On day six of New York Fashion Week, this blagless blogger (an experiment inspired by the chicly bagless Emmanuelle Alt) was feeling a might challenged. We had lugged our luggage to a second friend’s apartment so as to not wear out our welcome at any one friend’s abode. We were still commuting from Brooklyn which was a new experience for us. We had stood in snaking lines and hustled from uptown to downtown countless times. So today I broke out my comfy (and quite man-repellent) Hayden Harnett Denmare trousers which featured large pockets. I stashed my lipstick in one and tucked my press pass in the other. I wore my somewhat reasonably-heeled Jeffrey Campbell 99s, a striped tee, and my white vintage fur (in the photo I’m back at the Red Rooster). I was feeling pretty sassy as I navigated the subway and made it to my first show, the Rachel Roy presentation, which began at 9:30 am. As I entered I saw Andre Leon Talley and Jennifer Carpenter from Dexter. I spotted her earlier chatting with Ms. Roy wearing gorgeous-looking navy-blue pants and matching top, bud couldn’t get a clear shot. By the time I sought her out again, she was on her way out and had put on her coat. I half expected her to cuss me out (a la Deb) when I asked her for a photo, but she was exceedingly nice. “I’m not wearing her clothes anymore,” she said. So I told her I was a big fan of Dexter, and she let me take a photo wearing her warm wooly coat. Love her.
After Rachel Roy, I ran over to the Badgley Mischka runway show, which was seriously and unsurprisingly beautiful. Following that, I unhappily realized I had 5 hours to kill until the Tibi show. I collected The Daily and some other periodicals and headed for the Empire Hotel and began to write this blog post on my iPhone. I wished very much that I had brought my computer. Even with my new prescription, my eyes could barely focus enough to read the iPhone, plus I had a bit of a headache from drinking champagne at our Valentine’s dinner the previous night.
It occurred to me that one potential solution was an iPad. A small, minimalist, cross-body bag that accommodated the device (which would surely be easier on the eyes) plus a magazine or two would be perfect. It wouldn’t be a statement bag, but a minimalist, utilitarian, chic — shall we call it a pocketbook? Let’s.
But until then, I remain challenged by my handbaglessness. On day six I lost one lipstick and bent one pair of glasses (the case is too large for pockets leaving said glasses defenseless). And a bit too late, I inadvertently scored another free bag from the folks at Fashion Delivers, who were giving free blowouts and spray tans next door to the Empire. As I’ve suspected, I might have a failed experiment on my hands. Can we agree to call it a learning experience?