During fashion week, each morning during my visit to Milan, I woke up, took a quick glance out the window to see what the weather was, a quick glance in my suitcase to find an outfit, and a quick glance in the mirror…
A quick glance… or maybe two. Hmmmmm (the same hmmmmm of Homer Simpson in front of a donut.)
Do you have to go dressed up to a dressed up party?
(Not talking naked parties here, uh, I’m talking about parties where “black tie” is written on the invitation.)
You know the parties where you know everyone is going to be totally chic and you have to make a good impression and you know you’re definitely going to get your photo taken? How we supposed to deal with that?
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.
