Unmoved

Three days into Milan and I find myself with very little to say. I'm not exactly surprised. After almost two straight weeks of writing at least once a day, one might assume that this is due to simple burn out. It's not. Milan is just experiencing a bit of middle child syndrome. New York, being first and infused with energy from Fashion's Night Out, was met with an abundance of excitement. London, with its birthday and the return of many of its native sons and daughters, was a bigger party than it has been in the past. And Paris is, of course, Paris.

By the time I got to Milan, I was a bit tired of all of the trends I'd been seeing. Okay, I get it. Pants are out. Awkward takes on adult diapers are in. I've already seen this in two different cities, and I'm kind of done with it now. Thanks. I barely pay attention to the pictures. I bookmark a few things and then play a game of Sudoku online. Or run outside for brunch. Anything but writing about it. I'm ready for Chanel and Stella McCartney and the new Phoebe Philo-helmed Celine. I don't like the idea of writing about a favorite if there isn't one that really gets to me. I skipped a day in both New York and London. But not two.

Today I found a favorite. It's a brand that you'll know the name of, but I'm stretching my rules a bit. And after I finish writing about it, I'll go back to waiting for Paris.

There's a reason it's last.