I’m never really one for outfit changes during Fashion Week; It’s not that I don’t want to be high maintenance – who doesn’t want to deal with that? Rather I know I won’t want to be bothered by the time it takes to make the change happen. For me, Fashion Week is the same as any other day – when I get dressed for the day, I’m dressed.
That was all fine & dandy until this dress happened. The day I changed into this sucker, I was donning a more aggressive Fashion Week ensemble & this particular brunch with friends really called for something less solid gold collar around your neck & more free flowing maxi dress. So in order to be a little more low maintenance, I changed. The irony.
A girlfriend from NYC is heading into town this weekend & we’ve got another few outdoor brunches up our sleeves before the impending snowfall makes us shut-ins for the next few months. I assume I’ll wear this new favorite maxi of mine (topped with a leather jacket, of course) but what’s your go-to brunch outfit during early Fall? I’m always looking for new inspiration!
7:30am: Day 3. What day is this? Where am I? What’s going on today? Luckily, the answer is: Lotsa friendship. I need it. Especially after last night. Woof. Comforter snuggles for just 5 more minutes.
8:30am: So much for ‘just 5 minutes’. This is going to be a morning that calls for Starbs. Why am I just now realizing there’s one in the lobby of our hotel? Thursday & Friday would have been Starbs days too. Devil. Salted caramel & back into bed. I already know what I’m wearing thanks to Lulu*s. Catch the whole look here. I’m owning this Saturday morning. OWNING IT. Lots of work to be done. & emails to be read. All of the writing. So many words. Not enough coffee. God bless KIND for shipping me salted caramel + dark chocolate mocha bars that are acceptable for every meal & the times in between. I eat 3. No judgment. After Day 1 it’s all about survival.
9:50am: I’m clothed & makeup-ed. But I need shoes. I turn to you via Twitter. Thanks for helping me choose, friendship.
10am: Krista’s hosting a makeup/hair/champs situation at her place. I don’t need to get ready – they’ll just fix me up there. Well, the hair’s already done because hat. & after yesterday’s face paint fiasco I don’t trust anyone to touch my face. I head on over, see old friends & meet new ones. Girlfriends, makeup, & booze. I couldn’t have asked for a better morning.
1:50pm: It’s time for Mara Hoffman. A group of us head over in a cab. What else? I need a Kickstarter campaign for a February Fashion Week cab fund. The struggle is real. I rearrange people to make this happen. It’s all for the Insta. We roll up to the tents. So many stairs. After standing in line for an ungodly amount of time (standard), we get a standing spot on the opposite side of the door. Why wasn’t I thinking. I wanted to make a quick break to the rS party. Mara starts. This is my last show of the season. I try to soak it all in. The beat, the models, the prints, THE HATS. Hats are happening again. This is a thing. Ok. I’m also wearing a hat today. This is officially a thing & I’m making it my thing. Hats are going to be a thing in life. Noted. The show ends. I’m still on hats.
It’s OK to be jealous of my spot. Hashtag the fab life. This is what REAL Fashion Week looks like, ladies.
2:45pm: We dart across the street to The Empire. Half our group continues to the next block to hit a pop-up. I literally cannot even with the heat right now. Need air conditioning. & a wall to lean against. I’m going no further than The Empire entrance. Godspeed other group, Godspeed.
3:30pm: The elevator ride up is only about 10 seconds but it’s something I remember vividly every year because they stuff you into this hot box like sardines & for a moment you actually contemplate death. Not that you’re going to commit it, well maybe – I’m looking at you, you gum smacker – rather that you’re going to succumb to the heat & your claustrophobia that gets exponentially worse every time you step into this death trap. Someone laughs & says they’re claustrophobic which you know is a lie since if they really were they’d be counting to ten in their head & cherishing every deep breath they were taking. Talk about a real struggle. Never meet me in an elevator, folks. The doors open & I hit the nearest bar. One of the most lovely Kendra Scott PR reps is standing by her lonesome. I take the opportunity to reintroduce myself to her. We’d met a few weeks prior at rS’ night in DC. Her accent & overall demeanor make me want to move to Texas. I remember I hate the heat which, by the way, is currently OOC. Sweat is running down my back. & face. & legs. Who in the sweet hell thought it was a good idea to wear a felt-f*cking-hat today. It starts to rain. OMG this hat was the best idea I’ve ever had.
I run into all of my friends in a span of 15 minutes. This is one of my favorite things about the rS party. That & the photo booth which I compromised multiple times.
I mostly blame Bethany
Everyone is here. Minus my favorite ginger. Her brand new kid is being baptized tomorrow. I told her to come & we’d baptize her in the fountain outside the tents at Lincoln Center. She didn’t go for it. I grab her a bag with a prezzie in it because friendship. So many people. So much friendship. So many amateurs women abusing the open bar. This is not the place, LADIES. We grab a corner, kick off our heels, & get to catching up. Before half of the group gets good & liquored we make reservations at the closet restaraunt: PJ Clarke’s. Two hours, & 20 girls later the entire table orders burgers. Except for Alex. Because, apparently, she’s a lady. The group makes plans to go out. The time is now. I either change into this number & head out for the night or I save it for tomorrow & prioritize football. We all know how this ended up.
I pull a fast Irish goodbye & head back to the hotel for more important things. It takes me 20 minutes to get a cab. I finally Uber. Thank gawd for Uber. I can’t be too angry. I’ve had enough champs for an entire bachelorette party in the last 10 hours & this is my view. We beat Michigan. In the final game of our series. 31-0. Celebrations must be had. Amanda comes over for booze, boy talk, & general shenanigans. Football for the win. I’ll save this little number for Day 4 & revel in this sweet Irish victory.
A few of you asked out the bracelet that’s pictured above. It’s from a HAWT new designer in Texas who happens to be a friend of mine. Obviously, I’m a little biased but this thang is sah good. I’ve been wearing it non-stop, adding a little flash of color to recent outfits. Shop her agate cuffs here!
Concerns?It’s unhealthy to substitute KIND bars for actual meals. But they’re so delicious, you guys.
This wraps up Fashion Week rundowns for this season cuz I was lame & only stayed 4 days. Darn you, real life commitments! In a few weeks, we’ll chat about how to take some of my favorite looks off the runway into real life but until then, if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, leave them in the comments below, email me, or ask me on social media >> @districtsparkle
The final day. No, you’re not hallucinating. The Day 3 rundown will go live tomorrow.
I woke up energized, ready for the last few meetings, brunch with my west coast soul sister, & ready to get home to this face.
I woke up sometime before 10:30, scrolled through Instagram to see that every other blogger was either also still in bed or brunching with friends. It appears we’ve all had the same brillz idea. I fight the internal battle of if my need for coffee is greater than my distain for pants. Coffee wins. Pants it is. I need to pack since I’m leaving this afternoon & I’ve still got a ton on my plate for the day. Screw the pants. I need flowy, sheer, black goodness to live in on the last day. It’s all about comfort at this point. I add caffeine & dry shamps to the situation & hail a cab uptown? Over town? I get a cab & head back to the Lincoln Center area.
[A meeting takes place]
10ish: I meet my west coast diva betch at The Smith. Their seafood eggs benedict rivals the best one I’ve had in DC. We talk about fashion dramz, compared what we’ve seen on Instagram, dished about our men (or lack thereof, for some of us), & ended with how sickly obsessed we are with our puppies. For the record, I’d choose Wendell over a man any day of the week. Twice.
1ish: We smooch, part ways, & I realize I’ve forgotten my bag o’ lipsticks at the hotel. Will the first world struggles never end? I stop at the Vogue pop-up across from the tents for a touch up & to snag a pair of the most buzzed about Vogue x Toms NYFW Toms. Talk about chic. Urban Decay works their nude lipliner magic & I’m in yet another cab heading back down to Fashion Avenue + the Times Square ish area for more meetings. Deets on these “meetings” to follow in the next few weeks HOLLAAAAAAAAA.
[Insert another annoyingly secret meeting here]
I dart back to the hotel, slam the latest fashion week swagger into my CARRY-ON SIZED suitcase & lug my 3 bags out the door & down the street. Finally, relaxation. I’m on the bus. The seat next to me is empty. I’m plugged into both outlets. Pure bliss. A bro wearing Adidas flip flops & basketball shorts shoots me one of those crooked bro smiles & seats himself next to me. Really, it’s my fault for making eye contact with him. The kid two rows back whines the entire trip. The woman directly behind me decides the loudest container of tuna is an appropriate bus snack. The windows don’t open.
I swear to myself I’ll take Amtrak in February.
For more NYFW rundowns, click on the “NYFW” category link below this post.