Rep Yourself. New York Fashion Week.

The last time I was at New York Fashion Week, I was an intern. What did I wear? What they told me to. None of this fun stuff.

It was a small black tee with stark white lettering. WWD right across my chest. There was to be no confusion I was only there...

...to hand out the programs. To some that may not count, but to hand programs out to fashion's darlings made me dizzy with delight. Chalk it up to small town girl syndrome, but I thought I was the cat's pajamas.

This year I'm headed back and this time as me. You see it was twofold, that simple cotton tee declared I was with Conde Nast. It was safe. No pressure to accessorize. To cleverly layer print and pattern.

This time I get to bring it. I'm almost decided on the fact that I'm going to wear my Society Social Hostess Gown. It may seem utterly ridiculous to float about in more than 6 yards of floor length chiffon, maybe even in broad daylight...

...but on that first Fall day in a new to me big city, I do recall excitedly handing pink haired Patricia Field a program. Something tells me she wouldn't mind at all, and that's enough justification for me.

{Harper's Bazaar | The Sartorialist | Vogue}