A Day in the Life During a Fashion Week Weekend

This actually covers the span of the weekend, if you’d like to get technical.


One thing Coach Taylor and I have in common besides a serious relationship with Connie Britton is that we’re dedicated to the sweat-wicking insulation properties of an Under Armour mock-neck long sleeve shirt. Like any good dad will tell you, it’s both fashionable and practical.

It’s also necessary when the Sunday of NYFW begins at a cool one degree.


But let’s start with Saturday, shall we?

(It was slightly warmer, clocking in around 15 degrees.)

10:00 AM The day began in 5 layers including a Uniqlo Heattech shirt at Adam Lippes, which always shows in a West Village townhouse right off of Washington Square Park. Pretend I didn’t say that if you’re a stalker!

Models with the best gig of the day lounged about an intricate living room, drinking cups of tea and having casual snacks in beautiful, drape-y clothes. (“What did you do today, Millicent?” “I lollygagged.”) On certain pieces: palms, ferns and other lovely things that grow in dirt, hand painted by textile-makers de Gournay. It was the only indoor plant situation I’ve ever been able to tolerate. As always: his clothes make you want to be a lady.

10:30 Leandra met me at Adam Lippes just as I was panicking from an over-layered hot flash, and then together we drove in sweaty bundles to see Paul Andrew’s shoes. The ones on his feet were great because he is now designing for men. Thick, sturdy soles, good shapes, beautiful leather — if you have large feet, I highly recommend.

I also recommend the catered salmon egg toast thing there, which I had about 10 of, and then had to ask Leandra to go get me more because I couldn’t be seen yet again reaching toward the waiter with my scissor fingers (the only way to be dexterous under my aggressively giant sleeves) like a crab who’d had one too many Pinot Grigios.

Apropos of nothing, I’m accidentally hungover while writing this, if you were wondering.

11:00 – 3:00 Dion Lee, Suno and Tibi, which you can read about here, with a bit of a break in between, which you can read about here —> Leandra and I stopped by Soho House for a quick bite and a candy feast where we were greeted by one of those things you just don’t see every day: David Schwimmer holding a baby who was sort of re-shaping his face, which just might be the subtitle of a book called, “Bucket List Agendas You Didn’t Know You Had.”

4:00 – 6:45 Home to write and reassess my life.

7:00 The top 5 saddest fashion week moments of the season occurred this evening when I went to the Saturday Night fest at Milk Studios. Leandra and I are typically partners in this but because I had to miss Baja East for personal reasons involving an over-layering and fainting mishap, our paths crossed like two ships passing (I’ll suffer you a cliché for the sake of a sailboat) and I braved Milk alone.

Fun fact: I am lactose intolerant!

It was really packed and overwhelming.

But I did have a moment to breathe at Charles Youssef, a rising designer who created a snowy Japanese zen garden. His clothes were equally relaxing to take in: thoughtful and geometric without appearing like an art school thesis, his sharp shapes were the exclamation points to his more meditative sentences.

8:00 Altuzarra, the equestrian/sort-of-Western delight of my night. Afterward, I went backstage to bully PR Consulting’s Gabby Katz (you may remember her from True Life: I Get a Power Trip — and Appropriately So — From Wearing Headsets). We went to dinner with her co-worker/our friend Mark, ate nachos and forgot that fashion week was happening.

Sunday, 9:00 AM: Tome, one of the few brands I would wake up weekend-early for sans fee if I were Naomi Campbell, which I am not.

10:00 AM: Home, plus a pedicure while I edited a story on my iPad and tried to not drop it in foot water.

2:00 to 4:30 PM: Sunday was busy, but because the shows were good, it was energizing. I saw newcomer Sies Marjan and planned my aspirational wardrobe at Derek Lam, practiced my non-stroke-y winking on the male models at J.Crew and ran like an absolute mad woman to Sally LaPointe. (I was late and had to stand but the collection was so strong that it resonated just as loudly over the tops of very tall peoples’ heads: she has found her niche in elegant knitwear and fur — the kind that makes you pray for freezing weather) and then packed myself into a clown car with a few friends from Elle.com an InStyle, one of whom taught me how to toggle accounts on Instagram. (This is good news because I always forget our MR Instagram password and excellent news for my neglected but not forgotten secret IG.)

We drove to Jonathan Simkhai, who, like Sally, showed knitwear and fur. His collection was what the meme-y millennials on Insta would caption: when you have to go to a fancy party but you a granny so you still gotta knit. (Translation: it was want-to-wear-it-now-good.)

If you have read this far and feel like something very important besides your wallet is missing, you’re not incorrect. At 11:45 AM, as per tradition, my main man picked me up, talked for about 45 minutes about parking spaces and produce sales at the grocery store, then drove me to Derek Lam.

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