Hey NYC, Remember Me?

She’s baaack. And by she, I am of course referring to me. Fresh from Florida––I’m back in the city where my dream to finally live, work and create started this past summer. Since finishing up my internship at Marie Claire, I operated in high gear to finish my B.S. in journalism at UF and get back to the city that doesn’t sleep.

Currently filling the books with plenty of editorial coffee dates, house hunting, museum stops and any other projects to keep me learning, growing and moving, I’m already blown away by the experiences that have come my way.

And because I could never hit the road without first buckling you into the passenger seat, I figured we could pass the time with a little highlights recap of my return (thus far). Think: museums, endless inspiration and, oh yeah, legendary fashion icons living and breathing among us. Oh don’t you worry–– we’ll get to Betsey.

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I met up with Austen and Céline at the Met, where we cruised through our favorite exhibits (Greek and Roman statues for Austen, the Egyptian Temple of Dendur for Céline and the room of knights and armor for me!) before taking a gander at the “Death Becomes Her” exhibit housed within the Anna Wintour Costume Center.

Years of traditional mourning dress were displayed beneath twinkling lights––and embroidered beading, majestic trains and mysterious veils gave a whole new meaning to “back to black.”


When we left in the late afternoon, we stopped by nearby pizza palace Serafina for an early dinner. Just as we’re finishing up, who floats into our otherwise-empty dining room but Betsey Johnson herself, fashion maven and glamazon extraordinaire. Austen bravely approached to share her love for the designer, who enthusiastically suggested, “Let’s all take a selfie!” As one does in New York.

And on the museum hopping note, I also made it over to Brooklyn Museum with Kelly the other week. Perused plenty of wonderful pieces, my favorites being the below Wadsworth A. Jarrell and Alma Thomas.

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And getting acclimated to the North of course means adopting a whole new mindset, befriending such customs as “Layers are your friend,” “Beanies make every hair day a good hair day” and of course, “Don’t track salty snow shoes across the wood floor.”

While I’ve learned to love these new life lessons, it’s comforting to know some of my Southern roots run too deep to be brushed aside with the first major snowfall. For example, my love for fried chicken is just as alive as ever. Carly and I dipped into Wilma Jean for a bite just last week, and it was as if I never left Florida.

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Except for that whole #snowpocalypse2015 thing. Hey, Juno, you can cut that out right now.

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5 responses to “Hey NYC, Remember Me?

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