I accidentally pierced my ear this morning, in a fun turn of fashion week events. Here’s how that even happened:
6:50 a.m.
I wake up feeling victorious. I finished horoscopes last night, the bane/great love of my existence. I answer emails, shower while listening to The Daily and think about how it might be possible to get Michael Barbaro to record my voicemail message for me.
8:15 a.m.
Somehow already wildly behind schedule. I have to be in the car at 8:25 a.m. to head to Leandra’s to pick her up. It’s very 2005 carpool of us. If we were more Scandinavian about it all, I supposed we’d share a tandem bike.
8:30 a.m.
By a random act of god, I chose my outfit the night before. What I did not leave myself time for was the jewelry portion of the morning, so I grabbed a handful of things, including earrings, and ran down the stairs in a way that wasn’t rude to anyone who might live underneath them.
9:00 a.m.
I have Leandra. (To the tune of “I have Patrick!”)
9:05 a.m.
…Um.
9:06 a.m.
If you have ever accidentally put a tampon in after you already have a tampon in then you know that accidents happen. This is the only explanation I have for you as to how the accidental piercing thing happened at 9:05 a.m. One minute I thought I was putting a Roxanne Assoulin earring into the piercing that normally houses a gold Gag & Lou star, and the next thing I know I was reopening a piercing that hasn’t been utilized since high school.
Okay.
10:00 a.m.
Waiting for Tory Burch to begin in the garden of the Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. I drink an espresso, catch up with friends, tell everyone about my rogue piercing extravaganza and decide the whole experience is so civilized and sunny, I should consider venturing uptown more often for things other than dentist appointments.
10:45 a.m.
In the car, writing a sentence about the collection. Leandra gives herself a formal up-do by accident.
11:30 a.m.
Kate Spade has taken over the Grand Central Oyster Bar, which takes my good mood and amplifies it by a billion. First of all, there are oysters. There are also hot beignets. Because the collection is inspired by New Orleans, there is an ode-to-New Orleans marching band. There is a trench coat with puffy sleeves that I need and a gingham two-piece that I want very badly. Issa Rae is mingling among guests. I never want to leave.
12:30 p.m.
Too bad! I left. I am now at a Calvin Klein re-see where I admire the clothes, fresh off the runway, in person. It’s a reminder that for as important as it is to see clothes in motion, it’s a game-changer to see them up close. It’s here that creativity is tested on craftsmanship, and Raf Simons is as much an artist as he is a mathematician.
Hot pink crystal-emblazoned tall boots. Did you see them?!
1:00 p.m. – 2:30 p.m.
A bit of a break here. I use this time to answer emails and do a final read on stories that need to go live, like this one that features nine different perspectives of people who will be directly affected if the DACA program ends. Then I catch up on Leandra’s review of Calvin Klein.
3:00 p.m. – 4:00 p.m.
Evelyn Ngugi is in town for work with her team. I’m not so sure I’ve been this excited to meet someone off the internet in real life in a very long time. It is thrilling. We have lunch (?) (I eat a Nutella crepe) at Buvette in the West Village, share various social media laments as though YouTube and Facebook were our children and we, the weary but proud parents watching them run around, screaming, our tired butts resting on playground benches. I had too much coffee prior to this and am definitely scaring everyone.
4:00 p.m. – 5:00 p.m.
It’s just me and my laptop now, powering through my to-do list, and by powering I mean everything is taking so much longer than I anticipated…and now I’m almost late.
5:20 p.m.
I arrive at 5:20 for a 5 p.m. Monse show, which is about five minutes “actually late” by fashion week standards, yet I am not the latest. The show begins around 5:45 p.m. after Nikki Minaj gets to her seat (to her credit, this venue may have thrown her off because it’s an unusual NYFW location).
6:00 p.m.
I run into Rebecca Ramsey. She is like my big sister and she is also Fashion Director of New York Magazine and The Cut, though I am not sure if she’s updated her LinkedIn with our sibling status yet. It’s probably pending. She has an hour to kill and I don’t feel like going home yet, because going home means doing homework. We get a drink and fries at a very midtown rooftop bar. There is an outdoor TV playing golf and a man behind her doing tricks with his vape pen. It is so weird. I am very happy.
7:30 p.m.
And then I walked home. It felt like a million blocks but my shoes were comfortable and I needed to get some calls out of the way. I have decided to skip a fashion week party that I know will be fun but I need to be an adult this evening. Now here I am, writing, so excited to finish this sentence because, although this was an abnormally relaxed fashion week Friday, I can’t wait to close my laptop and rub some alcohol on my new ear piercing.
Photos by Amelia Diamond.
