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face timeI don’t belong at fashion week. Forget New York. Don’t listen to the person who dresses me in the designer’s spring line, or the bouncer that lets me hand-pick the VIPs. It’s a New York farce—all of it is. And so what if I get to keep the dress? Thanks for the free drinks, thanks for the tips. Thank you for giving me unsolicited advice on the texture of my hair. If this is fashion, you can have my style. If this is the industry, you may accept my good natured good riddance.

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