Last night we glided over plush red carpet to settle in the gilt chestnut that is the Metropolitan Opera. For three hours we sat enraptured in Wagner and the proximity we shared with tenors strung on a set that would have made M.C. Escher gasp. Before I knew it, we were back in the cab rushing home past midnight like I imagine Cinderella would.
What led up to the event was havoc, enough: Two hours of primping, steaming, and brushing. We had been out since the morning, rushed home with the sun still in the sky to prepare for our plans at night. I dream of days eventual when with YSL in the closet, I'll glide through hours in one simple suit.
Dior, Lanvin, Yves Saint Laurent
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