Fashion magazines love the word "muse" and use it at every possible opportunity. Occasionally it makes an appearance as a non sequitur. Once used to describe the elegant female friend of a well-known designer (Babe Paley, for example, or Slim Keith), it is now extremely trendy, if not threadbare, as words go. This is not surprising since the word "muse," if one ignores its very specific meaning, can cover a lot of bases: Its link to mythology and fine art elicits glamorous thoughts; it lacks the unpleasant ring of words like "socialite" or "dilettante"; and it can be applied to anyone fashionable at the slightest provocation since in most cases, those to whom it is being applied don't actually know what it means.

Vogue is crawling with socialite "muses." Very rich person Amanda Brooks was recently written up for being Tuleh's muse. Women's Wear Daily called ubiquitous socialite Brook de Ocampo Galliano's "muse-in-training." Vanessa Getty, apparently, is muse to Michael Kors.

So what do muses do? It varies, of course, but it's hard to put a hard point on it. They inspire, they suggest, they encourage, they shop. How does one become a muse? It just happens -- if you're very well-connected, elegant, stylish, attractive, rich, aristocratic or, ideally, all of the above.

Cool parents help, too. Zoe Cassavetes and Sofia Coppola, for example, are co-muses to designer Marc Jacobs. Cassavetes is also muse to hotelier Ian Shrager.

	Collect all 10! For every season, there is a fashion muse. By Carina Chocano Communiqué You give me fever By Janelle Brown Print story E-mail story

"I always wanted to be someone's muse," Cassavetes told Women's Wear Daily last year. "When Ian approached me to be the artistic leader of his empire, I was totally flattered. It sounds glamourous, but it's a lot of hard work."

In her role as artistic leader of Shrager's empire, Cassavetes has "curated" the Hudson hotel's library to resemble an actual library featuring books and leather club chairs.

"It's so romantic and cozy in here," Cassavetes told WWD. "Everything in here is artistically interactive, from the chess tables to the music to the books."

It's not easy to get to the bottom of what a muse is when the job itself is so mercurial. In fact, it's so mercurial that sometimes it's not a job and sometimes it is. After several preliminary phone calls, I come away with this information: Designers have always had muses; muses are usually the stylish female friends who inspire them; muses embody a sort of ideal woman (and/or ideal client) onto which designers can project their ideas; muses remind gay, male designers what women look like. Also, they get their pictures in magazines; they sometimes run errands for their designers; and there appears to be no application process for the hopeful or trade union for the "hired."

Questions keep forming, like tiny bubbles: Are muses paid? Sometimes they are, though monetary compensation of muses seems to be a fairly new trend. Are muses required to be faithful to one designer, or can they flit about Paris and New York, inspiring at random? It's hard to say, though some muse "defections" have been famously acrimonious.

A cursory data search for "fashion muse" yields some information on the question of whether there is any money in being a muse, or if it's generally more of a hobby. It turns out that occasionally there is money involved, though usually only after a long dry spell (if the muse is naturally rich) or after prior gainful employment (if the muse was a stylist or editor.) After Georgina Brandolini, Valentino's unpaid muse of 22 years, left Valentino, she became the well-salaried director of the couture house Balmain. Lady Amanda Harlech was John Galliano's unpaid muse 12 years until he went to Dior. (Her job there, according to Suzy Menkes of the New York Times, sometimes involved changing clothes "four, five, sometimes six times a day" or announcing, "I like red.") Eventually, she left Galliano for Karl Lagerfeld at Chanel, where her salary is now in the six figures.

Victoire de Castellane, career muse and accessories designer, made the inverse trip from Chanel to Dior -- nearly sparking a Trojan War-like conflict in the process. Lagerfeld told Women's Wear Daily in response to de Castellane's defection to Dior: "All the people we don't make an effort to keep [at Chanel] seem to go to Dior. It's our poubelle." (That's French for garbage can.) To which a spokesman for Dior promptly replied that the company planned to sue Lagerfeld over his "abusive comments."

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