It’s November, the time of year when fall drifts to winter and we all start wrapping our cashmere sweaters more tightly around us and thinking about the holidays. In New York, we allow the tourists to enjoy the city, whether they’re wobbling around Wollman Rink wearing their blindingly bright puffer jackets or gawking at a larger-than-life SpongeBob SquarePants balloon during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s cold, it’s dark, but the windows in Bergdorf’s are sparklier than the Marni dresses inside, and all of us Manhattan natives are just itching to celebrate the season in style.
the one thing in our way
Thanksgiving. Who’d have thought a holiday all about gratitude (my short list: sample sales, Corner Bakery coffee, St. Jude’s swim team boys running in Central Park without shirts) would have evolved into a four-day calorie-fest all about forced bonding with strange relatives? Luckily, many New Yorkers avoid the awkwardness by heading out of town for the holidays. And who can blame them? Why listen to your drunk uncle drone on about his glory days when you could wear your slinkiest, sexiest Malia Mills string bikini on the beach or your new fur-trimmed boots on the slopes?
So take my advice: Find out who’s going AWOL for the holidays, and make sure you get invited along!
sightings
A and J sharing a dressing room at Barneys, trying on Stella McCartney dresses. They’ve gone from bitches to besties in the time it takes most people to lose their late-summer tans…. J, later, at a playground on Bleecker Street, with her on-again boyfriend J.P. and two freckly-faced toddlers. Babysitting, or an early visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future?… R, O, and the rest of the swim team guys, drinking pitchers at one of those sticky-floored dives on Second that don’t card, ignoring the pack of cougars surrounding them…. Lastly, B and her best friend, the pierced, tattooed S, taking photos in Brooklyn. They’re certainly taking Rancor seriously!
your e-mail
q: Dear Gossip Girl,
What’s going on for T-Day? You’re totally invited to my house. ’Rents are out of town. Suh-weet!
—ponyparty
a: Dear PP,
While that sounds delightful, I plan to spend my holidays hanging out with people I actually know. But enjoy the free house!
—GG
q: Dear Gossip Girl,
So, I’m, like, super in love with one of the St. Jude’s swim team guys, but they’re always hanging out together and I feel sort of weird just approaching him in front of all the guys. What should I do?
—swimfan
a: Dear SF,
A hint: Guys are like wildebeests, always traveling in packs for protection and more scared of you than you are of them. They’re not nearly so frightening close-up. Try hunting one down on his own and see what happens.
—GG
Just thought of a few more things to add to my list of things to be thankful for: Hot boys, tiny Missoni bikinis, and islands with no drinking age. That’s right, I’m joining the legions of New Yorkers getting out of town. Where, you ask? Wouldn’t you like to know? But don’t pout. You should be thankful that no matter where I am, I’ll be keeping track of what anyone who’s anyone is doing—on this island and any other island worth visiting.
You know you love me,
gossip girl