so close, but so far

[img cred: style.com]


it turned out that all of us were on the west side of the city last night, but we didn't know it until today. the evening started at around eleven when james, me, and a sizable mix of people we knew and people we didn't, attended a rooftop party of this girl named alex. coco was invited, but at that time she was planning on calling it an early night and hitting the sack. the rooftop party was fun, as champagne and pop tarts were served and we got a debut look at aaron's kindergarten inspired new 'do. also exciting was our new maryland hailing friend, jean, who we admit to having a girly-girl-gay crush on (below). we then went to le royale, where it was packed, sweaty, and loud.


jean


meanwhile, coco was beckoned by her neighbor to go to the swanky as fuck jane ballroom for the cfda post-awards party (there was another on the highline hosted by calvin klein, but costa's parties seem like they'd be a little too clean to have any fun). kirsten dunst, daphne guinness, alexander wang, cynthia rowley, k.t. auleta, terrence koh, jessica stam, and other fashion folk reveled in the glory that was the awards show, and all got a good look at coco as her image was plastered across the screen representing proenza schouler for accessories designer of the year award. good job, girl.

we all eventually retired to our homes, are still alive, and hope for more summer fun.

you think you're looking at me but i'm the one looking at you

standing on a pedestal like a statue of a headless greek warrior with ten others like me positioned the same and perfectly coiffed and dressed. it was in a gallery on Freeman’s alley where the cynthia rowley event took place. all you fashion people came by to admire the “pieces” on us, the models. looking up to us, just chilling in our ivory tower of fashion, while, you, the mortals were just simply there, on the oh so common floor.
from my bird’s eye view, i saw the hot pink painted toes, the leggings, the hats, the silky thinks hanging from your necks. It was marc jacobs here, chloe there, an oh, what a lovely vintage yves saint saurent blazer you were wearing!  and all of you were thinking “this is fashion, this is the bones and flesh of the industry, a presentation for the exculsive gals of wwd, elle and style.com”
watching you raveling in their summertime open toed louboutins, clic clacking away to the conversations: you ladies were totally having it. “recycled fabrics, how innovative!”. cynthia answering questions, commenting on her (brilliant, actually) collection while all the dames were seeking an answer in us, the models, like we held the key to the door of their life, the map to the holy grail. WHAT IS FASHION? Us models don’t have the answer to that silly! You are wrong mademoiselle wwd: it is YOU, no one but YOU who is more a la mode than anyone in this god damn city. YOU in your comme des garcons for h&m blazer, YOU in your balenciaga pants, YOU in your lanvin trench, YOU in your repetto flats YOU wearing mac makeup, YOU in your yoji drop crotch black pants, YOU wearing miu miu, louis vuitton, chloe, alexander wang, tom ford, balmain, dior, chanel, givenchy, jil sander, cynthia rowley  jdfgkjdhfkgjdfslkgjkdjfgjkdsfngkdngndnglkjdnsfgjsdfngkjdnsflgkjndlfkgnsdklfgnlkdfgj.

not me, standing here cluelessly wearing look number 7.