Most seasons New York Fashion Week rolls around and I’m so relieved that it’s no longer a six-day non-stop work-a-thon, party-a-thon in my life, but this fall there was a serious sense of longing. I wanted to be there again.
I’ve been working non-stop at my other jobs anyway, playing too hard and paying the price. I have the “Fashion Week Flu” as we industry pros like to call it, minus the Fashion Week. I’m definitely fighting a cold and only having half the fun.
Since I couldn’t take the time off and make the trip to NYC this fall, nor have I rebuilt the connections I lost when I decided to close the book on my old blog, this wasn’t the time to rejoin the Tents at Lincoln Center…but perhaps I will try in the spring.
In the meantime to fill the holes in my fashion-capital-of-the-world-less-heart, I decided leopard pants were the best way to get out of my funk. It worked. But since I couldn’t be in my concrete jungle, I found my way into the real jungle.