I spent most of Memorial Day running around Manhattan with one of my favorite fashiony cohorts, doing things like the McQueen exhibition at the Met (goose-bumpingly great), the YSL-Pierre Berge documentary L'amour Fou (eh) and a long, lingering visit to Barneys (fantabulous, as always). It was pretty much perfect. But then it was even MORE perfect, because -- while killing time scouring for Helmut Lang at Loehmann's -- another shopper caught my eye. Was that? Could it be? Really? Yes, it my personal fashion icon Iris Apfel in her signature round glasses, poking around the racks of discounted Dolce like the rest of us.
I introduced myself, shyly, as a fan. (Which seemed more appropriate than gawping from behind a rack of clothing.) Her response: "Thank you," and then: "I'm sorry I look like crap." (She didn't. She was colorful and adorable. I, on the other hand, was wearing a sweaty tee and shorts. Gah.) We chatted for a few minutes, and then I practically skipped out of there.
Weekend = made.
Also: I am SO breaking out the 80s charm necklace this week in celebration. If it wasn't so hot, I'd break out the oversized muff as well. Love.
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