Like most juicy stories, this started at a party.
In New York’
s public zoo (Manhattan), beauties of this animal kingdom click-clack with their Jimmy Choos, prance atop Louboutins, and teeter on Lacroixs. When visiting the jungle, the beauties enter soirées (one stiletto step at a time, of course!) that are considered the territory of the elite animals. Here, enter the feisty jungle of an Mercedes Benz Fashion Week after party, September 12
, 2016, where industry insiders frolic and one girl always recieves the
share of attire-focused attention. As the old saying goes, an outfit is wor
th a thousand words. (Okay, that’
s not how the exact saying went, but the idea that you communicate through your clothing choices is undoubted.) My clothing choice: a vermillion floor-length maxi dress. And with such a choice, non-surreptitiously, heads quirked and piercing eyes motioned up and down my outfit like an elevator repeatedly going up and down. Once witnessing the attention, I made a point to sashay around the social gathering to flaunt my outfit. Nothing abstruse from my typical night outs, I was the scene stealer. Markedly, I was wearing something that made lasting and fashionable impression without even saying a word. Circulating the penthouse, I traipsed around and remarked about the models in my midst. I heeded the admirable cat walkers, cataloging their Saturday-night style and mentally noting every outfit in view. One cat walker was wearing some trashy, pointed, thigh-high boots and silver metallic skirt. Poof
rock star sex kitten. Meow. Instantly, I flung my notepad out of my clutch and jotted down notes. In a flash, I witnessed a woman who wore a tulip-shaped skirt that had the same shade of colors of the childhood jungle gym I used to play in: red, yellow, and blue. The color combination was risky, but it worked. Suddenly, I began eagerly writing as I closed in on how the color combination accentuated the ripples of the skirt so flawlessly. Soon after, another well-dressed marvel stumbled by me. She piqued my interest with her complex and monochromatic outfit in the face of the recent frou-frou popular trend. I began semi-staring, like a tourist on safari. Then I scribbled actively
mentioning every synonym of “amazing‟.
Finally, in a daze of awe, I looked down at the chicken scratch of notes. I saw that my notepad was filled with notes written in Spanish, Italian, Hindi, Bengali, Latin, Greek and English- all the languages I know how to write in. Subsequently navigating the New York soiree rather than the Atlantic Ocean, my inner Christopher Columbus was ignited when I uncovered new inspirations for my writing. I started immersing myself in three of my senses: sight, smell, sound. I searched the room for nominal objects. Then, I yoga inhaled the scent of the heat rising from the plates of hot fettuccine. During, I listened to the gossip monger whispers among the music. I drew silhouettes and could not keep the pen from moving on paper. I had a lack of control and excitement for what was