I didn’t go to a lot of parties this season. I self-imposed a midnight curfew and werqed countless alarms (clock, cellphone, laptop) at the crack of dawn in order for me to go the gym, make coffee, work AND attend every single 9AM and 10AM show I RSVPed to. I think I did good.

Sweater by Michael Kors, trousers by Marni, shoes by Prada

Something really funny happened a couple of days ago — smack right in the middle of New York Fashion Week. After the very intimate and lovely Muse Magazine dinner honoring Marina Abaramovic, I ended up violating my curfew and got oh-so-horribly intoxicated that my doorman personally brought me to the elevator like a crippled person. When I got to my door at around 3AM, I found myself locked out of my own apartment by leaving my keys INSIDE! My building’s superintendent (he keeps copies of tenants’ keys) wasn’t available until later in the morning. It didn’t help that my phone died and I don’t know anyone’s numbers by heart. Also, I could barely keep my eyes open let alone speak to anyone. So I ended up passing out on the lobby hallway. That’s right. On the floor. I woke up at around 8AM to the sounds of people’s footsteps as they left my building to go to work. When I opened my eyes, I saw people’s legs, shoes, more legs, even more ugly shoes and I heard voices. I honestly thought I had a bad dream and I wanted to wake up from it but alas, it’s all real. I stood up, wiped the dried drool off the side of my mouth, rubbed my eyes, went to the superintendent and finally got my door opened at long last.

Keys, cellphone, wallet and cigarettes. Never leave home without them.