Sunday afternoon on Fillmore Street

So much of the success of this endeavor depends on keeping oneself out of harm's way. No more Fashion Week blogs. No more Design*Sponge. No mightygoods, no J.Crew catalog, no W Mag. Nothing to shatter the carefully curated illusion that I'm not missing anything.

But in my current mindset, even an innocent glass of wine at The Grove is a running of the gauntlet.

















As medieval-style tortures go, I suppose it could have been worse. I could've been pilloried and had the half-price stilettos chucked at my head.