Periodically I disappear for weeks at a time and assume you’ll all forgive me. Even when I don’t post my little outfits or my irreverent event recaps I believe you don’t worry, that you just assume I’m still wearing little outfits and attending events irreverently and hanging out with people in Brooklyn who receive emolument from magazines like this and are working on memoirs that go like this—
This is the first sentence. This is the second sentence. This is the third sentence. This is the fourth sentence; this is the second part of the fourth sentence, which we will call sentence 4b. This is the fifth sentence. This isn’t the seventh sentence. This is the seventh sentence. Two sentences ago was the sixth sentence, while this is the eighth sentence. This isn’t not the ninth sentence.
—that I am still making appointments with realtors to see Chloe Sevigny’s apartment, recently on the market; that I’m still standing outside The Coffee House Club during my lunch hour waiting to get invited in; that I’m still giving people Andrew Jacksons at the pet store if they promise to name their dog Taye Diggs; that I’m still wallpapering my dining room with iPads; that I’m still mailing pastries to Peter Kaplan; that I’m still keeping to my promise to write one word a day for my forthcoming collection of essays, Slouching Towards Behnaz Sarafpour.
Of course I’m writing a collection of essays, because, you know, blogging is for sometimes, but books are for a longer sometimes.
Here’s an outfit—
“Look at that.”
The truth is that I read The Great Gatsby for the fifth time, and then I read it again, and then I shared a cigarette with a dog.
I built a series of Civil War dioramas using nothing but marshmallows and toothpicks, because I am a fashion blogger and we love DIY projects; here’s another photo of that outfit—isn’t this peplum positively three dimensional?:
But even if this isn’t so, that you do worry about me when I’m gone, I want to assure you that I remain well-fed and well-rested and well-dressed.
HERE’S A CLOSE-UP OF SHOES:
Forgive also my wounded foot and just appreciate the damn fringe on the back of these baseball-inspired suckers, because frankly, I can’t be sure if I just updated you on my life or recapped Love-Tails of Morocco: