"Will you be putting this on your Bergdorf Goodman charge?" "No. I'm a Southern girl. I have a Neiman's card."

I'm back in business! Time Warner just set up my wireless internet. Now I can blog the way blogging was meant to be done: on every possible surface of my apartment with the exception of the desk.

While the kind man was installing this little blessing, I was on the couch paying my Neiman Marcus bill. The one that included both the new Rebecca Taylor jacket and the Phillip Lim dress. Ouch.

Have I mentioned that everyone else in my family is in the fashion industry? They don't call her Baby Fashionista for no reason. In addition to writing her fashion blog, she also takes classes at FIT. She's not even 16 yet! My mom is in jewelry and my dad is in eyewear. I'm the black sheep.



Or the yellow one. Whatever.

I mentioned in my first real entry that I grew up in a high-fashion household (life-size Prada robot included) but didn't appreciate it until much later in life. I yearned for lots of pink and big bows but was only able to live out these fantasies when I played dress-up.



I would rebel later in life by wearing bright colors and loud prints to family functions where I knew that photographs were bound to be taken. (See above.)

Don't get me wrong. My family loves and adores and supports me. I couldn't ask for anything more. I have lived my life around people who truly believe that fashion ranks among the highest of aesthetics. Like they profess in The Devil Wears Prada, it is greater than art because you live your life in it. Over the years, I've developed quite the affinity for this wearable art (as well an extensive wardrobe, ranging from Lilly to Lim).

As the Sex and the City movie is released on DVD next Tuesday, I'm reminded of my deep craving for these creations. You readers can expect lots of 'Labels or Love' posts in your future.

Let's be honest. I uttered the word 'yum' last night more times in the Gucci shoe department than I did at dinner.