The Sun-Herald

LOWDOWN

VISITING the sick normally involves hospitals, an increased risk of golden staph, grapes and a hatchet-faced nurse telling you no, you can't bring that whisky in. It is not a party.

Unless you're Perez Hilton, that is. The celebrity blogger and pneumonia victim was seriously ailing. There was talk he was wheelchair-bound, and he hadn't emerged from his room all week. But against doctors' advice, he was determined to have his Sydney bash.
I'd never seen an invalid at Zeta Bar. Casualties happen, but the truly sick tend to stay away from DJs, vodka cocktails and people from Fashion Week.
Everything had been set up especially for the patient. A roped-off VIP area had become a ward, complete with huge bed and minibar serving medicinal drinks: OGO oxygenated water, Michelob low-carb beer and a red potion with clouds billowing out. "Don't eat the dry ice," a waitress warned. Yikes.
Our host had a shocking cough and really did look crook. "I've got to have a lung X-ray before I fly home," he told me, as his mobile rang. "That's my mum," he said. "I can't answer because she'll hear I'm at a party. I promised her I'd stay in bed."
Well, technically he was in bed. Except this bed was in a bar with a fashion show going on and it had drag queen Courtney Act bouncing around on the end of it. It's unlikely this would have pleased mum.
I like Perez. He's gentler than his blog, loves Sydney and was happy to let everyone clamber all over his bed. We had a long chat propped up on the pillows. There was just one problem - all the while I just couldn't stop thinking: germs. And it wasn't my imagination; people were developing symptoms.
"I'm coughing," said a friend. "I'm dizzy," said a fashion person, although she was probably just hungry.
Had Perez started an epidemic? I roamed the bar to investigate and found shoe queen Terry Biviano. Sure enough, she was pairing pallor with her stilettos. "I've got a fever," she said. "I was in bed with it all yesterday, and missed the fashion shows."
We looked around. Forget corsets or codpieces; right now you were no one without a condition. This year's Fashion Week trend was malaise.
I affected a limp and headed back to Perez's bed, but he'd retired at last and only the Veronicas remained. They were having a pillow fight and looked unfashionably healthy.
"Sickness is the new black!" I declared, and then had to go home and lie down. Style leaders, hook up your drips, put on your pyjamas and remember - you heard it here first.