It is fashion week in New York, and I am again reminded of Moliere’s brilliant satire “Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme.” The main character, an aspiring gentleman, Jourdain, is easily duped by his tailor into wearing outlandish garments after being told that they are the current fashions at court.

After seeing what the Paris and New York runways have churned out so far this year, one has to wonder if that mischievous tailor is still around. How else can one explain the ludicrous costumes that are passing for haute couture in 2005?

One designer’s entire collection at the Bryant Park event looked like something a homeless woman, who piles all her clothes on at once, would wear. Who buys these clothes anyway? Of course there are the old reliables who manage to create designs that can actually be worn in public, but even these journeyman designers’ collections contain a few clunkers that defy explanation.

Every year, more and more, styles are concocted by misogynistic designers – of all three sexes, male, female, and neuter – that only anorexic, prepubescent females have the bodies to wear. Pierre Cardin, who is selling his haute-couture business, apparently agrees. In an interview with the Delhi Telegraph in January, the 82-year-old designer said: “You no longer have the construction of a real silhouette. Before you had Balenciaga, Chanel, Courreges, Cardin. Of these names, yes Dior still exists, but it’s spectacle. It’s superb, but it’s a spectacle.

“You can’t walk in shoes like that or hats like that – to go where?” he said. “You go to dinner and you need three chairs to sit down. It’s very beautiful, but it’s not fashion – it’s something else. It’s costume.”

Actually, Monsieur Cardin, it’s not even beautiful any longer, and some of these designs look downright painful to wear.

Nearly three years ago I went to the Bryant Park tent show and was impressed by the designer Carmen Marc Valvo. I found his collection to be flattering to women and of extremely high quality. With some trepidation, I ventured to Bryant Park again this past Wednesday to see if success had spoiled him. His celebrity clientele has increased considerably since 2002.

Waiting on line is never a good way to start off an event, and the members of the security staff all wore self-important power-trip expressions, which might impress those under 25 but seriously irritated this old lady. My urge to leave grew with every passing minute I had to stand and then wait after periodically inching up just a tad.

Finally, they allowed the crowd in and I was pleased to find I had good seats in the third row. Unfortunately, I was two seats behind the actress Vanessa Williams. The former-half-hour Miss America was seated next to Met soprano Renee Fleming. The pony-tailed paparazzi flashed their cameras incessantly while interviewing the two performing artists.

What I found absolutely preposterous was that these same photo hounds spent just as much time on Lizzie Grubman, the PR personality whose biggest claim to fame is that she managed to back her SUV into a crowd of people in the Hamptons in 2001. Ah, fame!

More lights flashing!

Another celebrity, Vivica Fox, of “Kill Bill: Vol. 1” fame, has entered the building!

There was a time in my life when all this hoopla and glitzy glamour would have been entertaining and exciting, but then I grew up. It seemed as if the same sorts of characters who had sought the spotlight in my youth were in the show tent on Wednesday. One androgynous individual wore a beautiful Farrah Fawcett wig, while others wore Carnaby Street duds and struck vapid poses. Deja vu. Then the lights dimmed and the music started.

Amazingly, it was a Strauss waltz, which alternated with a staccato drumbeat and a rendition of “Windmills of Your Mind.”

I am pleased to report that Carmen Marc Valvo has continued to create beautiful designs. My favorite was a black velvet ribbon strapless gown. He is also apparently not afraid of PETA. His models wore fox stoles, mink capelets, sable jackets – and they looked fabulous!

Pierre Cardin has said haute couture is vanishing, but that does not have to be. What we need are strong women who will finally say to these designers, “We are not clowns, we are not sluts. We are women with breasts, and we want clothes that cover our midriffs. We refuse to be fools any longer. We are not Jourdain.”

Then, finally, we need a few honest tailors.