The Clothing Coven Part Two
For most of us, New York in the summertime conjures up images of overcrowded subways, lost tourists, and the fear that the humidity may never go away. Somehow, the Clothing Coven girls have shown us a different side of New York, one full of Coney Island weekend trips and Sex Museum photo ops. Last week, we heard Mallory Llewellyn’s side of the Clothing Coven’s NYC work-cation. Now, we’re getting Tallulah Willis’ take!
Nasty Gal Believe Me Blazer, Nast Gal Hillary Sandals, Nasty Gal Trench Coat, Nasty Gal Endless Summer Dress. Photos by Samson Day & Chase Hall.
Hi! It’s your friendly neighborhood gremlin, Buuski, here to divulge the great details and narpy secrets of Mal’s and my NYC takeover. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly the case, and perhaps a more aptly named intro would be “NYC Food Tour 2K14”, but more on that later. As you’ve hopefully gathered from lurking Mal’s latest epic diary of our escapades, it’s been a rather hectic thirty days in my favorite city on earth. I’ll be honest though – I have never so accurately understood the notion of New York’s unmerciful ways until this trip, and I was naïve to think otherwise. If you are not mentally, physically, and emotionally prepared for this city, it will truly chomp you up and spit you out. Where you arrived bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, this place will no doubt leave you feeling like an exhausted, sad little baby yearning for her mama bear, a juice box, and Goldfish in a small Ziploc. But, other than that, we had an absolute blast.
Food Tour 2K14 really started the day my business partner/lover/soulbebe and I decided to leave our usual post in the East Village and trek our way over to the West Side for brunch. This may sound pretty casual, but it was more like a two-and-a-half hour search for a chic brunch spot that had a good atmosphere but wasn’t annoying – a daunting task indeed. After three failed walk-in attempts, many frantic calls to restaurants inquiring about the time brunch was served, and countless curses to the gods above, we schlepped our cute, hungry booties into a cab and implored him to step on it. After staring out the window, eyes peeled for the perfect spot, we finally wound up at a 24-hour breakfast spot called The Diner. It was nothing short of a gift from the almighty heavens.
Upon being seated, we proceeded to order approximately 88% of the menu. There was a bevy of waitresses and hostesses throwing horrified looks and giggles our way when they caught sight of our filled-to-the-brim table. I swear to God, there is something in that New York City air that made Mallory and I downright ravenous. But, aside from eating like total pigs and growing a massive food baby, I also rediscovered my passion for silver dollar pancakes; so I’d say this was an unusually successful dining experience.
Feeling like Hansel and Gretel after being plumped up to perfection before being nommed on by a raggedy, old witch, we paid the bill and decided to stroll around and explore the nooks and crannies that the epically soulful West Village has to offer. That honestly has to be my favorite thing about NYC – due to the lack of personal vehicles, you’re forced to walk off a hearty meal, leaving you feeling slightly slimmer and also allowing you to discover new, unseen hot spots. Our lovely stroll lead us right into the heart of Chelsea Market. I had never been, and, if we’re being completely honest, I had never even heard of it before, so I was positively enamored with this quirky, visually stimulating spot. This place has so much to offer, but my favorite part was this fan-freaking-tastic jewelry company that makes pieces from real fruit and candy. As soon as I saw them, I fell in love.
We capped off our Chelsea afternoon with a stroll through the High Line – one of the West Side’s greatest attributes in my opinion. The high note of the High Line, though? My rad, aesthetically on-point snaps of Mal. (Whatever, I rule. Haha!) No, but really, if this blogger stuff doesn’t pan out, I really think I have a career in the iPhoneographer community.
Nasty Gal Skirt/ Shoe Cult Platform Sandals
Later on in our trip, we rendezvoused with our friend and sensational photographer, Michael Dumler, the person responsible for shooting our denim jacket story during an interesting and adventurous excursion to Coney Island. The subway ride there was long, yet highly educational. I learned that carsickness isn’t specific to cars; it can also be transferred to moving metal cylindrical things, leading me to coin the term “subway sick” for seventeen stops. Michael brought the awesome babe Cailin Russo along with him as we set off for the sticky, sunny, sugar- filled compound.
Photos by Michael Dumler
Now, Food Tour 2K14 gained some serious steam this day. Some of the front-runners included Nathan’s Famous crinkle fries, three orders of funnel cake, and some Razzberry iced gunk. (The Z’s mean it must be certified by the USDA, right?) Aside from gorging ourselves on Coney Island classics, we also shot a ton of brilliant photos, including an awesome dive into the benefits of jumpers over dresses. (Hello! Mobility?) We left exhausted and more bloated than I ever thought physically possible, but it was still an etched-in-your-memory kind of day. I recently read Patti Smith’s autobiography Just Kids, and in it, she describes a beautiful memory of a day her and photographer Robert Mapplethorpe spent at Coney. It’s amazing how books and photographs can act as time machines. While we were there, I couldn’t help picturing myself strolling along the wood-slatted walkways during that time.
One of our last days in the sleepless city, Mallory and I found ourselves at a 1-year-old’s birthday celebration in Tribeca. (Typical Maluuski, I know.) The gorgeous birthday boy belongs to Anda, a friend of my mom’s, whom I am now lucky enough to call my friend as well. She is one half of a badass styling duo, her partner being another mom friend turned my friend, Masha. These two ladies have quickly become some insane heroes and serious inspiration for Mal and me. Their relationship is not much unlike ours in the sense that business and friendship are incredibly blended together. They have their own line of hats and sunnies, so we were able to play around a bit and shoot with my sister Scout’s new vintage-inspired Polaroid. Though the glasses are stellar, the real winner of the day was my $7 taupe cap. I am 100% certain the female cap is back, and I am fully copping Leo’s hide from the paparazzi look.
Our trip to the park left us utterly famished, and thus, Food Tour 2K14 surged onward. Our grumbling tums landed us smack dab in Jean-Georges’s more rustic cousin, ABC Kitchen. Even after inhaling two rounds of avocado toast, a burger, and crab bruschetta, our hunger still remained, so obviously the appropriate decision was to order dessert. Atypical of our usually Hot Cheeto-infested palates, Mal chose the insane chocolate mousse while I picked the three scoops of salted caramel bliss.
As my lovely bodycon dress began nearly splitting at the seams, our post-feast walk provided some slight relief. As we wandered through Midtown with my sister and her dude, we found ourselves at the door of the Museum of Sex – a destination I had always hoped of visiting but had never found the opportunity. This had to be fate. I was especially stoked because a week earlier I had read an article in Paper magazine’s online site about the presence of a moonbounce of giant boobies! I was twitching with anticipation, as I am far more a boob gal than a butt gal.
We entered the first gallery, eager to see what this amazing place had to offer, and learned about the OG porn babe, Linda Lovelace, which was educational but difficult to focus on considering the real treasure awaited me only one floor up. You can only imagine my utter heartbreak and devastation when we were told the jumpaline was out of commission, rendering the entire trip to the museum pointless in my opinion. As we continued our journey, I managed to scrounge up some remaining excitement and put on a happy face. Mallory and I got to climb on a rock wall of sexually explicit shapes that felt far too realistic, so that definitely helped a little.
There was a massive range of displays to peep and lurk, my favorites being the freaky deaky art pieces and the sex lives of animals. (Educational is an understatement.) All in all, the disappointment of missing out on the boobie jumpaline definitely outweighed the brilliance of the museum in general, but I am determined to go back before the exhibition closes, and I encourage all of you to do the same.
Simply stated, NYC rules, especially in the summertime. You can wear bathing suits as normal clothing, yell incoherent things at pretty much anything, and coffee is available every time you turn your head. My advice to you is to pack lightly if you’re visiting, and if you live there, I pray that you have central AC. I’m already bummed I left. Who knew you could feel nostalgic for those mysterious, inhuman smells that ooze from the sidewalk? But more than anything, the most important thing I learned and the number one thing for all of us to remember about this city (and anywhere for that matter) is that regardless of where you are or what you’re doing, even if it’s the most amazing function in the world, it doesn’t mean shit unless you’re with your mains.
