The Guest List

This happened at a time when everyone in fashion had decided that I was cool, everyone loved me, everyone wanted to be my friend. What a genius I was, and how my taste was wonderful. 

I had a friend who was incredibly stylish, on the edge of famous and, well, rich. Her name was K., and she was one of the rare people in fashion who could actually afford the clothes she was wearing. Her stunning house had been on the cover of Architectural Digest, her lengthy beauty routine on Into The Gloss, her remarkable wardrobe on Atelier Doré, and she was running the type of company which has everyone wondering how it makes any money—you know the ones.

Next to her, I always felt like a draft of a person. 

She was someone I aspired to be. I literally couldn’t believe I was her friend.

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I was completely blinded by the brightness of her spirit and the Calacatta Viola marble of her kitchen island. She was giving me the vibes of a modern Truman Capote swan, of a Slim Aarons heiress. She loved being surroun…