What else ?
At the time I’m writing to you, I’m sprawled out on my couch, bundled up in a sweater and tights. AND I HATE TIGHTS.
dressing
Nuit Blanche
This morning at 4:30 a.m.*, while you were all sleeping **, I was sitting in front of my suitcase, posed in a perfect Thinker by Rodin, but in leopard print boy-shorts and with a cup of coffee in hand.
rebel rebel
On inauguration day of the first New York TopShop, a funny little coincidence had me working just down the street at eight in the morning.
So I had a prime position to see the family-reunion of the hysterical yet poised fashion kids forming, wearing t-shirts that said Black Sabbath, or rebel, Never look back, or motherf***er, all quietly arranged one behind the other waiting for their turn to pick over this world of mass shopping.
Oh oui. This story is making me into quite the snob.
