It is 6:45 a.m. and I have just risen from a slumber. Abie is not next to me, which makes me feel equal parts content (I can stretch myself out horizontally!) and alone (where the fuck is he? It’s 6:45). Having come off a really nice Sunday (I had half a watermelon margarita near the West Side Highway at Golden Hour, then ate truffle fries for dinner, which I didn’t have to pay for, at The Beatrice Inn), I feel exceptionally eager to spring out of bed — and there he is! Eating toast in his sweatpants in the middle of the kitchen while reading WWD.
I make a coffee and pour mushroom powder (the healthy kind!) into it before I toast my own piece of bread and lather cashew butter on it like it’s the g-dang glaze on a Krispy Kreme donut. It just occurred to me that KK should sue the Kardashians, but I digress.
9:05 a.m.: I just got home from a workout. I refused to do leg lifts and dutifully wouldn’t get on a treadmill either so what I mean when I say this is I just got home from an hour-long conversation about feelings with a trainer. My first show today is Carolina Herrera uptown at the Frick Collection, but first, I must make myself another beaded bracelet. I forgot to take a picture while I was making it, so here’s one from the car, where I’m writing this at 9:54 a.m., for posterity.
As you can see, it’s Man Repeller colors.
11:04 a.m.: Well, there were lots of jazz shoes at Carolina Herrera and black-and-white striped dresses which you could wear formally if you wanted, but seem more fun to consider for dance recitals. As for The Row, shown at the BrAnD new Madison Avenue shop, which is located at the intersection of Fancy Pants and Heaven, there are literal fancy pants for the taking. That and the tunics, poplin shirt dresses and a triad of spaghetti strap tops that look more like elaborate dresses from the front but are actually simple bustiers from behind.
I’m still uptown, about a block from my in-laws and two from my parents. I won’t tell either of them, but I will hit up my favorite coffee shop. Hold plz.
11:10 a.m.: In the last six minutes, I have consumed the vast majority of a small iced coffee (toasted almond flavor) and one of those insane cookies that claims to be healthy but tastes too much like tiramisu for that to be true. Also, I just sent a new episode of Monocycle to our editor, Quazzy, to edit. It’s called “Uterus Envy.” Excited?
Now we go to Rosie! I’ve been spending a shit ton of time there all week like I always do before the presentation and let me just tell you, there are embellished plastic “Thank You” bag T-shirts for the taking. Need I say more?
2:23 p.m.: Sorry, did you think I blacked out? I didn’t. On the contrary: I went to see Rosie’s collection on the west side, and then I went to Proenza and at both shows was like, is it just me is, or is shit looking mad self-referential lately? I sat in between Pernille Teisbaek and Eva Chen at Proenza, who are both pregnant, so I’m hoping their uteruses (uterii) sent a smoke signal to mine, etc. Now I’m eating a salad with salmon on the side. Let me show it to you.
4:35 p.m.: Update: I didn’t day drink. I know you didn’t ask if I was going to, but I thought about it because there were around 65 half-naked people at the place I ate lunch, which made me wonder…don’t you have jobs? Then I thought to myself, I want to be all about that freelance lyfe.
Anyway, after our casual encounter over salmon, I went to Phillip Lim, then got to Oscar de la Renta too late, came home to change because my legs were hot and discovered a darling pair of black satin slides waiting for retrieval in my building’s lobby.
The docket for the rest of today includes Thom Browne (show), Edie Parker (presentation), a book signing with OG Grace Coddington at the Calvin Klein store uptown and Rag & Bone (another show). Let’s agree to speed through all of it unless something astounding comes up.
10:58 pm: As suspected, nothing astounding did come up, but you should know there was an exquisite falafel sandwich acquired somewhere between Morton and Perry Streets around 7 p.m.
I wish this ending was more dramatic than me standing legs wide open over my kitchen counter while typing, but I’m not wearing a top and live on the second floor, so there is a 0% chance someone is not looking into my apartment wondering what the naked girl who is yawning and typing is doing right now. Here’s hoping s/he reads this.
Feature collage by Emily Zirimis.