by The Window Shopper
I seriously need to stop dropping my
iPhone camera, or from now on all windows are going to start looking like this. shit. Normally I try not to post mediocrity, I have artistic integrity to uphold, yadda yadda, but I ran out of windows last week and was actually busy being really cool this weekend.
Friday was pretty regular. A total me night (what night isn’t actually?)– I like to spend them working out, full body scrubbing, cocooning in cashmere and séancing the greats–Gabrielle, Heath and Yves, who, let me just say is fucking livid with Hedi right now. Anyway, you should totally try it, its the only true way to spend a Friday.
Saturday I woke up at 4, soaked, sauna’ed and re’slept until it was time to go out for a birthday thing, which was literally tour de New York. Normally I don’t do birthdays, other people’s not mine silly, but every so often I make an exception. The night went as follows: Mondrian (gorg), Back Room (vintage), Spitzers (fail safe), Home Sweet Home (un-chic, sweaty and taxidermied), Le Bain (I’m moving to their rooftop like now), pizza cart (delish), befriending bouncer Wayne on random ledge (drunk), Lamar Odom and sidekick (hi.) and more pizza (vomit). Khloe was nowhere to be found and apparently neither was I. Two fucking pieces of pizza? Someone must have fat cursed me earlier in the night, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
Sunday. Well, I just woke up an hour ago, so Sunday didn’t really happen for me. But its all good because neither did food.
Prada, 45 East 57th, 212.308.2332