There are a lot of things that you just can’t get enough of. Some will say it’s a drink, but in my case, it’s picking out an outfit. This past Friday was a scorcher. I never dress for the weather, I dress for myself. So, on that hot morning, wearing a pair of raw denim jeans, a black silk short sleeve top, charcoal vest and red Prada driving loafers—oh, and the most fabulous grommet studded belt from Club Monaco, I took the sun head on. Besides the fact it was a work day, it was also Friday – a day for socializing after a busy work week.

After work, I picked up a friend who kept it cool in black shorts, an over-sized black sweatshirt, a neon tank and sandals, very American Apparel. We headed to a French Bistro off of W 44th and Broadway. I know, yikes, Times Square! How could I? How could WE? If it hadn’t been for my friendship with the bartender, I would’ve been elsewhere. We started our night at the touristy friendly bistro, chatting and drinking the best margaritas we’ve every had. And I still hadn’t broken a sweat or come undone.

After a few more, we were off to the West Village for more margaritas at Benny’s Burritos. Still put together and it was only 8:30. This place was packed and I was loving it. We had just finished our first margarita when I noticed the most beautiful bag in the world. The mustard PS1 bag by Proenza Schouler. It’s a bag that‘s not too much for me to pull off. To my surprise, a girl no more than twenty years old was carrying it and I had to seek her out. The craftsmanship alone is worth talking about. I acknowledged that I loved her bag and then mentioned that it’s Proenza Schouler. She began salivating all over me, full of exclamations, as she said to me, “Oh my gosh, you are my favorite person! No one knows what bag this is! Are you sure it‘s not too much for this place?” “No, and if anyone thinks so she´s an idiot darling”, I said. “You have truly made my day, because this is my favorite bag!”, she said.

By the time I finished gawking over the PS1, it was time for us to be seated. Another friend began calling demanding I meet him in the Meat Packing district. Whenever I go down there, I think of that song “Stilettos” by Crime Mob. Every girl is wearing heels and can barely walk. I don’t mean killer heels or flights of fancy as I like to call them. But Scuff Daddies. I finally came to after daydreaming and decided to go down there to see the train wreck.

We poured down what was remained of our margaritas and left. We met my friends at Brass Monkey, where the DJ was spinning my favorite group Hercules and Love Affair. I love this place. I like the way it’s secluded from the Meat Packing strip. It’s a good mixture of locals, yuppies, socials and Europeans. I also like it because they, too, make awesome margaritas, which you can never have too much of. Or can you? Maybe that’s why I woke up on the subway the next morning. At least my ensemble was in tact and still not too much.

by Shahcar Blake