The chef came out to ask how the oysters were and I told him they needed more tongue. Darling, I wasn't talking about the mignonette.
The chef came out to ask how the oysters were and I told him they needed more tongue. Darling, I wasn't talking about the mignonette.
Three hours until I have to be someone again and I can't sleep. Thom Browne at six, Tory Burch at seven, and I haven't even decided what I'm taking off yet. Darling, some of us don't need rest — we need an audience.
The week's last show is tomorrow and I haven't put a single thing on yet. Darling, come help me decide — or just enjoy the show.
Fashion Week's last big party and half the room already went home — the ones who stayed are pretending they're not watching me. Darling, I'm not leaving until someone gives me a reason to.
Room service just left and I still haven't found a reason to put anything on. Darling, my husband thinks I'm getting dressed for tonight — let him keep thinking that.
The show ended hours ago and I'm still wearing someone's spring collection — barely. Darling, the designer can come collect what's left of it himself.
Front row and the show hasn't started because three photographers are still pointing at me instead of the runway. Darling, I told them the collection doesn't begin until I'm done being looked at.
Two days until this city loses its mind and I haven't picked a single outfit. Darling, the shirt isn't mine — and neither is the champagne.
The bridle path is empty and I'm already on my second mile — three joggers tried to keep pace and all three quit before the reservoir. Darling, you'd hit the ground before the first mile, and that's before I start playing games.
Six designers sent lookbooks to my door this morning and I haven't opened half of them. Darling, Fashion Week doesn't start until I say it does.