(concrete jungle where things are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do)
One of my favorite weeks of the year is coming to an end in New York City. Fashion Week! To girls like me, Fashion Week is basically what dreams are made of. I used to make a point to be out and about in all of the hottest neighborhoods just praying I would get my eyes on some of those amazingly styled bloggers, celebrities and designers. The city was hopping with the chicest people going to the coolest places in town. And I was the dreamer strolling by but still loving that feeling of excitement that filled the air.
The Spotted Pig in the West Village was one of my favorites to plop myself down and people watch. The sparkling rose and shoestring fries were part of the draw as well
These days, those that know me probably wouldn’t describe me as a very fashionable person. I’m 50/40/10 on looking like a hot mess, just squeezing in as socially acceptable and on the rare occasion, somewhat chic. I believe my sister actually (kiddingly) told my facialist last week that I had “let myself go” – Gasp! The bad news is – apparently that’s what northern California and life with a puppy will do to you! The good news is – I don’t think I’m too far gone and I still have a chance to turn this thing back around (facial schedule this week!).
Though I don’t always dress the part, I do know all about fashion. I love to shop, read every catalog and magazine that gets delivered and browse the internet almost nightly to check out a new hot item I’ve seen or heard about. I’m also that girl who will eye a good piece on the subway or street and ask whoever is wearing it where they got their shoes, coat or bag and then head straight to that store and buy it myself. Some of my best purchases have been found that way!
The thing with fashion is – although I’m so passionate about it, I’m just way too practical to follow through. First of all – the money (obviously). I have an amazing talent/(curse?) to fall in love with the most expensive item in a store (sigh). But let’s be real, maybe like 1 out of 100 times I can actually buy that beloved item. An example of this is my Louis Vuitton bucket bag that I’ve now carried for almost 10 years. I adore that bag, it’s still chic and the best part is it reminds me of an accomplishment. I had done a 10-month travel assignment for a consulting firm I was working for at the time and all of those expense reports (I was basically living for free) added up and bought me my dream bag. Another Louis Vuitton bag I carry was an amazingly generous gift from a friend whose job I took over while she was out on maternity leave. Another lovely memory tied to my 2nd LV baby. Oh and then there is a Gucci bag I bought for my 25th birthday. My first designer bag and man was I a happy girl rocking that thing to all of the dive bars around town (usually with a $1 Bud Light in my other hand)!
The second, and more recent development, of this practicality problem is a little voice in my head screaming “where in the world do you think you are ever going to wear that????” I basically sit in my house in gym clothes all day working, then head to a local restaurant (often with my niece and nephew which means kid appropriate, fashionable outfit not) for dinner and possibly throw in a spin class or tennis match here or there. Gone are the days I was doing the frequent in person client meetings and subsequent happy hours which really let me bask in those fancy clothes.
So as I sit here and watch all of the Instastories, articles and blog posts about New York fashion week I’m feeling a little sad that I’m not there. I’m missing some of my old clothes and those shopping sprees where everything seemed so practical (client meetings, weekends in the Hamptons, dinners at fancy restaurants in NYC, etc.). I don’t usually long for that old life but this week I’m giving myself a pass to do so. After all, winter is right around the corner and I’ll be calling my NYC girls yelling “sucka” when its 80 degrees here and snowing there.
My point is, feelings come and go but they usually mean something. I’m holding onto my dream of attending fashion week and maybe even being invited to an event or show one year (I’m screeching with excitement just thinking about it). Until then, I’m going to try to let myself splurge a little more on clothing, book those quarterly trips I promised myself to NYC to rock those new duds and maybe even run around my suburban town with the goal of becoming known as the “stylish one.” I mean, what the heck, I can only go up from here!
XOXO– the girl who let herself go