This summer, my sister, A, came to New York. For the past I don’t know how many years, she has been living in San Francisco and we would see each other maybe twice a year, if we were lucky. Naturally we jumped at the chance to see each other for the whole three months and decided to sublet together. So, I said goodbye to my studio in Queens and we said hello to our two bedroom in the East Village.
First, I’d like to say that the East Village isn’t exactly my style, it’s definitely more A’s. I feel like, if I were to live anywhere in the city, it would be the Upper East Side. I prefer the quieter, prettier, more sophisticated neighborhoods (albeit sometimes stiff) to the trendy ones. Don’t get me wrong, I love to hang out in the trendy ones, the Meat Packing District is by far my favorite area to haunt in Manhattan, but I wouldn’t want to live there. As we settled into our new routines, which consisted for my of an extra hour of sleep in the morning and a far shorter commute to work, I quickly began to see why people lived in the city.
On my way home from work one day, I walked down a different street and came across the most amazing Roberto Cavalli dress in the window of a consignment shop. Now, I had heard a lot about these consignment shops, but I had no idea that I was living near one (or, as I would later find out, many). I decided to pop in and see if I could try the dress on, but the door was locked, so I stared at the dress longingly and made a mental note to come back.
The next day, I walked the same way back to my apartment. I slowed down my pace as I got closer to the consignment shop, held my breath and looked up at the window. The dress was still there. I sighed in relief and walked into the shop. The owner was really nice, and after a bit of conversation, he took the dress down for me and I gleefully walked into the dressing room. I slipped out of my work clothes, into the beautiful dress and stared at myself in the mirror. I ignored the lack of make-up and glamorous hair, and fell for the dress immediately. I never wanted to take it off. I was in the dressing room for so long that the owner had to ask me if I was ok; it was the dead of summer after all. I bought the dress of course.
I walked out of the store carefully holding the bag that carried my new favorite dress. I now owned this amazing dress for a fraction of what it would have cost me had I bought it in the store. I ended up going back to that consignment shop three more times, purchasing an Armani bag and two more dresses, one Chanel and the other Emanuel Ungaro.
My credit card may have taken a big hit this summer, but with my new couture pieces, my wardrobe has never looked better.