A charity auction is intended to be the sort of event where people reap status points by paying way too much for things. It's also the kind of thing our superwealthy friends do for fun (and moral satisfation, of course). But, after a month of the greatest wealth destruction since the Hoover administration, does the upper class still have it in them? A swank gathering last night in Manhattan called Be Bare offered a mildly decadent spin on the traditional charity auction—in this case people were bidding to have models disrobe on stage, with the monies going to benefit blind children in Vietnam and poor families in rural Madagascar—and seemed like it might offer a barometer on the state of things.

And you'd think that a gaggle of imported models traipsing around in next to nothing is always ample reason to overpay, right? Not exactly.

On the one hand, Rose Charities, which hosted the event, had enlisted designers like Vivienne Westwood and Derek Lam to donate wondrously lavish garments, and comely young models had graciously agreed to strip them off and hand them to the winning bidders before strutting about in their skivvies (or less) for a little while. It was like a burlesque show you could feel virtuous about watching.

But on that other, more palmy hand, many of the hedge-fund types who otherwise might be inclined to drop 10 Gs to a glimpse a cute model's tits—as lightly as, say, an impecunious magazine editor might drop a dollar bill into a tip cup at a charity event in order to assure free-flowing complimentary vodka sodas—were apparently either working late trying to save their firms or were out getting smashed to escape the desolation of their newfound poverty.

When the first model appeared, it briefly seemed that all would be well. A beefy fellow shelled out $2,500. But the chill hit the room when the second model strode out on the runway. She was entirely attractive—a high-cheekboned, dark-haired specimen of Slavic female perfection. She wore a cute designer smock that retailed for a four figure sum. The bidding opened at a conservative $700. It was what one might pay for the dress at a blowout sale, minus getting to see the model's assets, and minus the chance to be a big swinging dick in front of a couple hundred rich people and taste-maker types. But there was only silence. It quickly metasticized into full-fledged awkwardness after the opening bid was dropped to $500. The silence continued and the model looked like she was about to cry. Finally someone cracked and offered $300. It was the sole bid. The model stripped uncomfortably. Everyone watched uncomfortably.

The event was brilliantly put together and there were a few flickers of flamboyant generosity for the excellent and eminently worthy causes that Rose Charities supports. But for the most part, the charity markets seemed as frozen as the credit markets. As a friend and I slipped out toward the end of the proceedings, we agreed that if the auction had taken place last year, the final bids would have been several times higher. One of the models happened to be leaving at the same time, dressed again, now in street clothes. She kept her head down and walked fast down 15th Street. She didn't look like she was headed to an afterparty.