I’m up! Again! And have to pee! Again! For the seventh time! Since! 10 p.m. last night! But who’s counting? Today is ~my day~ to execute an outfit recipe on Man Repeller’s Instagram account but I have to be a little strategic about how I do this because I’m not leaving home until like, 11 a.m., and have a meeting here from 9:45 to 10:45, and 15 minutes is not enough time to bankroll an entire story, particularly when it takes 15 minutes to put on socks, g-dang it, so, should I fake it?
I’m faking it, and so far have already fulfilled four — count them, four — stories. Granted, one was of my toilet, but that is a sacred seat these days, I’ll have you know.
Story complete, and in case you missed it, I put on two outfits: one included a wool leopard coat with leggings and sneakers and a turtleneck, and the other included black knit pants and another turtleneck (also black) with a sleeveless trench coat and the same sneakers from the first lewk. As it turned out, I wore neither of these looks. I did wear this, though. I’m really hungry, btw.
Don’t worry, I’ve already toasted two slices of Ezekiel toast and now I’m lathering them with the remains of a gigantic vat of almond butter that I cannot believe took Abie just two weeks to complete. This thing is truly a vat people — so damn huge. Like a liter and a half of water, but in almond butter. I wish I were eating a cookie.
Meeting time! But first, I have to pee.
I literally have no idea what we just talked about. I can’t even remember my own name — either I need a coffee, pregnancy brain is a real thing, or these shoes are tied on too tight and I should change again or at least wear more sensible footwear. Yes, sneakers are a better idea. I am going to put on sneakers.
I just arrived at Rosie Assoulin’s presentation; this is the first fashion week event I have attended all week and I think I forgot how to socialize. I saw the collection over the weekend when I stopped by Rosie’s studio for fittings so I’m kind of not looking at the clothes even though it has to be said, these are the most joyful garments out there; the colors, the crystals, the way they’re constructed are truly for a woman who wants to have fun with her wears. <– See that sentence? That’s how you know I haven’t been at fashion week. It was empty and boring and I meant everything I said but did you feel it in your guts? I think not.
My friend Nasiba is wearing this adorable gold Chanel barrette in her hair. Ruthie Friedlander had a cute one in last September during fashion week which, if you remember, made it into this very story archetype. Apparently, there is a large arsenal of them occupying eBay, so I’m going to get on that shit later tonight but now I have to head to the office because I have a call at 1 p.m.
I’m so glad I wore sneakers — that should have been about a 15-minute walk but instead it was closer to 30. I am going to miss carrying around this awesome 30-pound weight in two weeks. I’m not being sarcastic.
I wonder how quickly I can order lunch and pee again before I have to get on my 1 p.m. call. I hit up Caviar, search for Dimes and select the salmon lunch special and add a hard boiled egg and avocado because healthy fats and protein, people! My friend Elizabeth is convinced that her daughter is a genius because she overdosed on omega 3’s a.k.a. salmon while she was pregnant. I’m not necessarily trying to impose genius on my children (they are who they are and I love them anyway!), but you know, if I can help them with their pursuit of diplomas from Princeton, why not?
I remember everything about that call! Which is perhaps the sign of a good conversation? We’re hiring for like, five roles at Man Repeller currently so the majority of my time these days is spent vetting candidates and this weird thing happens to me before every single interview or meeting where I tense up and my ass cheeks clench and my heart goes black and I feel like, Why am I qualified to do this? Let me live! Let me write! Then I come out of the meeting feeling like, I really like talking to people! And this vicious cycle repeats itself over and over.
Food’s here! I have to pee.
Food’s gone. Do you want to see what’s happening at my desk? On it there are several new things: the invite to Calvin Klein’s show, which is a bag of popcorn (are we going to the theater, or what?), the invite to Marc Jacobs, which is happening tomorrow night at 6 p.m., a pair of gigantic sunglasses that read DG by, you guessed it, Dolce & Gabbana, and a pair of awesome crystal earrings by the aforementioned Calvin Klein that I am 100% going to wear tonight. 100% I tell you! I need ice cream.
We have a really fucking exciting event coming up in April and I am two days behind on writing the intro letter for the event so I just finished that, which I feel great about, and now am even more convicted in my thinking that I need ice cream, so here’s what I’m going to do: I have another meeting with another candidate at 3 p.m. in the East Village. I’m going to walk over there and stop at Van Leeuwen on my way. Okay, just give me a minute to get up and put on my coat and pee.
Update: I got Rice to Riches rice pudding instead. Oreo flavored.
Candidate meeting #2, complete! There is a show next door. The designer is actually a collective called Vaquera and I’m pretty eager to see what they have up their sleeve for the season. The brand feels far more conceptual; way less about the clothes, much more about the implication of the decisions you make when you cover your person in fabric. And that’s the most complicated sentence I am intellectually capable of sharing today.
FYI, there was a retainer, the Sex and the City theme song and a very, very large corduroy hat. I have to go home, I’m exhausted and, you know, need a bathroom.
It smells like lemon and frankincense and there is classical music playing when I walk into my apartment. But no one is here. Abie must have just come and gone. I am going to try to get the majority of this Day in The Life written before the Calvin Klein show so that when I get home from there, I can shimmy straight into writing that. I am probably being delusional.
In case you are wondering, since the time we last spoke, I have eaten a handful of nuts, slices of celery dipped in almond butter, two medjool dates, a tablespoon of blackstrap molasses (and an iron supplement), two slices of halloumi cheese, a side order of Israeli salad and a piece of banana bread. But what should I have for dinner! I should start thinking about getting up and going to the Calvin Klein show because if I don’t get up now, I will get up never.
I changed into jeans, added a pair of calf-length boots (I can’t tell if this was incredibly dumb but I guess my back will let me know in a few minutes when I stand up!), put on those bomb ass Calvin Klein earrings, and is it just me, or do my cheeks look like they ate themselves? I’m so proud of them. And myself! I don’t think I’ve been out of my apartment this late since I moved in, which was in October.
Here I am, at The American Stock Exchange, feeling quite dubiously about the absurdly high volume of popcorn permeating the ground. It smells delicious and is crunching about and is edible and I wonder if it is problematic that there is actual food on the ground. I was going to call it “nourishment,” but then I realized there are zero nutritional benefits to eating popcorn so we’ll go with “food.”
I’m seated in a sandwich between Eva Chen, who is telling me I probably don’t need nipple cream, and Constance Jablonski, whose cow skin pants are ruined from all the popcorn on the floor. There are all these cool parkas around me — some Calvin Klein, a lot of Balenciaga — and it reminds me that fashion week always has a way of burning a consumerist hole in my pocket.
That. Was. Insane. But I won’t ruin it for you here! Read the review!
Lol that I thought I would be able to write it when I got home. If it is possible to sleep with your eyes open, that’s what I’m doing right now. And! There is a cracker with halloumi cheese in my mouth, FYI. I’m just going to lather some stretch mark oil onto my stomach and apply a lavender essential oil to my chest and the palms of my hand, then I will remember I forgot to take my rings off, say “Shit,” hear Abie ask, “What? Are you in labor?” Say, “No, I got my rings all oily,” then hate myself for expressing such a sentence, and before you know it, we are both asleep.
Photos via Leandra Medine Cohen.