February hosts New York fashion week, one of the most glamorous weeks of the year. Beautiful, composed and collected editors, bloggers, and journalists brave the short walk from their town cars and cabs to Lincoln Center. Designers rush around backstage putting finishing touches on multiple models. They tend to look incredibly put together, falsely representing how the majority of us feel during the final stretch of winter. For them, I like to think February is full of assessing collections over double-shot lattes. I like to think they’re enjoying the side order of chaos with their champagne. I like to think they feel as put together as they look, because like clockwork, when this time of year comes around, I tend to lose my sanity.
For me, February is composed of twenty-eight frigid, stressful, and lethargic mornings. Usually, I’m deathly ill for the majority of the month, making it impossible to believe I will ever look presentable no matter how much product I put in my hair. I wake up to a closet filled with empty hangers and various articles of clothing laying haphazardly all over my dorm room floor. It takes at least forty-five minutes to get ready simply because piecing together a full outfit demands not only a sense of style, but an unflappable determination to find the right pieces in an organizational catastrophe. Somewhere, however, in the pile of clothes I manage to find my “favorite shirt”, or the perfect pair of socks to go with my penny loafers. These little moments of triumph supply just enough satisfaction to keep hope that I’ll once again breathe through my nose, and maybe even walk down Bates hill without severely injuring my self-esteem.
Everyone I’ve talked to this past month has had some kind of crisis, whether it was missing multiple classes because of illness, or running around like a crazy person to avoid confronting the demons of procrastination. Surprisingly, everyone looked fabulous. I’ve seen more amazing outfits than I’ve seen all winter. I’ve seen rich furs accented by perfectly applied lipstick; I’ve seen hunter boots accompanied by wonderfully textured wool socks, and frankly, there’s nothing like living in a community of creative, beautiful people in this frosty hell to lift my spirits.
Regardless of how insane the past month has been, it’s almost over. So while getting out of bed may have been more difficult than it has ever been, at least while I was waiting in Health Services for the next supply of Coldonyl I didn’t even have to pick up a fashion magazine to escape into a Narnia of style. We’re almost at the end, so keep your Hunters on, keep walking through the slush, and please, for my sanity, keep waking up those extra thirty minutes early to show me your best looks. I’ll be watching.