I always love a good update, so let me just press the fast-forward button and tell you where things ended up six months after our cab mack-fest. The taxi home crashed into a wall, leaving us on side-by-side respirators at New York Hospital. Just kidding. Seriously, it could not have turned out better: After Alida’s premier issue of Skirt, newsstand sales soared. The new team was so passionate and dedicated and the whole vibe of the office was refreshed and excited. Alida led the staff in a great way—instead of being scared of our boss, we all looked up to her and wanted to do our best to kick ass. The mag was already nominated for multiple awards and had a cool new look and fun feel; people were reading it cover to cover, including my column, which I am thrilled to say has gotten great feedback through reader mail.
One day, while I had my nose in magazine spreads, a smiling Alida plopped a tabloid in my face. The New York Post featured a huge article with the headline HUGHES PUB HEIRESS SWINDLED. It went on to say that Daphne Hughes’s boyfriend, Matt, who had several aliases, had charged up a storm on her credit card and her daddy’s various accounts about town. She and pops would be pressing full charges, and her humiliation was as public as it gets. I kind of felt bad for her. But not that bad. As for “Matt,” he faced up to three years in the slammer. Karma!
When school started in September, I made a concerted effort to really be engaged, not just for my role at the magazine, but also for myself. I’ve managed to build a student life at Columbia—I have great new friends, I worship my professors, and I truly feel immersed in campus culture. But when the gang hits the keggers or has dorm room fiestas, I can push the eject button I’d made for myself over the summer. Instead of grody cafeteria food, I meet up with Gabe and Teagan (who are both loving their programs) for yummy ethnic binges downtown. When my roommate goes to scream at football games, I am working a Saturday shift at Skirt or wandering the streets finding cool boutiques opened by young designers in Brooklyn.
The cute frat boys my pals pine over may be great, but as I do my math problem sets or art history essays in the library, I don’t get distracted by them. Because I know when I am done, James will pick me up for another New York adventure—bands, photo shoots, late dinners, or just long walks. Last week, Alida told me that the fall collections (always shown the season before on the European runways) would be smack in the middle of my spring break from school, so I would be going on my first-ever trend-spotting trip with the senior fashion editors. James scheduled a huge cover shoot with the model du jour at the same time, so we’ll be together in the City of Light. I can’t believe it; I feel so lucky that I stayed on my own path all summer, which led me to now: the once-miserable summer intern who ended up the happiest girl in the Big Apple.