Queen B
Wednesday, May 28, 2008 at 10:49PM 
A post about New York, my friend Wendy Brandes, red lipstick, and this little piggy who went to Prada (and the Mercer Kitchen.)
Just a few weeks ago I was in New York for work. Not to sound like Dominick Dunne's Diary or anything, but I did take in some of the finer sides of Mannahatta before I returned to my golden state, and I think Dommie would have approved. I enjoyed the food, the wine, the hotel service, the architecture, the yellow cabs, and the fat fluffy pink blossoms on every tree in sight...New York can be lovely.
There's an old Cole Porter song that says "I happen to like New York..." Well, I'm one of those people who can take it or leave it. True, I have a good time when I'm there, but would I want to stay longer than a few days? Probably not. While I generally love Cole Porter, when it comes to New York I think of Joni Mitchell's song "California"...
"...it's too old and cold and settled in its ways there, oh but California, California I'm comin' home. I'm gonna see the folks I dig, I'll even kiss a sunset peak, California I'm comin' home..."
I hadn't visited New York in almost a year, and it was nice to see the place (and my sister and brother-in-law). My comfort level is definitely growing out of the canyons of steel, but it still doesn't make up for the fact that I cannot see the natural horizon line...like, anywhere. I suppose that's why captains of industry live in penthouses: they know that the dog's eye view will make you crazy. Or, as the chairman of my own company likes to say: "If you aren't the lead dog, the view's always the same..." But enough about dog-butts. Let's talk about pigs. Pigs like Fernando...
Fernando the pig has been a recurring character on Wendy Brandes' blog over the past few weeks and prior to my visit I let Wendy know that I simply HAD to meet Fernando whilst I visited NYC. Oh, and her too. La Brandes suggested the Mercer Kitchen as the perfect place to meet: within the vicinity of my hotel in SoHo, yet permissive enough of artistic proclivities to overlook a strange little rubber pig on our tabletop. Perfect.
I arrived fashionably late, but it was only because I damned the early spring rain by walking in my four-inch pony-hair leopard-print pumps. See, I'm a bohemian - I don't need cabs or umbrellas or proper raincoats or any of those New Yorker-ish necessities. I'm from Cali. We pack one bag and make it work. Arriving at The Mercer, I entered on the Mercer Street side which was my first mistake. Wendy B had told me to meet her at the "upstairs bar"; thinking this was on the roof or some other normal place upstairs, I strode determinately toward the elevators only to be asked: "may we help you?" by the ever-efficient Mercer staff. Didn't they know who I was? I haven't been given the "palmed at the door" treatment since the last time I attempted to get in to the Standard Hotel bar in Los Angeles, and that was a whole other deal, let me tell you. What, did they think I was going to go up to Marc Jacobs' suite, do a shave-and-a-haircut on his door and ask for a discount?
The Mercer ladies gave me an indulgent smile and let me know that the "upstairs bar" was merely the "upstairs part to the downstairs restaurant" which is in the basement, therefore the place I'm going is on the main floor...hunh? They dimpled at me as if to say "you silly, silly, un-knowing, impostoring, un-chic goose..." and then pointed me to the right table. Feeling my un-chicness spread into a wild blush across my face, I slunk away in my dripping coat and now-dampened pony hair pumps.
And there she was: my savior, my compass in the world of New York style mores, Wendy B. I immediately saw the chic hair-do and lovely petit frame, but what blinded me to salvation was the gorgeous shimmer of her lipstick. Red. Red like when you're a baby and you only see black, white,...and red. Gorgeous, sip-proof, kiss-proof, stay-proof, Diana Vreeland, Marilyn Monroe sucking on a cherry lollipop, red. Damn. I didn't know anyone young enough to avoid membership in AARP wore that kind of lipstick. Fucking awesome. Wendy B was suddenly like a bejeweled, Prada-toting, red-lipped, beautiful smart bomb. Shock and awe...a little envy and pure adoration.
We enjoyed our wine, talked business, blogging and bullshit. We laughed, we kabbitzed, we dished. I was entranced by her effortless charm, winning smile, knowledge of Medieval queens and latex leggings, her unusual jewelry, her easy style (I don't care a damn what WWD says!) and self-posession. I kept thinking: "How is her skin so perfect? Shit. Did I exfoliate this week? She must think I'm some silly kid who doesn't know better than to keep her pony-hair pumps out of the rain...ugh. How. To. Impress?"
"...there were lots of pretty people there, readin' Rolling Stone, readin' Vogue...they said how long can you hang around? I said a week maybe two, just until my skin turns brown, then I'm goin' home to...California, California..."
Luckily a pig saved me from my savior-envy. Fernando needed yet another entirely fashionable picture of himself and this time we went to the Rem Koolhaas-designed Prada store just a block away. I took the picture above of Fernando on Wendy's hand scrutinizing the very striped, very long, very 70s, Prada trousers that were in the window. I think all three of us knew we could find something very similar on eBay without trying too very hard.
Upon saying goodbye I felt a bit like I'd had a really successful first date. You know, you want to keep talking, keep walking, keep the magic alive; if you're goint to say goodnight you at least want a great kiss. Okay, that's going a bit far, and who knows what it would have done to the staying power of that lipstick...
And why don't we wear fabulous red lipstick like Wendy B any more? I refuse to believe that it's too retro or too high-fashion for anyone. It's ladylike, polished and lovely. Yes, it's high-maintenance, but I'm sure if we probed a bit further La Brandes would certainly have advice on how to make that work.
Returning home to my beloved city and state of golden light, sea breezes and pink sunsets, I fell quickly back into my routine. Each morning I put my lipstick on in the hallway mirror before leaving for the bus. The first day, it just didn't look right. I went back to the bathroom and dug around for something I knew was in there somewhere... ah yes, NARS lipstick's Afghan Red. I went with it and felt fabulous.
So I suppose I happen to like certain things about New York. Wendy Brandes is right at the top of the list!
Reader Comments (5)
Love this post.
Helene
The Luxe Chronicles
PS Did I read right ... four-inch pony-hair leopard-print pumps? Mmmmm.