Last night I went out with my temporary roommate, who I’ll call Minnesota, to DVF’s new SoHo store on Wooster St. It was the first legitimate Fun Thing to Do I’d had since my impossible move from hell, which featured so many UHaul problems I thought maybe I’d just give up and live at a rest stop near White Plains.
You know when you move to a new place, it takes a while to feel at home, no matter how excited you are. I’d written on Facebook, “Nothing– NOTHING– makes me feel safe or more at home than a tiny organic grocery store selling Liberte yogurt.” The Gemini replied, “this is the whitest thing i’ve ever read.” BE THAT AS IT MAY, I felt at home finally, eating overpriced yogurt and knowing where I can get my bilberry supplements to improve my night vision.
Going to Diane von Furstenberg’s new shop in SoHo helped solidify I’d moved to the right place. All the girls working there were sweet, adorable, and allowed my gushing like the little fangirl I was. They gave out free pins and lollipops, and they encouraged us to tweet our experience so our tweets would appear on a screen above on the wall. (My tweet didn’t go through, sad.)
I have never seen young women more excited to sell dresses. They were all happy that Diane von Furstenberg existed, that she was so entirely quotable, that she was their queen. And there Minnesota and I stood, like something out of an episode of “Sex and the City” (she and I both use SATC as a frame of reference, which is a good sign). And I felt at home, and then we went back to Brooklyn to eat a sound, healthy dinner. Life worked, finally.
As DVF is known to say, quoting her own mother, “Fear is not an option.”