I have spent such a large portion of my life talking about, thinking about and consuming food that it regularly blows my mind when someone forgets to eat. I have run out of time to eat, but I have never forgotten about it. I have left my sandwich in the back seat of a cab, a slice of pizza in the hands of an untrustworthy drunk friend and a granola bar on the kitchen counter even though literally no one wakes up and goes, “Man you know what I’m craving? Honey-flavored cat litter and the opportunity to break my teeth.” When I neglect to eat I become, as those Snickers commercials suggest, something other than myself entirely. I whine. I threaten to faint. I certainly do not pay attention during fashion shows — especially because a piece of fruit could appear in the form of an appliqué or print without a single trigger warning.
Because of this I have made eating a priority this Spring 2017 fashion week, particularly over the weekend.
7:00 A.M. I woke up with plans to do big things today: to get next week’s writing out of the way early, pick up dry cleaning and be a productive member of society. As they say in the old country, it’s the thought that counts.
8:00 A.M. Let’s try this again. I walked to Toby’s in my pajamas for coffee and ricotta on sourdough toast with honey and almond slivers (it’s the shiiiiiiitttt) — the kind of pajamas that are not cool to wear to fancy dinners and would make your boss ask HR to monitor your life habits — went back home and got dressed for a Paul Andrew presentation. Getting dressed was blessedly easy because I am currently in the midst of a fun experiment where I wear exactly what Allure‘s Accessories Director Nicole Chapoteau tells me to wear. If you are riveted then I have done my job. Leave them wanting more.
10:00 A.M. Paul Andrew, who was recently announced as the new women’s footwear designer at Salvatore Ferragamo, showed a strong collection Spring ’17 shoes that were Céline-y in good way because A) what isn’t these days and B) it’s hard to detach a reference once you’ve made note of it. His basket-weave ballet flats are the shoes everyone will have next year. My favorite season of his so far.
After, I crossed over the West Side Highway where I ran into Katie Sturino who was driving and stopped traffic to wave for my Instagram story. (That is my new friendship requirement: cause a roadblock for the betterment of my social media accounts or you’re dead to me.) There was a breeze, there were sailboats, I was hungry. And so I walked to Adam Lippes. In addition to great design, his presentations are known for their pastries.
These shoes are part of the Adam Lippes x Malone Soulier collaboration and they are insane and I LOVE THEM.
12:30 P.M. Lunch at Sant Ambroeus outside with Leandra where we talked reviews and strategy. Regarding food for me: smoked salmon, avocado, sunflower bread and Italian whipped cream cheese.
2:00 P.M. Tibi, which I loved. I loved the clothes and that so many friends were there and that I got to see Nahman-comma-Haley. Amy Smilovic draws the crowd because everyone wants to to wear what she makes, and she makes it so that they can.
3:00 P.M. Due to traffic and a bit of last-minute scheduling confusion, I did not attend Dion Lee, but I did head home to write about it. After, Leandra and I had round two of snacks before Jonathan Simkhai at this Mediterranean place where I really got into the relaxed groove and left my iPad — which I only realized I left once I found myself standing in the middle of this DISGUSTING “frozen yogurt place” on a street I won’t even tell you about so that you don’t try to go (fine it’s on Spring and 6th Avenue right next to the subway stop; they sell sugar-free candy too if you enjoy bloating for the sake of skirting cavities?).
A blackout followed shortly after. Speaking of sugar, listen to me: never let me have rainbow colored sprinkles. I cannot be trusted and my insulin levels literally cannot process them.
6:00 P.M. Home to write but instead I took a nap. It was weird of me. I hate napping. I woke up in a cold sweat and thought it was Monday. Worked until 9 P.M. (honestly this is all so thrilling I am wondering whether or not you’ve had a sensory-overload-induced seizure yet). Obviously I ate a bowl of Thai food. I couldn’t finish the rest because of a 9:30 dinner, so put in the fridge for later then threatened my roommate not to eat it. Is this what it’s like to be a wolf? Always protecting your food? Worrying about it when you’re not in front of it?
9:30 P.M. Dinner with my friend Phil who is in town from Brazil, Oliver who lives here but is never around plus a bunch of other cool people at an Italian restaurant. You will either be proud of me or disappointed: I did not eat. Had a glass of wine, though.
11:00 P.M. Hauled ass uptown in a cab to Pier Nine and Three Quarters for the Alexander Wang afterparty which was, to quote dads in traffic worldwide, a madhouse. I saw my friends, stayed for twenty minutes, got a Slurpee, saw none of the performers although the lineup was apparently stupid to miss, felt my feet start to flip me off and left — but not without first grabbing McDonald’s French fries, which were being handed out as party favors. I’m sure it was ironic but can salt that good ever be ingested inauthentically?
12:00 A.M. Forgot I had to finish writing something. A swan dive into bed followed shortly.
7:00 A.M. I am but a farmer without a rooster. Coffee, depressing oatmeal because I was trying to make one smart choice today, review time. (I was writing Alexander Wang.) Just as a I finished, my dad showed up. Eric Diamond: My personal Uber who actually prefers when I sit in the front seat.
12:00 P.M. Tome! It made me so happy.
1:00 P.M. You will never guess what happened next: Leandra, Danielle Prescod and I went to Tipsy Parson in Chelsea. I had scrambled eggs on a biscuit with bacon and spicy jelly. I wanted to fall into a coma shortly after but La Perla was calling me!
2:00 P.M. I crashed Danielle’s La Perla appointment (they’re doing Ready-to-Wear now and had knit shorts plus the world’s sexiest blazer ever) and lounged around on the couch, which wasn’t not a chaise, with my shirt off (because I tried on the blazer then got hot) as though I were Eloise at the Plaza on an errand with her mother.
2:30 P.M. J.Crew, where life lessons were learned and my old boss from New York, Jenny Kang, one of my most favorite humans ever, was modeling. She had a jumpsuit on and a baby in her belly. Earlier that week, she told me that that baby is the size of a head of cauliflower. Do not worry. I was thinking about food, but not about eating her baby.
3:00 P.M. Home to write, sit in front of the air conditioning, listen to this one Frank Ocean song on repeat and then pick myself right back up again for Altuzarra — but just before I walked out the door I remembered something: the Thai food.
Roommate did not eat it (which means his life was spared), so I did. Win/win.
5:00 P.M. Altuzarra. Fruits on the runway were the cherry on top of the collection. Do I write headlines professionally? Maybe.
6:00 P.M. Ask and ye shall receive: I told Shiona Turini, Leandra ‘Top Lip’ Medine and Nicole Chapoteau that I was hungry, so we got a bite to eat. Our drinks looked like they belonged on Sex and the City which, if you read the review I linked to above, was very theme-of-the-day.
7:00 P.M. Prabal followed, and then, finally, a dinner for Cushnie et Ochs at Kola House where I spent the whole time talking about psychics.
11:00 P.M. Home, where I swan dove yet again into bed before realizing I still had to write reviews and this post, both for Monday morning. I set my alarm knowing well the AM was going to be a race to the finish that would likely break my damn fingertips, but what’s fashion week without a little drama?