Today is National Siblings Day, so here’s a little public love for my first loves: little bunny Jane (second from left) and our sib-like cousins Jackie (far left), Nathalie (second from right), and Grace Bliss (far right). (Yours truly is in the middle.) Snapped at Flyaway in the summer of 1990. Not pictured or even born: Marcus, Randolph, and Emily. To infinity!

Today is National Siblings Day, so here’s a little public love for my first loves: little bunny Jane (second from left) and our sib-like cousins Jackie (far left), Nathalie (second from right), and Grace Bliss (far right). (Yours truly is in the middle.) Snapped at Flyaway in the summer of 1990.
Not pictured or even born: Marcus, Randolph, and Emily.
To infinity!

"This is the game. The prize is not money but the good mark that you give to yourself."

Ralph Lauren

"To reassure her he began doing incredible things with the big silver hoops."

"To reassure her he began doing incredible things with the big silver hoops."

Anonymous asked: How to thrive at a party where you don't know anyone (or maybe just the host) and not look painfully uncomfortable?

First, have a cocktail. Then, tell your host(ess) what you just told me : “I don’t know anyone here besides you! Could you introduce me to some of your friends?” Then find common ground, and talk about it: “You live in the East Village? I just had dinner there last night! Have you been to the Mermaid Inn? Those Old Bay french fries!” Play the name game: “My best friend from middle school works there, too. Do you know Bobby Ray Cyrus in the IT department? No, not Billy Ray, although I do like his music…”

And so on and so forth. Still not feeling it? Say your goodbyes, and peace out. No harm, no foul.

Ask. Answer. Anything.

Anonymous asked: I'm turning 21 this year, and want to do something special. Not so over the top, or anything. Maybe a nice dinner (& drinks) and shopping in the city—what would you recommend? Also, TriBeCa Grand Hotel, worth a stay for a night? Thanks in advance. :)

Never stayed at the Tribeca Grand, but if its rooms are anything like its parties, then you will not be disappointed. How about dinner, drinks, and dancing at Acme, a fantasy shopping trip to Bergdorf Goodman, and brunch at Locanda Verde? Happy birthday!

Ask. Answer. Anything.

Anonymous asked: What are your ideas about Tinder? Do you believe one can actually find a real relationship on this phone app?

You can find love (and bitches and douchebags and assholes) pretty much anywhere—at jury duty, on the golf course, in the conference room, via Facebook—so why not Tinder? Don’t overthink it.

Ask. Answer. Anything.

Spending my Sunday morning with En Vogue, and you should, too.

Jim Jams.

It’s motherfuckin’ APRIL, y’all!

It’s motherfuckin’ APRIL, y’all!

Anonymous asked: I have a fancy book party at The Standard coming up. What to wear?

A short dress with sharp lines and your most amazing heel. (And don’t wear black or you risk looking like a PR girl.)

Ask. Answer. Anything.

Anonymous asked: Do you think having a blog helped you on a professional level? Was it a part of your job search in any way or did you send it to potential employers so they'd understand your taste?

Yes, absolutely. My boss hired me because he loved my blog. The key is too keeping it tightly curated and elegantly designed and never posting anything that you wouldn’t want your mom or boss or coworkers to see.

Ask. Answer. Anything.

Anonymous asked: About to go on a ski trip with the boy this weekend. Haven't skiied since I was a kid but he's amazing at it, I'm nervous. I think there will be others in the group who are also inexperienced. How not to be an idiot? How to look stylish? What do people wear skiing that's cheap? He's hosting and has to tend to everyone, so he won't be able to spend the whole time just teaching me and laughing at how cute I look when I fall on my ass. I don't want to drag everyone else down!

I don’t know… I haven’t skied in years! But you can never go wrong in head-to-toe black, and odds are you have a girl friend with gear to lend. Just stick to the blue and green slopes, and don’t be afraid to ask your man for a refresher course on day one. Still worried about bringing up the rear? Make Irish coffees for everyone’s après ski refreshment, and bring a sweet dance party playlist.

Ask. Answer. Anything.

The Ocean Drive Marathon in Cape May was my boldest running experiment yet. Hypothesis: I can run a marathon just as well as any without training, eating right, teetotaling, or otherwise preparing in a healthful and conscientious manner. Hypothesis DISPROVED.It began when I awoke Saturday morning and realized I had left my wallet at the office the day before. Patty’s boyfriend drove us to Cape May so no need for train fare, but still. Then the hotel manager gave us keys to the wrong room so we had a big to-do about what to do. Then around 6:00 PM, we ate our pre-race meal—of spicy boneless chicken wings, loaded curly fries, clam strips, and Blue Moon. Then at 9:00 PM we ate again: pizza and red wine. Then at 2:00 AM we were forced out of bed for an hour by a fire alarm. Then I spent another hour trying to pick a shard of glass out of my left big toe while instead simply driving it deeper into my skin. (No idea how it got there.) Then we awoke at 8:00 AM to opaque fog, a temp in the low 40s, and Patty had packed the wrong shoes. Then we actually started running. I made the mistake of running six miles on Friday in brand new minimal shoes (more on those later), and on Sunday morning, my calves were still killing me. They hurt from mile one. Everything else felt heavy and slow, as if I was still in recovery from my ultra—almost six months ago. And mentally, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t anywhere else, but I couldn’t find anything to love about the Ocean Drive route. It was totally flat, covered in fog, gray as steel, and sleepy. Crowds were scarce; Everyone looked miserable. Still, I hung on.Around mile 18, I started to walk. I counted my paces to 100 and suddenly felt a hand on my back. A woman with whom I’d been neck-and-neck yelled, “Come on!”, tapped me again, and ran alongside me until I found a groove. At mile 22, I stopped again to walk up a short incline—one of the many bridges we crossed. She tapped; she wouldn’t let me walk. I didn’t try to walk again. I finished in four hours and three minutes, my fourth best and fourth worst time ever.If that woman (whose name I never caught) had not kept me going, what might have? Would I have actually kept walking? Would I have bowed out entirely? I knew my time would be abysmal regardless, but I have never needed so much help before. The Ocean Drive Marathon was terrible, but it also taught me a valuable lesson: Arrogance and overconfidence in my own ability mean nothing if I don’t train and mean even less without the help of other runners. Onto the next…

The Ocean Drive Marathon in Cape May was my boldest running experiment yet. Hypothesis: I can run a marathon just as well as any without training, eating right, teetotaling, or otherwise preparing in a healthful and conscientious manner. Hypothesis DISPROVED.

It began when I awoke Saturday morning and realized I had left my wallet at the office the day before. Patty’s boyfriend drove us to Cape May so no need for train fare, but still. Then the hotel manager gave us keys to the wrong room so we had a big to-do about what to do. Then around 6:00 PM, we ate our pre-race meal—of spicy boneless chicken wings, loaded curly fries, clam strips, and Blue Moon. Then at 9:00 PM we ate again: pizza and red wine. Then at 2:00 AM we were forced out of bed for an hour by a fire alarm. Then I spent another hour trying to pick a shard of glass out of my left big toe while instead simply driving it deeper into my skin. (No idea how it got there.) Then we awoke at 8:00 AM to opaque fog, a temp in the low 40s, and Patty had packed the wrong shoes. Then we actually started running. 

I made the mistake of running six miles on Friday in brand new minimal shoes (more on those later), and on Sunday morning, my calves were still killing me. They hurt from mile one. Everything else felt heavy and slow, as if I was still in recovery from my ultra—almost six months ago. And mentally, I wasn’t there. I wasn’t anywhere else, but I couldn’t find anything to love about the Ocean Drive route. It was totally flat, covered in fog, gray as steel, and sleepy. Crowds were scarce; Everyone looked miserable. Still, I hung on.

Around mile 18, I started to walk. I counted my paces to 100 and suddenly felt a hand on my back. A woman with whom I’d been neck-and-neck yelled, “Come on!”, tapped me again, and ran alongside me until I found a groove. At mile 22, I stopped again to walk up a short incline—one of the many bridges we crossed. She tapped; she wouldn’t let me walk. I didn’t try to walk again. I finished in four hours and three minutes, my fourth best and fourth worst time ever.

If that woman (whose name I never caught) had not kept me going, what might have? Would I have actually kept walking? Would I have bowed out entirely? I knew my time would be abysmal regardless, but I have never needed so much help before. The Ocean Drive Marathon was terrible, but it also taught me a valuable lesson: Arrogance and overconfidence in my own ability mean nothing if I don’t train and mean even less without the help of other runners. Onto the next…

Seventh marathon in the can. Congratulations to all the runners, and congratulations to me for remembering to refresh my lipstick at mile 25.5.

Back 2 school.