Hello mes amis! C'est moi, Daphne! Or should I say buongiorno principessa?!
Inslee wrote that wistful blog post about that ONE TIME she went to Amalfi. #ROFL I swear she's been this dramatic since we were two.
Anyway, I'm back. I'm spending yet another long, lazy summer in Positano. Holed up in the quaint little Le Sireneuse. Isn't it so nice when a hotel is both affordable and luxurious?
My dear dearest, Martha, has joined me for the weekend. But because she isn't entirely sure when the weekend begins/ends, she arrived today. We're lunching on the balcony on a first course of prosecco, to be followed by a crisp Ligurian white and all washed down with a quick limoncello before it's time to jump in the ocean.
When in Posi, Marth and I are all about sun safety. So we're wisely sheltered beneath Eugenia Kim feather-rimmed fedoras. We're also all about channeling our inner Italian Goddess. Which means, bearing as much shoulder/clavicle as possible. I think we've nailed that between the tunic-du-jour from Tibi and the daring maxi by Adriana Degreas. And of course, a ferocious Zimmerman gladiator sandal really takes you right back to those super sexy fights to the death in the Roman Forum, n'est pas?
Where's Doxie today?, you ask... why she's already down sun baithing on the rocks, of course. Doxie takes to Positano like parmigiano to an orecchiette, like pomodoro to bruschetta. She just fits right in with her shiny black fur already looking like she's been drenched in lemony olive oil, ready to luxuriate under that delicious tuscan sun.
She has a bit of a boyfriend these days too. Don't tell her I told you, but she met the most charming long haired standard named Fabrizio outside the fish market yesterday. They were both licking bits of fish gut off the cobblestones when their noses met. Thank goodness I have Martha here to entertain me because all I've heard out of Doxie since is "Fabrizio this, Fabrizio that..."
Cheers dears, we're off to search for gelato!
Were you honestly hoping there'd be a list? I knew it!
Lists are the number 1 trendiest thing right now! Lists of trends are a trend in and of themselves. A prominent trend among a potpourri of trends this summer that seem to be mutating and escalating and imploding in on themselves all around us. TRENDS.
Is it just me or is this the trendiest summer of all time?
From Swan Floats to Rosé to the english language devolving to a place where we either communicate entirely in List Form or we just don't finish sentences, we just add the first part of a sentence to pictures that embody an emotion, i.e. the ever popular "this float shaped like a bottle of rosé has us like.... (insert GIF of happy animal)"
IT HAD YOU LIKE WHAT? WHAT DID IT HAVE?
I admit it, I may be getting too old for the internet. Daphne is loving it. Trends are her native tongue.
Thursday night had Daphne like...
I'm telling you, the more you think about it, the more you realize how much pop culture has enhanced and abbreviated it's gestation period. Trends are happening faster and more furiously than ever before and everyone is eating it up.
If you're looking for me you'll find me beneath a "Do Not Disturb" embroidered beach hat, drinking White Girl Rosé, covered in FlashTats, re-gramming someone else's joke about how they had "A salad for dinner, mostly just croutons and tomatoes, mostly just one big crouton covered in tomatoes. And cheese. Ok a pizza. I had a pizza for dinner" Don't lie. You know you saw that same joke ten times this week floating around the internet and loved it all ten times too.
Speaking of pizza for dinner, and thus of gluten, the Lord Voldemort of 2015, let's take a moment with everyone's favorite trend. Hating Gluten. Do you hate gluten or do you hate gluten!? It was ruining your life, right???
Although, to be honest, Daphne and I will never really embrace this trend. If you could somehow make a truffle fry out of bread/cheese, we'd be interested in knowing more about that...
You know what else is trendy?
Pockets. Pockets are having a moment. Pockets may be the next rosé. Rosé called Pocket Square Rosé could potentially break western civilization by next summer. How much do you wish I knew how to produce t-shirts with botanical pockets?
If you're a t-shirt production company looking for new business, call me!
Seriously, walk outside. If you don't see a man with his surprisingly luscious hair swept up into a Man Bun, while wearing a t-shirt with a different pattern/color pocket sewn on the front, go back inside immediately because this means something is drastically wrong with wherever you are. Trendsters are like animals, they are the first to sense when something is over/about to become catastrophically dangerous. Mainly just when things are over, but still. Be extra careful.
I'm not kidding. Go look for pockets. You'll see them everywhere.
And for good measure, before I leave you. Here's a list of current trends. please feel free to help me make it an even longer list. Because what's better than a list? A Long List.
We already know the essentials:
The trouble with creating a fabulous alter ego is just that - she's fabulous.
Daphne is always making me resent the mundane, day-to-day struggles of being Inslee. While I was cleaning up our office after throwing a party in here, she was galavanting around Cannes. Daphne is a regular invitee to all the major film debuts at the festival.
I am a regular at Duane Reade, where I am often spotted shopping for more swiffer wet mops.
This is what my desk looked like the morning after our party...
What did Daphne's desk look like the night after walking the red carpet in vintage Dior?
Are you kidding? Daphne does not have a desk.
She spent the day in this darling Esther Boutique playsuit romping around Cannes. Also, disclaimer, Daphne does not need a map of Cannes. She knows the city like the back of her hand. But a map is a great prop for an instagram composition, don't you think? She also hates technology, did you know that? And if she did need directions, would definitely consult a map/a handsome man with a map before she'd dig through a bag for the gps on her phone.
Where do you find a handsome man with a map in 2015? Daphne would find one, I bet...
The following week the June gloom descended upon New York City. Rain and wind and cold, very unseasonable. I suffered through, wearing jeans and sweaters and loading up on comfort foods. Where was Daphne?
Somewhere sunny, wearing a plunging back one piece and cat eye sunglasses. She posted this cheeky little reminder that every day is a constant opportunity for thin-spiration on "National Cheeseburger Day"... Daphne feels that a cheeseburger is something that belongs in one world, and plunging back one pieces belong in another world. She chooses to live in the latter. She hopes you enjoyed your burger though, respectfully.
Have you ever tried on a plunging back one piece? Inspired by Daphne, I ordered three online. Let me tell you... I then promptly returned all three to the mystical return center of Shopbop as fast as my prepaid USPS label would carry them. Plunging back solid color one-pieces are not flattering unless you are Daphne.
I looked like a member of the 1920 Men's Olympic Diving Team. Or perhaps an extra from Foxcatcher.
To continue the laundry list of disparity between Daphne's truth and my own... let's play the old magazine editor favorite game: What's In Her Bag...
While walking home the other day I found myself caught in such and epic downpour that my paper grocery bag completely disintegrated into pulp. (cosmic retribution for not bringing my own bag?!) I was forced to shovel my groceries loose into my purse before they fell onto the flooded sidewalk. I arrived home with a fascinating purse-soup... loose thyme and shallots were marinating my supply of Puppy-Poop-Bags and seventeen different half used tubes of Aquaphor ointment.
Daphne opens her adorable handwoven rattan clutch from artisans in the South of France to find a set of maracas and a Cuban cigar when she's fishing for her black card. Why did she have maracas in her purse? Because, of course, she was invited to Stella McCartney's Cuban-themed garden party celebrating her Spring 2016 collection.
While I was scooping up Ophelia's droppings on an evening walk on Elizabeth Street (with thyme marinated baggies) I glimpsed Daphne in the garden party through the chainlink fence that protects the beautiful setting for the party - The Elizabeth Street Sculpture Garden. She'd somehow convinced one of the models to trade outfits with her and was parading around in a billowing yellow gown like one of Bacchus's nymphs.
If you haven't visited The Elizabeth Street Garden and you live in or come to New York, you must change that! It is one of my (and Daphne's) favorite haunts. A whole chunk of city block is carved out of the otherwise over-populated Nolita neighborhood for luscious green grass, flowering plants and a meandering collection of very nobel stone statues that look like they wandered straight out of the halls of a Roman sculpture museum.
It's chained off by a very threatening looking barbed wire and chainlink fence that is almost always locked - adding to the garden's allure - but on sunny days it magically opens and you can go in and sit in the grass and watch your puppy go nuts over REAL grass in the city.
It was a perfect spot for a party, and the perfect metaphor for Daphne v. Inslee.
Here she was amidst this fairy land of a garden party and here I was on the other side of the fence with a handful of thyme-poop.
Well, my friends. Do you feel sorry for me yet?
Don't. Because every once in a while, the lines between Daphne and Inslee blur, just the tiniest bit.
What is that saying? If you dream it, you'll become it... Did I make that up? It seems I daydreamed about Daphne's exotic adventures enough that the heavens finally opened with a direct flight to Saint Martin for a long weekend.
Consider this my Out-Of-Office email alert. I wonder if I'll spot Daphne in Saint Martin, or if she'll be in Saint Barth's this weekend...
Where to begin!? May has been such an exciting month so far. First of all, did you notice how I just happened to don my favorite old pale pink taffeta Oscar de la Renta party frock on the evening of Friday, May 1 and post that cryptic toast-post on my instagram account?
WELLLL...... if you must know the whole story, that was no coincidence that the next morning the world awoke to the glorious, earth shattering news that Princess Charlotte had been born. No coincidence at all, my friends.
Of course, Doxie and I had been in London for several days prior, planning to be at dear old Kate's side through the last days of her pregnancy. (A pact we swore to one another as girls at sailing camp, to help each other through life toughest moments). And of course, we all knew it was a girl.
You should have seen the beautiful top secret baby shower I threw for her, attended by primarily myself, doxie, the Delevigne sisters and a few other equally beautiful heiresses whose fortunes are handled so discretely that their names would mean nothing to you, adoring public.
On Friday night, Kate was in such a state. It was not, shall we say, Royal.
In hopes of cheering her up, I threw on this beloved old pink number and suggested we have a champagne and sushi party - these used to be her favorite kind of parties - but this only made her cry more. Apparently pregnant people cannot drink or eat raw fish? And it hurts their feelings when their best friends trot around in size zero runway samples of Oscar gowns on the eve of the impending massacre of there bodies?
Anyway, it turned into a champagne and ice cream party. Champagne for me, ice cream for her (and Doxie) (and the Queen). Did I mention HRH was there too?
Since I was the only one drinking I ended up drunk and leaked that instagram hint to the world that Kate was in labor and that Charlotte was in fact a Charlotte, not a Charlie. But you silly sallies were too dense to pick up on it! Gosh we were so worried it was too obvious! But it seemed my drunk-insta did not ruin the royal surprise and Kate pulled herself together, rose to the occasion and awoke Saturday morning, had some tea and then had an all-in-all very Royal Delivery with full make up and hair perfect through the entire 90 minute ordeal.
During the delivery, Doxie and I showed the Queen some yoga poses to help with her advancing osteoarthritis while Will and that mousey father of his watched a bit perv-ishly if you must know.
Bravo, Kate dear, Charlotte is a marvel. I can't wait to give her all my old clothes and teach her how to open champagne bottles with a stiletto. Isn't she lucky to be a princess AND to have a crazy aunt Daphne!?
Like I said, May has been a whirlwind of excitement. By mid afternoon on Saturday, Doxie and I were back stateside and positioned to enjoy juleps at the derby.
I threw on this gorgeous little white dress from one of my favorites, Alexis and of course, The Daphne hat from Gladys Tamez. The derby is such a perfect occasion for pairing white and navy. I'll never understand why so many people miss that and show up in floraly pinks. Hasn't everyone studied My Fair Lady as closely as I have? All horse race attendees should wear strict palates of white and darkest of navy....
I wonder who won the race? I suppose it takes some time for them to tally the votes. I hope it's a woman horse. It seems like it's always the male horses who win.
By Monday I was back in the city, recovered from the exciting weekend and ready to throw a little Cinco de Mayo fete. There I was in Dean & Deluca buying $7 limes, trying to decide if I should do classic Margaritas or hibiscus infused ones, or both and also wondering if Astier de Villatte made margarita glasses when it hit me, I should just throw the party in Akumal!
I tossed the limes back into the citrus display, called my guests, (and of course, my florist and told her to gather her entire reserve of blooms) and instructed them meet me at six pm sharp for departure by chopper to Mexico. We spent the rest of the week wearing all white clothing, floral crowns, and dining on hibiscus infused everything. I'm not entirely sure if this is the traditional interpretation of how to celebrate Cinco de Mayo, but it is the only way I know how observe the holiday.
I've just returned this afternoon to my sunny little corner of manhattan. After all this galavanting, I'm craving a weekend of relaxing with friends and family. Spring is in full crescendo, the days are long and warm, the farmers markets are bursting with ramps, life is good.
I popped into this springy little shirt dress from dear old friend Kiki Lynn for a trip to pick up ramps this afternoon. Aren't shirt dresses and wicker bags everything? Really, though, what would spring 2015 be without shirt dresses?
Naked. It would be naked. Everyone must have a shirt dress on or else!
And can we talk about this wicker basket? You love it right? I know. I'm sorry, you can't have it. It's one of a kind, hand woven in the Philippines. I used to live there. Did you know that?
Anyway... let's talk about ramps. Ramps, for those of you who don't know, are the pungent, luxuriously bulbous little cousin of a spring onion and they're a hot commodity in the NYC food scene. Springtime is a season for manhattan chefs to showoff their ramp-cooking skills left and right. And as a result, NYC-ers pay dearly for these onions.
Ramps go for $14 a pound, even at discount grocery shops like Wholefoods Markets. (LMFAO who goes to Wholefoods!?) And at normal grocery stores like Dean & Deluca, they're $47 a pound. Even for me that seems a bit steep! Especially when you're making a dish that require quite a few ramps, which I am.
Luckily, my sweet friend Loretta is a professional vegan forager. She travels the eastern seaboard in search of naturally occurring, sustainable produce and farms it delicately after praying over it and then flies it back to the city in her small private plane which runs on naturally derived corn-based fuel, to sell at the Union Square Farmers Market.
Loretta's Loot, which is the name of her brand, is an insiders source for the most harm-free, cage-free, ridiculously fresh produce around. I'm often elbow to elbow with the Blue Hill staff fighting over radishes at her stand. (They're usually wearing prop mustaches when this happens. They have to shop under cover. They'd never admit they sometimes turn to outsourcing to Loretta for produce, but if you must know, her ingredients are the inspiration behind some of their most impressive dishes).
Tonight, Loretta was arranging a fresh batch of foraged ramps when Doxie and I arrived. It is always so inspiring to see her at work, her eyes alight with love of pesticide free produce. She told me how she found these in the foothills of Virginia in a grassy clearing in a forest. A sea of ramps, was how she described it. Can you imagine how lovely that must have been? Discovering a vegetable, growing in season, in a quite, un-marred little piece of forest - offering up the sweetness of the season in Mother Earth's most simple, yet perfect suggestion for what to cook for dinner tonight?
I grabbed as many as would fit in my wicker tote and headed home to whip up this lovely little dish...
Lorettas Ramp Pesto
I plan to serve at sunset on our roof terrace, perhaps with a crisp vermentino and some rustic bread. And for desert we have a lemon meringue pavlova with fresh lemon curd. When did I have time to make that, you ask? Why you've forgotten who you're talking to, my dear. Always remember, Daphne can do it.
Hello! Spring has FINALLY sprung in Manhattan. Are there leaves on the trees? No. Is it warm enough to walk around without a coat? Not exactly. But, I didn't say spring has sprung in Acapulco? No, I said Manhattan. And I don't need a hat/earmuffs/gloves to go get a cup of coffee so we're all celebrating!
Especially Daphne. She is loving tax day. She's not exactly sure what tax day is. But she's loving it all the same. She's pretty sure it's similar to Boxing Day, or maybe to Bastille Day. Both are occasions she celebrates with rosé and paté eaten en plein air.
"But wait..." you're thinking, "isn't boxing day in December? Rosé outside, Daphne? Really"
Remember, Daphne probably IS in Acapulco on December 26th.
Today she and Doxie are trotting out in a light and airy Maison Kitsune shirt dress and a Belgian Bag to see what there is to see. They've decided to spend the afternoon in Central Park. She's barefoot today because, why not, right? But usually, her favorite motto of spring shopping is to invest in a great pair of new nude shoes/nude bag. The Belgian bag is the perfect neutral. Compact and ladylike, goes with everything from white jeans to cocktail dresses.
She's had a busy few weeks back in the city after her visit to Paris and her ashram (undisclosed location). Flitting from events to openings, seen several times in her new favorite nude heels from Alexandre Birman and an extra fluffy Prabal Gurung coat. She's just like the rest of us, if something fits just perfectly she wears it twice, or sometimes even a third time. This picture was snapped by paparazzi as she stepped into Gato on Lafayette where she's said to have ordered two gin martinis and an order of the harissa burrata with a friend. (Doxie joined and sipped ginger tea at their feet)
Another go-to look she's been rocking is the classic spring combination of a trench paired with white jeans and her OTHER new favorite shoes from Vince. She's thrilled circle sunglasses are back too. Of course, as far as she's concerned, they were never out. But The Row has done a fabulous job at celebrating them this season.
This is her outfit for stopping by to drop off last season's dresses for consignment - an activity the rest of us do about as regularly, and with as much joy, as going to the dry cleaners. It isn't fun, but it's the best way to care for beautiful things. By giving them to someone who can't buy them full price. Right? This trip she dropped off six pairs of Valentino Rock Stud heels and a Celine bag. She's feeling very put-off by brand names this week. Wants to only wear emerging designers with clean lines and no visible branding.
And when she's not bound by doing errands, which is most of the time, she's stepping out in her OTHER new favorite pair of nude shoes from Aquazzura. Ok so maybe you need a few pairs of new nudes for spring. Here she's spotted leaving her brownstone with Doxie in Cynthia Rowley. They're off to visit a farmers market. It's radish season! And she just brought back some authentic, eye-wateringly powerful French mustard to pair them with.
"What's this!" you say, "Daphne cooks too!? This is all too much!"
Why yes. She grew up summering with Ina Garten herself at their compound in the Hamptons. She learned to cook along side her as the barefoot contessa whipped up roasted chickens with morels and lemon butter for Jeffrey on lazy Sunday afternoons. The smell of honeysuckle and hydrangeas at the open window mingling with the buttery roasting aromas from the kitchen, set to the meditative sound of crickets chirping beyond the pool, and the sea crashing in the distance.
Ina once taught her that being close to the ocean awakens the culinary spirit within your heart because the salt calls to you on a primal level, stirring appetites that wax and wane with the tide, with the moon, with the season. Ina is said to listen to the rhythmic repeat of waves on the shore for several hours each day before baking her daily batch of perfect brownies for Jeffrey.
Daphne often does the same before preparing her signature truffled bolognese. She'll be sure to share the recipe for whatever she cooks with her farmers market finds.
You'll love it of course, but you probably won't cook it quite as perfectly as she does.
Have you been keeping up with @dressingdaphne's insta-jealousy inducing Paris antics? She just spent her birthday among the glittering French fashionites. New York may never sleep but Paris never ages, which is why Daphne always is sure to be in Paris each year on her birthday. She greets the day with reckless abandon, throwing open her shutters like Belle in Beauty and the Beast to shout Bonjour to all in sight.
Always a natural at making female friends, Daphne has conquered even the most resistant of all companionship challenges and has befriended three Parisian female standard poodles. The poodles is an animal known for its lack of time or energy for cultivating other, less fluffy women. Notoriously unfriendly, looking condescendingly down their aquiline noses, and poised for dagger-like comments about other house pets, these three queens of fluff have taken Daphne under their wing and always make time for her when she's in Paris.
It has been said that Paris Fashion Week would be an empty shell of an occasion without Daphne. She's been attending shows, front row, since she was barely old enough to wear a Dolce & Gabbana onsie. (She rocked it, of course, wearing it with shoulder pads, it was the 80's after all). This year for #PFW day one, she chose to toss caution to the wind and wore a completely sheer dress. Feminine and demure in it's tailoring but flagrantly outlandish in fabric opacity. Just the right amount of black silk appliqués cover bits that ought not be uncovered when strolling down the Champs-Elysées.
Daphne and Doxie love any occasion to linger over a meal. In Paris, breakfast or, petit-déjeuner, is king. Déjeuner et dîner are often too immersed in a fog of oysters and absinthe to really count as meals here anyway as Daphne adheres to a strictly Hemingway-ian approach to life when visiting the city. They spend their mornings on the terrace of their flat savoring the croissants brought up by Martine, an elderly gentleman who has been bringing Daphne and her family morning croissant deliveries for as long as she can remember.
An unexpected highlight of this visit was spending rare and cherished quality time with dear friends Ben and Owen at Valentino. Those two are the only men that Doxie will allow to pick her up. She senses their positive energy and gladly curls up in their laps and eats from their plates when they catch up over dinner.
Much like the mystery of how Daphne's family came into possession of the head of Winged Victory of Samothrace, certain other art world rumors circle darkly in the ancient whispers of Daphne's ancestry. It is said that they may know the truth behind Mona Lisa's subtle smirk, which is why every trip to Paris is incomplete until Daphne has visited her to smile back, knowingly.
And of course, Paris for Daphne means a constant string of paparazzi trailing her, and catching glimpses of her and Doxie's outfits. Here they are after a visit to their milliner. Doxie sporting a traditional Parisian beret jauntily tilted to the side.
And later, they're spotted near La Tour Eiffel, Daphne in up-and-commer Rosie Assoulin's distinctive geometrically pieced gown and Doxie in a black Hermes collar, stepping out for diner.
Like any good fairy tale, Daphne's Paris trip comes to a happy end. Her Paris closet is bursting with new acquisitions, Doxie's hat collection has been rounded out nicely, it is time to move on. She and Doxie pop into Cafe de Flore one last time, for one last espresso and one ... or maybe two last croissants. And then, as evening slips like a lace negligee over the sparkling Tour, the two are up and away flying to an undisclosed location...
Each year, the Paris trip is ceremoniously ended with a week spent at Daphne's ashram. It is somewhere in India and is said to be lorded over by some of the worlds top yogis and transcendental meditation gurus.
Namaste, my friends, be well. Daphne will greet you back in NYC in no time...
Ok, it's time to set the record straight.
Because I know you're all tied up in knots trying to figure out what I'm doing with the whole Daphne thing. Is she real? Is she not real? Do I have multiple personality disorder? Should you be worried?
Relax, I'll explain everything.
You could say Daphne, or The Other Girl, has always been a part of my imagination. Starting when I was a very little girl I often blamed "The Other Girl" for my wrong doings to get out of trouble. My supportive mother did not get me screened for Schizophrenia but instead played along with it tactfully helping me to agree with her that what Daphne had done was definitely wrong and we both knew she was sorry.
Daphne left me as I grew up. The world so often steals our sense of carefree adventure from us as we grow. The struggles of being a tightly wound, deeply pensive, cautious little girl led me on a path away from Daphne's free spirit. I truly never thought we'd meet again.
Until I created the 2015 calendar and lo and behold, there she was, in the illustrated flesh, in the March composition. Walking her Doxie with her dear friend Brigitte through the 6th arrondissement.
Yes, I'll admit that she is inspired by a romanticized idea of myself, she looks like me in that she is a brunette, but everything else about her is perfected by the magic of fashion illustration. She's a version of myself, a taller, better dressed figment of my imagination that never has to think about things like taxes or laundry or changing the Brita water filter.
She is my creative spirit unburdened by the shortcomings of reality, she is adventure. I knew when I found her I had to explore where she'd been and where she was going and share her with you.
So, without further ado, I give you An Interview With Daphne, The Other Girl...
Name: Daphne Dietrich
Dog's name: Much like Cat, the cat in Breakfast at Tiffanies, my doxie goes by Doxie.
Occupation: Style influencer, world traveler, writer of poetry on cafe napkins, sampler of gelato, impromptu dancer in rainstorms barefoot in summer, lover of the Doxie
Ok, stop. if you had to have are occupation what would it be? Art thief.
City: New York City. But today I'm in Paris to see the fall collections debut and to meet with my hat maker. I'll be here for quite a while, until my next birthday. I like to celebrate my birthday each year in Paris because Parisian women age so gracefully.
Tea or Coffee: Espresso, unless, of course, I'm invited to tea with Wills and Kate, in which case I love tea. Kate is always pregnant, so she can never have coffee. It's so boring.
Favorite Season: Summer, really is there any other answer? When else can you sunbathe naked on a catamaran?
Favorite scent: My personal perfume maker, Wes Anderson, creates a blend of lavender and sea salt that is perfect in it's simplicity. It doesn't have a name. He ships it to me bottled in small crystal flasks on the first day of spring each year.
Style Icon: Oh please. Next question.
Favorite beauty essential: I apply Rodin olio lusso nightly to my entire body. I also apply it to the Doxie's coat. She loves it.
Last meal: Do you mean like on death row? Or the last thing I ate? Oh well, either way, it's a bottle of rosé and one perfect truffle.
Most prized possession: the Victory at Samothrace's head. It's been in my family for years.
Favorite flower: peach colored dahlias and white amaryllis. Ernest used to send these to my grandmother. He was in love with her for years but she was married to a prince.
Favorite weekend activity: I can be found at my private standing reservation at Dirty French where I pose for famous artists to capture my cheekbone structure while drinking juniper martinis.
What do you collect: Lamp finials, original Cezanne works on paper, ball skirts
Small pleasure: throwing on a classic burberry trench, some Pigalles and nothing else to run out to grab fresh croissants. What? You don't do that? Sorry, I've got to run. Brigitte and i are meeting Karlie and Taylor for drinks.