I love this photo of model Laragh McCann taking her shoes off during the DKNY show. Laragh McCann is one of the It girls this season: an Irish beauty with a pale, unforgettable face, about 90 miles of legs, and a 23-and-a-half-inch waist. She made a splash in Paris last year. She was born in 1990 and at the age of 14 was a finalist in something called the Ballygowan Supermodel Search. And there she was at the DKNY show, taking off her shoes.

Well, if you were 17 and had a shoe situation, wouldn't you take them off? So instead of standing about 6'4", you're only your normal height, just a tad under 5'10." Why not?

I love this photo because it breaks the skin of perfection we get so used to. There are now loads of images and videos of models falling on the runway —a very right-now convergence of insanely high shoes and the information superrunway. Shoe malfunctions have become a subset of wardrobe malfunctions, except that they're a bit more wincing to watch. This photo, though, in particular, has lots of charm: The way she's so tall, the way her leg is swinging through the air, the Watusi way she has to maneuver, and the pristine setting combine for a darling, perfect, little eff-you to the unbroken skin of it all.

I find it kind of intimate, the opposite of the grand gesture of Marc Jacobs —whose showmanship is completely missed by some bloggers today. (One wrote, "Am I wrong? Cause I think it sucked.") Marc was making his statement on behalf of fashion, however, not against it. Laragh was making hers on behalf of not breaking an ankle. 

Certainly, it's all part of the alternative universe of Fashion Week, in which genetic anomalies clop along in shoes only a five-gaited saddlebred could wear  (they wear platform horseshoes to step higher, a dubious practice to some). Models do it with mostly straight faces, and without drawing too much attention to themselves. Anyone who's watched the embarrassing America's Top Model has received a layperson's lesson on runway anonymity: As I walk, pretend to ignore how gorgeous I am, and just pay attention to the clothes.

The other marvelous part of this eccentric equation is that, when you watch them live, already set about four feet (on average) above you on a runway, the models really do seem like giant fillies from Mars. Yet they are striding far above us in order to present clothes (presumably) to be considered for the next season's market, mostly to normal-sized women. And yet compared to these girls, even a woman who's a slim size 6 can look like a draft horse. So how will that wisp of silver satin, hanging off fawnlike shoulders, look on someone the size of, say, Hillary Clinton?

A rhetorical question. In fashion, there are two answers. The first is: "Why ask if you have to ask." The second is sometimes contained in just a look that says, "Well, you don't have to stay that big, now do you."

In the future, Queen Juliana and I are going to have a little confab on the weighty weight issue for a MOLI View. Look for it.

I know, without a doubt, and without any regret, that I am never going to wear a white jumpsuit. It is not a matter of size, actually, though white is a tricky companion to most anyone whose thighs are not sticks. No matter what Donna Karan says about jumpsuits (she loves them; always has), I can't do them. Too much work. Nor am I going to wear, at this stage in my life, a tulle prom dress such as those romping down Betsey Johnson's runway.

But if a fairy godmother floated down from the sky and insisted I make a choice between the modern-woman crispness of DKNY and the frothy-fun flaunt of Betsey, I'd take Betsey. I have, in the past, worn a heap of Betsey (in 1987 I had a favorite cotton-jersey minidress: black, skintight, festooned with giant roses in strategically unstrategic places, with matching gloves — worn to a wedding) and never regretted it. Essentially I agree with Betsey's cartwheeling approach: Underneath her exuberance and sense of fun is a very hardworking woman, but given the circumstances, why focus on that? If I have learned anything from this particular week of shows, it's that hot pink really does appeal  more than all that gray, and that nothing undoes a good plan like a better accident.

Jana Martin is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Fashion & Design.