Hot Girls on the Upper East Side
No, not Blair and Serena. Way, way better.
One thing I appreciate about my friend
is how incisive she is. Many people would pay good money for her opinion, so when she offers advice, I listen. Last week, she told me I should do more newsletters like “Hot Girls in the Hamptons,” which was sort of an anthropological fashion mission from last summer.She’s right. I love reading stuff like that when others publish it. It isn’t easy sometimes to step back and take in the aerial view when you’re in the middle of it, down on the ground. You forget to observe and report.
So, you wanna know what the girls are wearing? I’ll TELL you what the girls are WEARING!
You can judge the quality of an evening by how much time you spend on your phone. It must have been a great night because I only have a few blurry photos on my camera roll.
I’d had a horrible day, but my friend, P.R. maven, and everyone’s crush Gaby coaxed me out for dinner with some friends, which set me completely straight. They were wrapping up an event at the Madison Avenue St. John store: a trunk show with Juju Vera where a devastatingly hot group of women had shown up to decorate the already beautiful classic New York backdrop.
The Upper East Side sparkles brightest during the holidays. It conjures every image we assign to a classic Christmas: twinkling lights, the bellow of department store Santas, yellow cabs zipping up and down 5th Avenue, shoppers with armfuls of Bergdorfs bags, and bubblegum pink Sant Ambroeus coffee cups. People in expensive coats tumble out of Bemmelman’s and The Mark after indulgent dips into caviar and martinis that come with sidecars.
We found ourselves at The Lowell underneath a festive tree. The fireplace crackled, and an old crooner warbled Christmas music over a faint speaker. The Orangerie was filled with friends catching up over dinner and cocktails, their bags (Chanel 22, Khaite, Hermes Picotin, Toteme bucket) slung over the backs of their chairs.
Our group — Gaby Katz, Juju Vera, Victoria Lampley (our belle of the ball), Beck Zeijdel-Paz, Alex Wilson, and Camille Zarsky — tucked ourselves right near the mantle in a cozy circle and sipped a menagerie of martinis. For one, “Very dry, please!” For another, “Vodka, just a wash of Vermouth!” For me, “Gin, bracingly cold please, with a twist!” For nearly everyone else, “Make mine extra dirty!”
Several of the girls wore Juju’s Eliza earrings, glinty and substantial in hefty golden brass. One, a stylist for Khaite, was swathed in a fur coat and black tights accessorized by the olives in her drink. Beck’s hair was pushed back in an of-the-moment soft headband, something I’m seeing more girls in lately. Her bare face, black sweater, and heavy accent laid a chic foundation for the single-stone diamond choker she wore of her own design. Victoria coordinated her choker, a haint blue topaz that grabbed almost as much attention as her blowout.
The toe of Gaby’s black satin Saint Laurent heels was as sharp and pointy as her wit, dressed, like Juju, in a coordinating St. John set I’ve also seen Morgan Stewart wear. (It's not a coincidence; Morgan is Gaby’s client). Juju accessorized with her own Petra shell pendant and a tasteful twist-clasp Chanel clutch. Camille and I got into a deep conversation about our mutual love for our dogs (she had her pug painted into the scene of her West Village shop’s wallpaper) and EREDE (hi Talia). She wore chic ripped jeans and one of those perfect “messy but not” buns that only New York women seem to do right.
And me? After I threw my Rohe coat on the pile and unwound my acid yellow Phoebe Philo scarf (a holiday gift to me, love me), I gave my holiday High Sport pants a little kick to animate the fringe for Gaby, who commented how much she also loves the brand’s new Lara Fair Isle sweater. Everyone is genuinely horny for this sweater right now. I saw
wear it first, then Lauren clocked it in Puck yesterday, on Chole Sevigny no less, which means sellout is imminent.After stepping out onto the chilly street (I guess we’re smoking Capris now?) our group eventually found our way to Flemings, probably much to the chagrin of a very tired waitstaff who did not want to seat a group of seven at 9 pm. “Uh oh,” I said as our boisterous group entered the quiet room. “I think we just shifted the vibe in here.”
God bless them, though; they accommodated with patience and grace, and we nibbled on lentil salads and Cajun chicken and had one of those wonderful, belly-laughing, wine-soaked dinners that make you feel like the earth is being set back on its axis. I am not sure how many bottles of Nebbiolo we drank or how much money we spent, but I do know I would have given them my last penny to stay there all night had they let us. The consummate Southern-bred host he is, Alex invited us for a nightcap at his fabulous apartment, which, God bless the Internet, you can snoop on Frederic.
Last week, I hosted a dinner with Janessa Leone for a similarly wonderful group — the very one where Meg gave me the advice that spurned the letter you’re reading now. And the outfits were just as worthy of note. Janessa wore the Jil Sander sock heels I’d been debating for months and influenced me to pull the trigger finally. Ever the fashion anthropologist herself, she described a woman she’d seen on the UES earlier that day in a full-length burgundy YSL leather trench wearing one of Janessa’s own wool hat designs. She and Meg wore the same killer black Sportmax coat, which looked sleek despite being soaked from the rain. Meg always wears some hot-off-the-presses Dorsey piece, and her new Riviere pendants look even better in person.
looked like a total classic in a crispy white button-down accessorised with a punchy red Alaia Le Teckel bag. We laughed at how we matched, my Le Teckle clutch was the very one she’d written about the week prior in her newsletter. “A grail!” She exclaimed. I wore it with a silk Toteme trench recommended by . I threw Janessa’s Joelle sweater over my shoulders, one I assure you firmly enters into the canon of all-time great Romcom sweaters. Every time I have seen Ashley lately, she’s been wearing Gigi Burris’ Sharina hat, usually with one of her own hand-beaded confections slung around her neck — this evening was no different.
Tonight, I’m wearing a brand merch bathrobe, a fat slather of Auetur lip balm, socks that don’t match, and grubby mascara from last night that won't quite come off despite many passes of face wash. I can’t tell if the snores are coming from the dogs or Kevin. There is no style to be gleaned or observed, just the soothing hum of the Housewives of Salt Lake City fighting on TV.
This was so enjoyable to read. I miss New York!
This is brilliant! More please! Xx