DISCLAIMER: an interest in reading is required. I can either sit in this SoHo Starbucks (cliché and appallingly lame, I know) and upload pics of shoes, shoes and more shoes; or I can share the joosey details of my New York City experiences witchall. I’ve chosen to do the latter!
Am I the only one who actually wishes they were up to something evil when they pass through airport security so easily? I mean, you should really take a closer look at my face, bored TSA employee. I guess you can’t see that my nose is prosthetic and that this blonde mustache is actually glued on. And what? The bag of cocaine stuffed up my anus and I get to pass through the metal detector instead of that weird body-scan machine? Great news, drug lords!
Adding to my air borne misery, I’ve got a red-eye flight from PDX to NYC. I can’t sleep on planes; it’s just not possible. No matter how much melatonin, beer or sleeping pills I utilize, my body refuses to let me rest while it’s propped up and my butt numbs in fury. So I stay awake through the entire bloody flight, wondering when the dude next to me is going to turn his damn monitor off. His entertainment is my silent peripheral torture.
A quick NYC bagel for breakfast and approximately eleven shots of espresso later, Ty (Solestruck’s creative director) and I are off to mid-town to check out the FFaNY shoe show. We look like two oompa loompas, if oompa loompas were 6-feet-tall, came in white/asian pairs and dressed ridiculously in comparison to the herds of business professionals at FFaNY shoe shows. And yet, perhaps it was no surprise that we’re the folks from Solestruck. A quick glance through the miles of incredibly basic shoe styles that saturate the show is testament to how unique Solestruck is in this market. Weirdos, unite (I guess)!
high five if you know why this is amusing
We saw this baseball heel, looked at each other and communicated via eye-roll, “let’s get the fuck out of this place.” Next stop: showrooms. ‘Twas a beautiful day, so we decided to walk to our many appointments. But for the tourist who travels above ground, be forewarned: in New York, it’s cars before people. Either you scrape out da way by the hairs of your chinny chin chin, or that cab’s gonna plow right through you–and not in the fun, sexy way. Seriously, is nobody else mesmerized by the clinical insanity that is New York traffic?
Coated in thick smog and in serious need of some NYC-nervous-stress-tick suppressants, we collaborated with Miista, TBA and Messeca for an exclusive, 1-night-only happy hour of Shuella (hahahaha, still funny), whipped cream vodka (still disgusting) and buckets of champagne.
The night came to a loud, crowded close with tanks of more spirits, this time courtesy of Dolce Vita’s tropical party. Thanks DV!
The shoe industry is half shoes, and half free liquor. I enjoy it!
See you for round 2, NYC.