Did I Just Have An Epiphany?
Have I ever told you I love my job? Well, in the case I haven’t, it’s true- I do! What’s not to love about working with one of your favorite designers? Seriously, aside from Tom Ford’s Gucci collections circa early 2000’s, which in the fashion industry would be considered light years ago- I don’t think I’ve ever held such an affinity for another designer.
A few years ago, while working as a buyer, I had the pleasure of meeting Suzie. Long story short- I fell in love. Not only does this woman create jewelry that leaves me swooning, like the first time I watched Tom Cruise in Jerry Maguire and knew he was the man I was destined to marry, but she’s also totally rad. Truth be told, in my next life I would like to come back as one of the authentic Tibetan headpieces she has propped in her studio, so daily I can sit and absorb her creative energy. The woman rocks and oozes cool, calm and collected swag. Considering I work in an industry of show ponies and workhorses it’s nice to FINALLY meet someone with the perfect mix of both. Which brings me to this week’s debacle…
Earlier this week, in the midst of my trade show chaos, I was craving a puff and managed to run outside for a quick cigarette- a habit I’m aware should be kicked. Anyway, of course Jessica being Jessica, forgot to pack a lighter. Awesome. In a city of dwindling smokers and an influx of power-yoga organic foodies, finding someone with a lighter is as difficult a task as hailing a taxi in the rain on a Friday night. Lucky me. That said, you could only imagine the level of difficulty and degree of anxiety in entertaining such a chore.
Now what I want to know is what happened to the good ‘ol days in the 50’s when Hollywood’s elite sat at the Oscars dripped in Dior couture puffing Vogue cigarettes from quellazaires, or the new wave punk kids of the 80’s donning Vivienne Westwood safety pinned leather regalia taking drags of whatever smokes they could grub while loitering outside of CBGB’s? Or the fabulous disco days of the 70’s when women clad in velvet Halston dresses sipped adult punch and smoked Benson & Hedges while dancing the night away at Studio 54, or the grunge, heroin chic days of the 90’s when women clad in Calvin Klein stonewash jeans puffed Marlboro’s in mall parking lots after congregating at the food court?
Finally, after building up a sweat, numerous “pardon moi’s” and a few looks of disgrace from health-pretentious fashionistas I eventually found a light. (Thank the high heavens, for I feared while on my desperate hunt for a spark I would’ve had to resort to rubbing two sticks together… Phew!) While sitting in my ill-fated bad habit euphoric bliss I was able to think straight… And my transpired thoughts were of confusion. Had all the city’s outcasts of days past traded their bad boy image and free loving ways for hormone-free pasteurized eggs and Bugaboo strollers? Do I dare conform to the norm- shelf my fur, practice becoming a yogi and abandon my love affair with cigarettes? This native New Yorker, whom was severely suffering from a nicotine fit, wondered when in a city that never sleeps did it become so hip to be square? Or was I living in the past? Were my memories of the days of yore pure idolized moments of gluttony? Did this tendency of mine mark me the odd man out? Was it time for me to quit? (Truth be told, the mini seizure I was about to have outside due to my lacking smoke inhalation caused my mind to scream “absolutely NOT, just find a light and get on with your day!”) But honestly, I couldn’t help repetitively referencing the quote “You never want to be the last to leave the party.” All along I had chalked up this severe health conscious fad to the latest trend for uncool individuals living in fear, but realistically was I the uncool one? These heavy thoughts of “should I or shouldn’t I quit” racked my brain as I sat, secluded and lonely, in the roped-off smoking section, and have proceeded to mentally prod at me. What to do, what to do…
Well I’ll tell you, one thing is for sure… Suzie’s porcelain skin and vegetarian yoga-toned body exudes natural beauty. She credits her splendid physique to good genes- regardless, I still can’t help harp on the fact that she physically takes care of herself… Sigh, I think it’s time I get with the program!
You know, not to toot my own horn or anything, but I dress well. Some would even call me swag, but realistically how “swag” is a pretty girl who smells like smoke? Seriously… (Plus, due to this infamous habit of mine my dry-cleaning bills are astronomical!) Even though I’m a smoker, nothing bothers me more than smelling of cigarettes- hence my fixation with fragrance. This girl not only douses herself with perfume before she leaves her apartment (partly because I swear by Coco Chanel’s infamous quote of “a woman who doesn’t wear perfume has no future”, but also due to my slight OCD- mental justification being “if I spray half the bottle on me now I’ll still smell good later”), but also never journeys ANYWHERE without a travel size bottle of perfume- my latest aroma addiction being Tocca’s rollerball in Cleopatra.
In conclusion, I’ve decided since I can’t seem to shake these daunting thoughts my latest 2012 resolution is to quit smoking cigarettes! (Hopefully…) I smoked my last Capri a few hours ago, and starting right now am declaring myself a “non-smoker”.
And so, being that it’s essential I keep busy, so thoughts of needing nicotine don’t mentally fester, I invited my (non-smoking) girlfriend, Mitzy, to dinner. This will be good, positive reinforcement is exactly what I need… Plus, this outing also gives me a chance to rock my new Suzanna Dai accessories- the Copenhagen Necklace and Mumbai Earrings. (I AM ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY IN LOVE WITH THEM!)
And I’m out the door… I’ll let you know how my new hale in fine feather fad materializes!