October 28 2011
I start as I do most days – fruit, yogurt, granola and four cups of PG Tips tea, the NY Times, NY Post and Women’s Wear Daily. Then off to the gym; if I don’t go to the gym every day, I feel completely restless and pathetic. I need daily exercise. Plus, I eat like a high school athlete – millions of calories a day – and I would balloon without constant jiggling.
I meet with India Hicks first thing. India and I did a reality show together a couple of years ago, and totally bonded when she said, “I am 78th in line to the throne, and now I am a game show hostess.” She is hilarious and singular and a lot smarter than blonde models are supposed to be. We’re meeting to look at her beautiful new jewellery line, which I am going to be carrying in my stores, and to talk about her hosting a soirée for the opening party of my London store in November. India’s dad, David Hicks, is my favourite designer of all time. His work was unimpeachably chic and beautiful but it always had a sense of optimism and playfulness that I strive to achieve in my own work.
Next is a conference call with the London retail team to learn about all the goings on. I’m a nervous wreck to hear how the first day went, but fabulous news – it was a hit! Did three times our sales plan for the day. Thrilled and relieved.
I love London. I spent a semester in college there in 1988, and I had a blast but at the time it was still kind of Dickensian – grey and bleak and nothing to eat. Now it’s so twinkly and opulent and glamorous. And, weirdest of all, the restaurants are the best in the world – I live for the roast chicken at The Ivy.
Later we have a dinner in honour of my fabulous fashion designer friend Trina Turk who is in town from LA. Normally, when I see a group dinner on my Blackberry calendar I groan with dread, but I’m giddily looking forward to seeing the brilliant Trina and her equally talented husband Jonathan Skow. We go to Perry St Restaurant, in the Richard Meier buildings in the West Village, and sit at a long table with lots of fashion editors and assorted glitterati. The restaurant is always good for a celeb sighting and tonight doesn’t disappoint. Jim Carrey walks in looking like a homeless person with two unshaven homeless-looking friends; they all keep their knit caps on the whole night. That’s an LA thing, wearing the knit cap inside. I think that it started in Urth Café in West Hollywood, but it’s definitely made it to New York. I wonder: doesn’t going to a posh restaurant kind of defeat the purpose of looking all bad-ass?
Whenever I go to a super fancy restaurant I feel ill because the food is too rich. So we walk home even though it’s pouring with rain because I am so full. I arrive to find my niece Tanya watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians. I’m amazed how the young ’uns can be all hippie-dippie, backpack-through-Mexico but still somehow love the likes of Kim Kardashian.