The real journey, this season, started the afternoon before the first official day of New York Fashion Week. I barely make my train, so indulging in 20 chicken McNuggets is entirely out of the question. Off to a rough start…
I end up with a $5 Amtrak flavored hot dog – no regrets, homie – and a Twix. Satisfied. This year there was no need to deboard, wait for 30 minutes, and board another train. Plenty of time to get a little work done. Or drink white wine. We’ll have plenty of free time for work later. Right…
We make it to New York, a little tipsy and in one piece. It’s so good to be back in this magical cit- My thoughts of merriment are quickly interupted by the rudest New Yorker in the history of New York otherwise known as one of those “taxi stand” individuals. Pound sand, asshole.
By the time we get to our hotel, we’ve missed an event and decide to head straight to dinner. I unpack my toiletries in record time, throw on a dark lip, and head over to a spot in Soho to meet my favorite New York ladies. We order season fries. We order them twice more. I can’t help but eavesdrop on what I can only assume is a very high end prostitute sitting at a table with 5 men. This will end interestingly… More Malbec, please.
Jammies + Bravo and a quick look at what Day 1 has in store then it’s off to bed. Who needs 8 hours of sleep? Well, me. But not this week.
Day 1 begins with a quick trip to the most mediocre DryBar appointment of my life. There are many, many reasons why I’d enjoy living in New York. The Upper West Side DryBar experience is not one of them. I’ll stick with my Georgetown homegirls, thank you very much. The moral of this story is that I’m too much of a control freak to have anyone other than myself or my regular stylist do my hair. Sorry not sorry. Your hair is your best accessory. So much for this place being a few blocks from the hotel – I won’t be going back.
We head to the H&M showroom where I want one of everything. Legitimately. Their newest stuff hits stores March 12 and it’s a whole new look. I can’t wait for you guys to get your hands on it.
At this point I’ve realized I’ve only consumed water and coffee this morning so to Wendy’s I go for chicken nuggets and a junior bacon cheeseburger because, America. I save the JBC to eat in bed whilst I nap. It’s my Fashion Week and I can eat in bed if I want to.
I make the near impossible decision between two shows and determine it’s best to miss my favorite show for my favorite designer. After all, Marissa Webb’s F/W14 runway show is hanging in a sad IKEA frame in my closet to serve as daily inspiration. Why ON EARTH would I miss this show? $800 cab ride to Chelsea, please. I meet up with Emily and we hatch a quick plan since we both have standing tickets. The PR girls are super chill at this show and let us fill in the empty seats almost immediately. I snag one in the second row. Thanks to those 6 people from the NY Post for not showing up. LYLAS. The show was exactly what I expected – pure genius. I still can’t believe I was able to attend. A billion thanks to whatever PR person made that possible. You da best.
Tips on how to take Marissa Webb’s runway looks from the tents to reality here.
Focus less on the terribad quality of this picture and more on the OMG that is the white, black, and leather of this look.
Em and I head a few blocks over to the Uye Surana showroom to stock up on a few delicate unders. After all, Saturday is Valentine’s Day.
Back uptown for the Rachel Antonoff show, courtesy of South Moon Under. My Uber driver (you’re cute if you thought I’d get a cab from the Garment District at 5pm) drops me off in the middle of the street. Um. Help. It’s in a school gymnasium. A child with a musical instrument is standing outside. She’ll know. I befriend her. I was right. She does know. I pop inside to find 100 people slammed into a space that holds mayyyybe 70. The models are set up like a science fair. This is weird. And cool. Blushes paired with grays are a thing again, evidently. I’m into it.
I give myself a little pat on the back for showing up to a South Moon Under brand presentation in South Moon Under. 10 points to you, Moynahan.
There’s an hour of downtime before we need to be at dinner. Nap or shopping? We go with the latter since I still need to find one more piece to complete my Day 2 look. God bless NYC store hours. After dinner, I sneak behind a table of Russians to take in the view snap this pic – thanks, Russians.
It’s maybe 20 degrees outside plus a windchill. That wind though. I run up Columbus circle knowing a warm bed and a moisturizing face mask await but not before I duck into Duane Reade for a party sized bag of crunchy Cheetos. The essentials.