I’m clad in tapered jeans, paired with simple Marni basics, and a wicked Lanvin sample. New York had put on their best for the evening and the couture was dripping from the corners of 5^th Ave. to the rusty bars in the Village.

I followed that Burberry coat tail of A.R. Parker directly into boutiques scattered throughout. It was the installation by Grace Coddington at Prada 57^th that set the tone for what was to come. Just like Jack and Jill, we went up that hill to find ourselves among a crowd of famished wolves–pardon the mixed fairytale reference–customers and mannequins alike).

The display was powerful; the collection ravishing. In the same way a man looks at a rare steak, women were salivating over antique leather and wool suits. We managed to slice our way through the madness, admiring the intricate details, the exquisite design, and the impeccable taste of each individual that painted the canvas of the store. The ambiance was luxurious, complimented by delectable cocktail servers.

We exit the building like beasts in the night with hunger for Dior, Louis, and Miu Miu. Thirsty for the taste of tweeds, Lesage beading, and deer skin clutches, Parker hailed that cab with a vengeance like never before. The cigarettes were lit like the tires jetting us down to Soho. A fashionably late arrival to the Rapture concert at Broadway and Prince left us anxious for a dirty martini, sans LES crowd at Merc Bar.

Needless to say, the remainder was filled with debauchery and flash photography, as any life on the D-list entails. Parker and I bit the apple, along with the fashion, and painted NYC with the eclectic colors it had on display.

So buckle up and bite down. Spring/Summer 2010 will be sure to bring frills and thrills.

Enjoy.

Xo,

Preston