Eleanor Waldorf loses control slightly in her atelier, complaining about a misperceived difference between the '50s hemline that implies "long, dowdy poodle skirt" and the sort of '50s hemline that denotes "flirty Marilyn," then throws the dowdy garment at Jenny Humphrey in a fit of nerves. Laurel complains to her employer that their seating chart is "weak," and contains no It Girls worth mentioning: "Kirsten Dunst? So 2007. Her rehab stint barely made the radar!" Eleanor explains Blair's feeling that the "A-list girls" won't be attending because their show is scheduled at the same time as the Marc Jacobs's show. Laurel continues to complain, until Jenny produces her copy of WWD, opened to a picture of Serena, her new friend Poppy Lifton, and the unseen but implied hordes of all the bulimics, anorexics, pill-poppers, and junior alcoholics connected to them both. (Plus Miu, in my limited experience the sole sane socialite in the whole of the city.)
When one has managed to perturb and wound one's sole friend and one-time lover to the degree Daniel Humphrey has over the last year, one would be well-advised to steer clear of said ex-partner's residence -- and, as though it needs be said, one should probably avoid simply walking into said home without invitation or notice and wandering about like a yokel with boundary issues, or, as is the parlance of the day, a "Total Fucking Vanessa Abrams." Among the great many lessons our Lonelyboy has yet to truly internalize, however, this blank spot distinguishes itself among them as the most probable pretext for Dan's head getting blown off by a paranoid Texan on vacation in the Big Apple, and so we will let him dwell in blessed ignorance just that little bit longer.
Charles Bass, wearing a tiny blue-on-blue neckerchief, has never looked quite so crazy hot as he does at this moment, descending the stairs from his apartments to find a most horrific visitor in the foyer. "It's like the plague, only instead of vermin on my doorstep I get The Human Being... My sister doesn't dig stalkers," he says, and Dan responds in kind that, for once, he's not looking for Serena. Dan, presuming once again that indifference is a latent form of unfriendliness, begins by outlining what he believes Chuck's foremost issues with him personally might be: "You think I'm a boring, sheltered nobody..." Chuck sets him straight immediately: "I don't think of you." Dan, whose ears seem as deaf to his own words as Blair will eventually accuse Serena's of being, makes a most amazing pronouncement: "Of course you don't, but I've been thinking of me." Isn't that beautiful? How can such a self-conscious, insecure person be so... Unself-conscious? It boggles the mind. "I've come to the conclusion that I need to get out of my comfort zone. I need to experience new things." Had I my druthers, I would suggest Dan experience the new thing of being held underwater until he stops struggling.