The Road More Traveled

Spring Is Coming!

Spring, glorious Spring! You have left Palm Beach, your jet has landed at Teterboro, and you are now safely ensconced in your townhouse just off of 5th Avenue. Esperanza has taken your matching Vuitton luggage up to the master bedroom and is sorting through your collection of Indian tunics, linen pants, Eres bikinis, bejewelled flats, funky, offbeat necklaces from that loveable and charmingly malnourished street urchin in Morocco, and vintage Pucci. Those belong to Summer and Resort, but you are Spring, and you have a job to do! The city is counting on you, waiting for you to pry it from the icy fingers of bleak, ugly Winter. And you must prepare yourself.

You walk to Bergdorf, past the American Eagle and Claire's Accessories-intensive school group from Tulsa posing in front of a horse and carriage, past the dazed Texan family with matching fanny packs, past the gaggle of giggling Japanese girls with Hello Kitty t-shirts and Gucci handbags, past the lovebirds from Paramus in for a day of window shopping at Tiffany and actual shopping at the Abercrombie & Fitch flagship store. Oh Spring, they don't make it easy for you, do they? But you soldier on bravely, past the US Weekly devotees with their cowboy boots, newsboy caps, aviators and Kooba handbags, past the homeless man and his paranoid delusions, past the Sean John and the football jerseys and the Burberry knockoffs and the Eastern Europeans in surplus L.A. Gears from 1992. Yes, you forge stoically ahead, your "Les Plumes" scarf from Hermes flapping in the breeze and your new Chloe handbag swinging at your side, and you press onwards until you finally, gleefully reach those magnificent and inviting revolving doors. There at last!

But Spring, your trials and tribulations are not yet over. You glance longingly at a Nancy Gonzalez tote in black crocodile, and you pause at the Ippolita display, but you know you mustn't dilly-dally. After all, you have a mission. And Spring, to complete that mission, you must traipse through the maize of stovepipe jeans tucked into knee-high boots, of bleached heads and gum-snapping, Prada-toting, D & G Belt-sporting Ladies of Leisure from the other side of the tunnel. You must dodge the slick, European man in his tinted shades, custom-made loafers and Etro scarf as he escorts his mink-encased wife towards the elevator. You must plow through the 14-year-old city natives with Razrs pressed to their ears, toeing the line between adolescence and later adolescence with their Marc by Marc Jacobs boots. And when, at long last, you finally reach the escalator, you must take your turn behind the elderly woman with her beehive of Licari-tinted hair, her red lipstick and her nicotine-induced baritone.

When you reach the second floor, you simply can't resist taking a peek at the shoes and seeing what Manolo's up to these days. But Spring, you mustn't be distracted; you still haven't found the perfect ensemble for your fast-approaching debut! Will you take the young and flirty route with the yellow Zac Posen or the adorable little Temperley number, or will you opt for clean sophistication with the Narcisco Rodriguez sheath? Will you choose the Oscar de la Renta with its matching bolero, or you will you spice things up with the Derek Lam? You explore the possibilities, and you start a fitting room. O Spring, your options are limitless, and like the commission-hungry saleslady, we anxiously await your decision. Hurry, Spring! Hurry! Do not fuss so much about your appearance; nobody will notice those crow's feet or those five pounds of Fauchon goodies that now rest squarely on your hips. Nobody will care if your roots are showing. You always look smashing when you finally decide to grace this Noble City with your presence, and surely you won't disappoint us (or David Patrick Columbia) this time around. Thus, dearest Spring, we now respectfully beseech thee: show Bergdorf your Platinum Card, and show us your face!

posted by She-Ra, Princess of Power @ 2:36 PM