone jacket, a slightly garish print blouse, and a pair of studded ankle boots. “I always liked classic,” the 40-year-old says. “But when you are too dressed, it’s too conservative.” It’s a uniform that is just polished enough for the office but never looks contrived. Perfect for the sort of girl who works a high-power job but spends her weekends in a cabin in the woods without electricity or water, as Marant does in Fountainebleau, France, with her husband, accessories designer Jerome Dreyfuss, and their seven-year-old son, Tal.

The daughter of a German model and a French businessman, Marant grew up in Paris and by her teens was making clothes for herself and her friends on a sewing machine that was a gift from her father. After graduating from Paris’ Studio Berçot in 1987, she collaborated with Michel Klein, worked with Yohji Yamamoto and Chloé, and launched a jewelry line in 1989; by 20, she had also started a knitwear company with her mother. Three years later, in 1994, that line evolved into the Isabel Marant label, an expression of both her eclectic nature and eternal wanderlust. “At 16, my dream was to travel the world,” she says. “My first trip, I went to Ghana for three months, but I told my dad I went to England.”

She tries on everything herself before deciding whether or not to send it down the runway. “My customer is looking for something that is comfortable, easy to wear, but slightly different. It’s myself, really,” says the designer, who has the real-world beauty of Jane Birkin or Isabelle Huppert and the sprightliness of a prepubescent minx (hence the miniskirt). Marant shares her appeal with the ultracool beauties who wear her clothes—women who prefer a not-so-obvious glamour, such as Miranda Kerr and early adopter Kirsten Dunst. Marant’s fans range in age from 16 to 70 and include the former first lady of France Bernadette Chirac, who adores her blouses. “Older customers wear the same jacket, but with a more refined skirt,” the designer says. “I put it together, but I like that women take it apart.”

For fall, Marant, too, is striving for something a little more grown up. “At 20, style comes first,” she says. “At 40, you are much more interested in good fabric and precise tailoring.” This season, her clothes are simpler and cleaner, a little less boho, but with that slightly haughty flirtatiousness still intact. They’re inspired by “the way intellectuals dressed in St. Germain in Paris from the end of the ’50s until 1968,” she says. “Beauvoir, Sagan. They all wore the same thing every day. Supersimple but always precise—the right trouser, the right shoe, the well-cut coat.” Fall’s easy high-waisted pleated pants and prep-school blazers also prove to be perfect transition foils for her spring/summer collection of Gustav Klimt–inspired prints. “Everything goes with everything,” says Marant, who has always valued that carefree continuity; if you’ve collected her clothes for years, you should find yourself with a wardrobe full of seasonless interchangeable pieces.