As the media rehashes vice president Dick Cheney’s hunting accident over and over and over again, astute fashion writer I am, I can’t help but ponder –

Does this mean trapper hats are in for another few months?

My fav fur trappers are — naturally — the way ridiculous, super-sized fox fur trappers. Dig this one — large and furry beyond necessity, it’s begging for a tofu pie from PETA and to be worn ironically in warm weather with a summer-y black dress.

You could also play more practical, sans sacrificing luxe. Dig Gucci’s black logo, fur-lined trapper. It’s more subtle, sleek, and if you tire of it in a few months, you’re virtually guaranteed a decent refund via eBay.

As for me, I’m dusting off my Oscar de la Renta suit — I’m hoping Senator Hillary Clinton will have a love affair infamously documented on her apparel so that designer power suits will be back in.

Zipping around uptown Manhattan, grocery shopping in over-the-knee boots, five pounds of black eye shadow, and layers of vintage chiffon, I get looks from Gapped-out nannies and minked-out moms, finally wondering:

Aren’t they over-familiar with the boho/SoHo bum get-ups of tabloid cover girls Olsen twin #2 and Sienna Kate Moss Miller?

So I escape downtown, soy latte hunting, and soon overtaken by a fleet of flat, slouchy, misshapen boots, smothered in excesses of bloated sweaters, drowning in a sea of mismatched apparel, I was forced to question:

Is ugly the new haute?

To be sure, these symptoms of a lingering boho fever were refreshing after uptown’s uniform of highlighted hair and Birkin bags, but there’s got to be a happy marriage between downtown edge and uptown gloss, bold black and patrician platinum, the –

” — Financial District and East Village,” picks up Lisa Aviva Bleviss, designer of Aviva Underpants. Aviva Underpants — named so because Lisa sold everything but to create her business — is a collection of scarves made of Wall Street suits’ fabrics spiked with a touch of St. Marks’ antiestablishment. “I love all things classic, but also love to take them out of context,” explains Lisa. “It’s all about uptown meets downtown. Why can’t they live in harmony?”

Cut simply and cleanly, with a clever, subtle play between two textiles, Aviva Underpants is classic and unique, money meets indie. it’s –

The one thing I can wear that’ll get grins from both townhouse-owners and hipsters.

While I enjoy the occasional mocha, a pinch of espresso brownie, or a lick of fudge, I’m not much of a chocolate girl.

Nay, when in the depths of despair — my breakfast cafe is out of soy milk for my latte, or I’ve spilled my iced coffee (soy latte substitute) on my favorite dress — I turn to cheese. Fashion-y tabloids are okay, bad romance novels better, and fresh mozzarella and pumpkin and ricotta ravioli obliterate any feelings beside pure bliss.

Luxuriously comforting, richly homey, touched by a casual Euro flair, each cheese is unique in flavor, every bite soothes and excites –

“– while it feels like ‘comfort food’ it’s exquisitely beautiful and sophisticated,” says Katie Gold, designer of Velluca. Speaking not of my amore, but her own, she continues, “Velvet has a personality of its own. It catches the light, plays with it, and is extremely versatile.” Velluca — a play on the Italiano word for velvet, “velluto” — is all minky velvet stoles and beaded peacock scarves that are luxe-cozy, the perfect pick-up for an OK outfit or bad day, and the made-in-Oregon scarves look much more flattering on.

Than those pounds of cheese.

Twitching late for an afternoon meeting, second in line for a pending appointment with an administrator, I busied myself on my iBook.

Finally he oozed into the office. “All these ladies, waiting for me? How did I get so lucky?” He turned to me, the only little lady not mooning at him — “What’s that you’re doing?”

“Working,” I replied, without interrupting my manic keyboard pecking.

“What on?”

“Writing,” I said, refusing to be interrupted.

The wrinkled receptionist giggled nervously.

My twiggy five-foot-nothing frame decorated in silly dresses plays home to a much less frilly personality; sometimes I think I’m a pit bull in a poodle’s body, a Kristopher in a Krissy, or maybe more –

” — an iron fist in a velvet glove,” says designer Tu-Anh, co-founder and namesake of accessories line Tu-Anh. “It’s a description I feel suits my name perfectly. ‘Tu-Anh’ is not a typical name for a girl,” she continues. “Most Chinese and Vietnamese names are of flowers, plants, and gems. ‘Tu-Anh’ means ‘bright and charming;’ a female with this name tends to appear feminine on the outside, but masculine on the inside.”

Fittingly, Tu-Anh’s Vietnamese silk beaded scarf compromises neither beauty nor function, their mother-of-pearl flower necklace is boldly feminine, and their hand-sequinned clutches charm, but are built to last, much –

Unlike my patience, I’m afraid.

As Lacoste’s polos perfectly play each season as expected, its show flawlessly met expectations of other big-name Tent action: it started three times as late as its length; between an invite time of 7:00 pm and actual start time of 7:50 pm, a flurry of photographers busied themselves with front rowers, like Lacoste endorsee and ex-Mr. Mandy Moore, Andy Roddick.

Finally lights dimmed to rise again as a blinding white; tea party tunes were skipped as alligators went urban with the usual throbbing, party-mix bass. Striped knee-high socks, Kangol-like caps, and a single when-Michael-was-cool glove played up an ironic street chic over summer-in-Southampton simple. And as retro looks recycle themselves more often than Lacoste’s trademark polos, it’s no surprise that a lot of spring/summer 2006 looked back to, well, just a year ago: cuffed short-shorts only looked fresh as part of hip overalls, and hipster A-line minis floated around the teeny waists of catwalkers, along with bold stripes similar to that of a Sex and the City It dress a la Ella Moss.

But between seasons-ago chic and classic cash cows — like always alligator-stamped polos and windbreakers, baggy men’s button-downs and V-neck sweaters for the girls, second-skin cardigans for the men — were highlight pieces that shown brighter than Lacoste’s glowing use of neon red. A navy- and white-striped kimono robe — worn like a belted mini dress — was perfect East greets West, a belted trench — or was it a little wrap dress? — should be The Coat for spring, and a droopy cowl-neck hoodie may lead to the boycott of its plain Jane zip-up sweat cousin.

The score? Somewhere between an ace and love, love. It was hard to tell if the audience gave a standing ovation, or was just applauding as it bolted from its seats to the next show.

There are priceless necessities, the breathing of living — soy lattes, chocolate-covered espresso beans, mink caps — and there are luxe little splurges, the sugar-coating of living — a college education, three square meals a day, wearing less than 4″ of heels running around Manhattan.

And then there are indulgences earned, the dancing in life — watching 90210 reruns after cat-fighting with copywriting for 12 hours, enjoying a scalding hot shower after fueling a day on iced coffee, and decorating myself with luscious layers of gemstone-charms after a morning allowing hardly enough time for putting on my face.

“I hope that when a woman commits herself to a piece of Indulgems jewelry, she’s reminding herself that she deserves to be pampered. She’s earned it,” says designer Grace Chan. “When the purchase is a gift, the same philosophy applies to the gift recipient. The subtle sensuality in this word is only natural. Just think about the tone and look we often use when saying the word ‘Indulge.’ ”

Mmm…

“Indulge…”

… In swimming in a giant mug of foamy soy milk and chai tea and drying out on a bed of biscotti?

Hmm.

Maybe I should reconsider filing “three square meals a day” under “priceless necessities.

My mother always said I should remember that I’m a little flower, and I’d blossom into a beautiful woman.

Speeding 80 down the freeway, gracefully weaving in and out of lanes while sipping a scalding soy latte, between mentally — and under-my-breath’ly — cursing traffic, I thought: “Ah, that Mom. She said a lot of things.”

“A lot of things” also included a reminder to refrain from taking the Lawd’s name in vain. Years later, I still feel some guilt if an “Oh my gawwwd” rolls out (mostly because it hints at teenage-dom in the ‘burbs of Los Angeles).

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I remember when I was a three-year-old little lamb: putting on plastic heels and ridiculous dresses, I’d smear pots of pink blush onto my cheeks and lips while eyeing my mother’s jewelry.

And now, almost two decades later, I’m a short- and dark-haired sheep: wearing wooden platforms and dramatic frocks, everyday I smudge on piles of black eye shadow and mascara, finally wearing my mother’s bangles and earrings.

Forever darling, currently dull, somehow those precious pieces lost their mythological glitter over the years — once upon a time every ring and earring was magical and now these diamond studs are diamond duds.

And then my fairy godmom hooked it up — or I was cruising through Trunkt.com — and now I’ve De Mian Designs in my life.

Blooming necklaces of organza flowers and Swarovski crystals are enchanting, and a youthful dreaminess is channeled through grownup standards.

It’s fitting, then, that “many of our pieces are the combination of the work of two individuals,” say De Mian Designs cofounder Monika Peczeli. “Usually I pick a very ordinary material, like a fabric, and combine this with traditional jewelry material to transform a caterpillar into a butterfly.

“Eniko, on the other hand, is obsessed with geometrical forms and details. How to make things simpler. It’s like a logical game. Getting me back to reality, to put a point at the end. From the two of us comes this really unique, full of wit, but elegant jewelry.”

Full of wit and elegance. If only the jewelry came with a Prince Charming to match.

But if it’s between a boy and a bracelet, it’s clear what I’d rather have on my arm.

Call me a snob, but as far as I know, the land between the East and West coasts exists solely for the harvesting of soybeans and the manufacturing of those greens into precious non-dairy milk for my overpriced cappuccinos.

Yeah. I’m a snob.

I count three American cities as pals: there’s Manhattan, a lively cutthroat businessman, disinterested in deals not affecting him. And LA is a fabulous publicist, the best at buzzing, and its own finest client. And San Francisco?

A perfect, modern woman: all steely smarts while superbly gorgeous, solidly independent with a humanist heart, cosmo-worldly cultured but minutes away from Mother Earth roots.

And home accessories line RabLabs?

A clear-cut child of that city by the bay: using mostly polished, pure Brazilian agate — shiny, raw-edged discs for coasters, plates, napkin holders, and holiday ornaments — RabLabs highlights the dichotomy between inner and outer surfaces, between manmade and organic.

“My background is in designing consumer and medical products in the Silicon Valley,” says founder Anna Rabinowicz. “In doing this kind of work, I recognized a need in people for whom I was designing. They had houses full of mass-manufactured electronics and computers and seemed to be missing a fundamental connection with objects that had natural irregularity and individuality — objects that were made of materials that felt natural.”

And me?

A huge fan: resting happily on a perfect sliver of agate is many a mug of organic soy cappuccinos.

I’m afraid my wardrobe has never understood the difference between am or pm. I find myself hustling to the 86th and Lex stop, lacey tights and gold heels, bed-head hair and pounds of black eyeliner smudged around my eyes.

On my way to work, naturally.

Eight o’clock in the morning, of course.

It’s only swaying in the train, among the suits, I see a glance at my gilt sandals followed by a pointed look at a watch. I stare at his tie and see a plebian, Puritan pewter thing, and glance at my sandals — slices of gold, purple, and red leather make them royal.

Maybe it’s because I live million blocks north of Union Square in nanny-land, but it wasn’t until I stumbled upon Aditee handbags I found a 24-hour-golden partner-in-crime, an accessory more than sympathetic to my wardrobe’s, er, timelessness. “The costumes of ancient India were very lavish and ornate. Even a simple day in the life of a king was opulent and elaborate,” says designer Aditee Modi. “I try to bring a little of ancient royal India into our modern technology crazed lives.”

Taking my Palm Pilot out of my handcrafted, embroidered and beaded, brocaded and tasseled Aditee, I get another glance. Only this time, the suit and its eyes look tinged with green, sparked by a gleam of gold.