Yes, I’m in NYC. Yes, it’s 2 fucking degrees outside. And, no, I don’t know what I was thinking coming to the arctic this time of year. I was in the British West Indies, like 5 seconds ago, where it was 85 and sunny. Why, Why, Why?
The truth is that I don’t know why I’m here. I just can’t with this weather. My skin is dry, my hair is lacking volume, my shoes are taking a beating, and my nipples are tiny.
But yesterday afternoon I did emerge from the little igloo I’ve created for myself at the Gansevoort Hotel in Meatpacking, in search of some green juice. Dazed and freezing and starving, I stumbled into the McKittrick Hotel in Chelsea where I asked one of the bell boys for something to drink. He replied with a “Oh… it’s you!” which I found odd.
He led me into a dark hallway, where some others chic/freezing people were gathered. “Is this the line for juice?” I asked a little girl, who I’m pretty sure was Tavi Gevinson. “No.” She replied quietly, “This is the Alice and Olivia presentation. It’s fucking fashion week, Babe. Get your shit together.”
Holy shit. It’s Fashion Week?
I was so happy that I’d put my body through this weather torture because the presentation was EVERYTHING!
Whimsical Fairytale meets Urban Chic
My Fave Moments:
Loved her too.
And these little guys.
The show was everything I needed it to be: Beautiful, chic, scary, emotional, and filled with waiters trying to refill my glass of Rosé Champagne.