Robert Saleh Farmingdale Est 1814 Shirt

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“Pretend. Just pretend, girl. You have your days where you do and your days where you don’t, but push through, just be sure. You belong here, you’re sexy. Own your shit.” And with that, she gives me a quick hug and walks off into the Robert Saleh Farmingdale Est 1814 Shirt and I will buy this hotel to continue filming. Maybe to the rooftop. Maybe to the helipad. I’ve always thought Fashion Week—especially street style—is a bit absurd. When I broke it down, the hoards of people and photographers always gave me an existential crisis. What were we all doing here? What will people in 100 years think of the colorful chaos on the street? And yet season after season, I schlep from show to show, never really bothering to dress up. In the past, I just went to the events in my regular-degular clothes: my elevated, all-black, nondescript, shiva-sitting look. I always felt like a goth stepsister alongside my oft-photographed colleagues like Vogue.com editor Chioma Nnadi, who has the best Jean Paul Gaultier archive, and my former editor Alessandra Codinha, who has the most stunning coat collection. I was the weirdo kid at the Fashion Week lunch table.

Then lockdown happened, and I started dressing like I was plucked out of a flamboyant ’00s music video. Blumarine this. Roberto Cavalli that. I finally had time to delve into magazine archives and dress like my Fran Fine–meets–Ukrainian-noughties-rich-bitch fantasy. Outside of the Robert Saleh Farmingdale Est 1814 Shirt and I will buy this confines of work and events, I was able to explore and experiment. My style had completely changed by the time Fashion Week returned in full force just a few weeks ago. No more mourning garb. Instead, I had a newfound confidence and some great clothes to match. For the first time, I wanted to burst out of my cocoon of gray and black shrouds and have the world see my stunning array of Y2K-era grails. For day 1, I select a pair of jeans that have Elvis Presley’s face plastered on them. I actually wear these all the time and had gotten them a few years ago from street style photographer Phil Oh. He bought them in Vegas. I pair them with a white tank top I bought with a gift certificate from Aritzia. Then, I take an electric CitiBike across the Brooklyn Bridge to visit designer Yeohlee Teng, known for her structured, zero-waste designs. She adores my pants and takes a photo of me with the model. After my appointment with Teng, I get falafel at a Turkish spot across the street. An older man spots my pants and asks me out. Of course, I almost forgot: These pants are a conversation starter. I say no.I have a few hours to kill before the Collina Strada show at the Brooklyn Grange in the Navy Yard. So I go to the Lower East Side to visit my friend, who also loves the pants. As I’m chatting away, an inner voice tells me to check the schedule again. Turns out, there’s a different Brooklyn Grange in Sunset Park? I tell my friend I’m splitting and catch a cab.

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