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| photo courtesy of: Wendy Bevan |
Work, friends, secret identities... and men; the usual suspects created a barrier that I couldn't seem to break. Before I realized, New York Fashion Week was over. The magazine editors, accompanied by far too many members of the blogosphere, threw back tiny glass-bottles of Russian vodka, while en route to London Town. Winter in the city seemed never-ending and yet somehow, felt like it had flown by.
The 'modern woman' I am most certainly not. How anyone is able to successfully manage both their work and personal life boggles the mind. Busy with a hundred-million projects, my life seemed to slip through the cracks. With 18-hour days prepping for shoots, shows and whatever else, there was little desire or energy to make it out for a nightcap, let alone anything else I was desiring, including sex.
Working weeks without a break, I'd spend my one day off sleeping more consecutive hours than imaginable. This was not the life I was used to living and these were most certainly not the days of tanning poolside at the Thompson; laptop open with an iced coffee and/or cocktail in hand.
What's a 'Chloe' to do...?
