You can find anything in the Garment district.

SO I own 3 fur coats.

‘cue the backlash’

Let me start by saying that they are all vintage (50+ years) and all handed down from my grandmother and great aunt. I DID NOT purchase new fur. These are heirlooms! BUT they also keep me warm when walking the frigid, wind tunneled streets of New York City in January. For those of you who don’t know, it gets REALLY cold here. Like bone-chilling cold.

Now that you don’t hate me for having fur coats…

A seam on one of the coats is ripping so I took it to my ‘fur guy’ last night. He is this older polish man (let’s call him Joe), with a heavy accent and kind heart, and he is the very best. My first experience with him was a few years back, when the collar to my Aunt’s 65 year old coat was deteriorating. I was so nervous to take this coat anywhere, even to wear it out for fear of something happening, but I swallowed my fear and went to get it fixed.

The vague google directions led me to this random wholesale store somewhere in the Garment district. Upon entering this room filled with tacky evening gowns (like many other stores in that area), I inquired where to go. When the owner said “the basement”, my 23 year old self realized I could be walking into a potentially very bad situation. Ignoring all my better instincts, I descended the steps into the basement, which was filled floor to ceiling with fur coats. There was not a surface that was clear save for the 1 foot wide walking path through the organized chaos. I was greeted by Joe, who immediately ushered me into his work-space.

He could tell I was nervous, but he took the coat from my arms and opened it to assess the damage. The rip was at the collar neckline, so in order to really see the problem, he had to take out the lining. You can imagine my panic as his assistant took a scissors to the lining, embroidered with my aunt’s name (a common detail of the time). As she peeled the fabric away to expose the inside hide, a 65-year old pattern was revealed.

~For your reference, when working with leather or fur, one must trace the paper pattern directly onto the hide. If you pin into leather, the hole will be forever visible.~

I gasped in awe at the markings inside the coat. I couldn’t believe that this has not been viewed in over 60 years when this coat was originally constructed. That’s a fashion designer’s treasure. I felt closer than ever to the woman who bought this coat, and wished I could glimpse what her like was like back in 1953. I often wonder if I was born in the wrong era.

Joe assessed the damage and decided it was easily fixed. He promised it would be good as new in a few days.

As he walked me out of the cluttered room, he paused to grab a fluffy white stole from a pile.

“Come.” he said, and motioned me to the floor length mirror. He draped the stole over my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said “I will make you one for your wedding. You will be beautiful.”

I was floored by his kindness and thinking how perfectly this fit with my 1950’s daydream. This is not something that often happens in the present time.

I turned to him and replied, “it won’t be for a long, long time, but I look forward to it.”

There are vintage gems lurking in every corner of this city. You just have to dig to find them, but when you do, you discover a piece of history.

XOXO J

A Case of the Mondays

Mondays are always a challenge. Waking up early again after a nice relaxing weekend to start the week is never something I look forward to. Especially now when I have two snuggly kittens making it very difficult to move out of bed.

Monday morning was different (still hard to get up), but rather than going straight to work. I took a 1/2 day and went to a meeting first thing at a new office building. Its a super exciting opportunity at a company I have always wanted to work with. Seeing as its about 15 minutes closer to my apartment than my current office, I left with plenty of time, but expected an easy subway commute.

NOT.

About 15 minutes in to the ride my train gets stopped under the East River (I live in Queens) due to train traffic. I feel a small wave of panic wash over me, but quickly let it go as I still had plenty of time. A few more minutes go by when another announcement comes on that there is a sick passenger at 42nd street (let me remind you that I am still technically in queens). Cue the panic.

NYC subways are notoriously unreliable. Between train traffic, sick passengers, and signal problems, it’s a miracle we get anywhere.

Anyways, as I sat on the train practicing my meditative breathing (and receiving weird looks from other passengers and every inhale/exhale), I kept reminding myself that this situation was completely out of my hands. I obviously love being in control of everything, so being stuck with no wifi and nowhere to go was an anxiety attack waiting to happen. When I finally reached the first stop in Manhattan, I raced out of the station, quickly calling someone to explain the situation, attempting to hail a cab (right in the middle of morning rush hour). Just to paint this picture, I was all dressed up and wearing 6″ heels running down Lexington Avenue. Perfect outfit for marathon training obviously.

Luckily there was a cab pulled over at a coffee cart, so I ran to him, arms flailing, yelling PLEASE TAKE ME. Jumping in, I ordered him to make for 50th and 7th Ave as fast as he possibly could. A nice, older gentleman, he understood the urgency of the situation, and proceeded to talk me down as we made our way to the drop-off point. Maybe there’s still hope for our city’s humanity,

In an end to this horrible commute, I made it to the meeting only 15 minutes late. In my mind, being late to anything important is an automatic fail, but then again some things are out of our control. I guess we will just wait and see what fate has in store for me with this opportunity. Happy Monday!

Xoxo -J

Burgers or Pizza?

SO…I texted him. Just once more.

When I saw his text on Friday I was too shocked to come up with a ball-busting response. Two days later and I had it written in my mind. I feel a bit better, but all I want is for him to feel as shitty as he’s made me feel. I am not a vengeful person and I will never be Blair Waldorf. But I am mad. How dare he decide that my weekend would be shitty weekend?

Ironically, one year ago this week my previous boyfriend dumped me. He chose to add some humor to the situation and do it on none other than Friday the thirteenth. So clever right? Looking back, he was not someone I could see myself with long term, but it still hurt. And one year later it looks like I have circled back to the same place.

Keep this up and my gravestone will read “the girl who got dumped in October.”

As I’ve been processing all this over the weekend, I’ve come to the conclusion thatevery guy I’ve dated has been an ass is because I live in New York City. Sex and the City wasn’t a myth. Men here suck.

The city provides its inhabitants with an endless supply of possibility. There is always a better job, a better apartment, a more attractive person to date. We live in a city with millions of people. So basically if the girl they’re dating is missing some quality, they just open up Bumble and find the next hot blonde to try out. What a sick way of thinking. It provides men with the ability to work their way through women without a second thought. Guys notoriously don’t do well with too many choices, but what have we given them? Tinder.

Look, I’m not dissing the apps. I think they’re a brilliant invention in this technology-driven world. But I am realizing what they have done to our generation. And it doesn’t seem to be a good thing.

I’ve done enough complaining this gloomy Sunday afternoon, so I am going to open up Seamless and scroll through the overwhelming amount of options for dinner tonight. Pretending I will try something new, and spending 20 minutes reading reviews of new restaurants, I will inevitably return to the same Thai restaurant and order my staple. When given millions to choose from, our brain gets overwhelmed. Can’t the same be said about dating in New York?

XOXO -J

Life, and a New (Cat) Mom.

Last night I adopted two kittens. Yep, I’m a cat lady now.

The minute I got home and unpacked the cuties, I received a text from the guy I had been dating for the last 4.5 months. Let’s call him Kevin. And yes I say ‘had been dating,’ so you can probably guess what happened next. He decided he needed to “get something off his chest” before his two week island vacation. Due to his busy schedule and the fact that he may not be staying in NYC next year, he felt it best to end our relationship before he hurt me anymore. VIA TEXT.

Wow, what a nice guy right? He’s thinking how kind it would be to not string me along for the next few months.

But what about the last 4.5? He knew when we first started dating that he was applying for other positions all over the country starting Fall 2019. He knew he had a busy schedule. But did that stop him from dating me for a few months? NOPE. So my question is, why waste my summer? (This is rhetorical, I can probably figure out the answer)

Let me give you a backstory…

I moved to NYC a little over three years ago to begin my career as a fashion designer. Like many before me, I embraced the excitement of all the city had to offer and spent my days running errands as an intern for a fashion company. I genuinely enjoyed this internship, unlike my first summer internship at a very well known, high profile design house (we will discuss this more next time). Yes I still ran about the garment district in high heels, sweating my ass off carrying bags laden with samples, going to factories in unmarked buildings where I would pick up MORE bags, only to run back to the office in time for our fitting. But the difference was at this internship, I was actually treated like a human (a rarity).

Once I landed my first job as an intimate apparel technical designer, I thought I has finally made it big. I had done it!! I was a real New Yorker, spending more on my rent each month than my paycheck allowed, eating bagels every saturday, and saving every dime for the inevitable almond milk latte needed to get me through a Monday.

Fast forward three years later, and I am still a technical designer (I actually do love my job), still living in the pricey apartment, and now have two cats. Oh yeah, I’m single. Again.

Why is it that we successful, powerful women (I like to pretend I am powerful) let men walk all over us? I know I’m not the only one. It’s always ‘make sure you play it cool’, and ‘don’t show him how much you actually like him’. Or ‘make sure you NEVER say Boyfriend until he brings it up, he might get scared and run away…or worse ghost you!’

We treat them with such nervousness so we don’t ruin the relationship before it even begins. And somehow, in all that time spent trying to be cool, we end up actually liking them. Its a vicious cycle (more stories to come). So WHY do we allow them to hold the reigns on the relationship?? WHY let them determine the relationship status and if all of a sudden it needs to end?? If we are as strong as I know we are, then we need to stop! It’s too hard to be perfect all the time.

Now I’m sitting in my bed in sweats, cuddling with new kittens and with no plans on a Saturday night, and none to start dating any time soon. You know what? I genuinely don’t care. Come Monday, I plan to zip up my sexy over-the-knee boots (fall fashion is the best) and strut down 5th avenue to my office. As the heads turn, which they always do and I secretly love, I will be happy just being me. I have many plans for the future of my career and none of them will change because of one man.

Happy hunting. NOT.

XOXO -J