True Life: I’m a Blogger


A week ago, I was just a lowly blogger with a Tumblr.

Now, I sit today at the same kitchen table where I always write my fashions scribblings. I’m wearing the same gold-leaf track suit I always wear. I’m staring at the same bronze giraffe candlesticks I always stare at while my footman keeps my Virtual Golf Simulator warm. 

But now I do it all knowing that someone took my photograph at a party. A party at the Soho House.

There I am. 

That’s me.

Throbbing with creative energy.

Loving the scene.

Living the life.

Surrounded by swirling throngs of people like “Heeey cool taco blog!!!”

Probably texting Dr. Boyfriend, “I’m painfully unfamous here. Coming home soon.”

Where were you?

Babysitting your Uncle Steve’s end-tables?

That’s sad. My end-tables are laser-jet printers. They print double-sided.

Mere days later, I went to a breakfast at Conde Nast, because I’m a member of a highly prestigious classic car society

I met John Jannuzzi. In person. Without speaking, we walked across the street to Chili’s. Over Justin CheeseBiebers (his) and Limited Edition Miley Cyrus Chicken Fingers (mine), we devised a plan to take over the Louisiana Purchase Territories with a new magazine called Cow Wranglers Today. Presenting the foremost fashion from the great untamed west, it will be street style meets style bloggers meets street bloggers meets tumbleweeds. Fearless street style photographers will stop cowhands mid-rodeo, asking them to pose in their suede fashions.

"You look so thin," everyone will say to everyone else.

Mere moments later, I met Closet Collage, and tapped her to be the Fashion Director and Chief Cattle Brander. She will also be in charge of all scissor operations, being, as she is, a collage artist.

But now I have to go. Now that the third professionally taken picture of me in as many years has shown up on the internet, things are totally different now. 

Yours, forever, until I’m too famous to be,


PS. Kathryn Amberleigh shoes, Alexander Wang pants, sweater from somewhere in Paris, vintage fur vest.