Blink and you miss it. How 2015 has already kicked into gear is a complete mystery to me. Wait! I still have unfinished 2014 business! You always expect to wake up from your December 31 celebrations with a new perspective, a clean slate, unbridled vigour and carpe diem. Indeed, the streets are quiet. It’s a little sunnier and a little crisper than what is now last year. Then you get on the subway uptown, and it’s just another day.
Just another day.
With that in mind, I’m going to spend the first week of 2015 tying up those loose ends from the latter end of yesteryear, starting with a good time at the Soho Grand, snacking on jewels and soufflé, pouring up champagne and chain mail, all in the name of the next 12 months of prosperity, and red manicures. Or something. This late night bar hop story started as an illegible jotted note on the back of a receipt from my coat pocket while in hair-and-make-up for a job. I’d initially wanted it to be an evening lipstick story, with vermillion-smeared and stained champagne glasses spewing champagne and jewels, which I’ll probably still end up shooting at some point for a more appropriate forum – or more honestly, for when I get my act together and source all the right lipsticks (tell me your favourites and I will deliver). Besides, it was pretty evident after some new season mischief at Dannijo’s showroom that this treasure trove of bling would evolve the initial styling brief into something far more ridiculous.
Though, nothing more ridiculous than me actually remembering to grab any variety of jewellery to wear on my way out the door. For what should be the punctuation to an outfit (I’m sure Diane von Furstenberg has, at some point in her career, fabulously uttered those very words in reference to jewels or shoes or bags), I usually find myself sitting at significant meetings, distractedly regretting the unfinished sentences that are my bare fingers, wrists, and collarbones. Rather than status symbols (unless we’re talking in black diamonds and six figures, which we’re not), jewellery in particular contexts can be the most subtle tick of refinement and maturity.
Dannijo to the rescue – even in a more proactive sense, whereby the more ornate one’s jangly earrings, the more gleefully distressed one’s band tee and boyfriend jeans are permitted to be. In my case, as an undercover boy, any increase in giddy sparkles dancing from my earlobes must see a proportionate decrease in attire femininity. Think matte suits over slouchy tees with over-loved boots, a kick-ass
embellished bib and no bra. Or a boxy shift dress with sneakers and a stack of arm charm. Just one showstopper you have to remove at airport security.
But for this twilight shutter moment, more is more and indulgence is king, both in dessert currency, and showgirl flash factor.
And after all that, here we are.
Drunk on glitter, seeing stars and full, of famous cheesecake – the only way to bring in a New Year.