Le weekend
Hanging with celebs, observing line waiters, and island hopping.
This story begins on Friday, where the air was cooler than it had been in the morning, and I walked home from work at 5:30 on the dot—not a second later—hands freezing and an inch of leg exposed between my leg warmers and my gauchos.
I was desperate for a stiff drink and hours away from any screens. I had a coveted 8:30 reservation at the Lower East Side’s restaurant of the hour—Funny Bar—and two of my best friends joining me. It was a recipe for excellence, the exact thing I wanted to be doing on a Friday night. I obviously wanted to look as gorgeous as possible without it seeming like I tried too hard—effortless, some may say. Last weekend, I nailed my eyeliner to imitate Margot Tenenbaum if she had aged backwards and moved from the Upper East Side to the Lower, and with extreme focus and precision, was able to recreate it. I paired a floral top from Favorite Daughter with my ultra-baggy ReDone jeans, spiraled over the question is brown suede too fall instead of spring? and left about 5 minutes too early for a location that’s a mere stones throw away from my home.
I’ve loved Funny Bar way longer than you’ve loved Funny Bar, long enough to see that the menu has not only expanded in offering but also price. We were seated adjacent to Nina Dobrev, who obviously knew that I knew exactly who she was. We ordered a round of martinis—theirs dirty, mine dry with a twist—and got down to business.
Three martinis, one big steak, and a brownie sundae later, we ventured to Treasure Club, “‘ole reliable” as one of my friends called it. He knew the bartender who graciously supplied us with mezcal margaritas for the next few hours, and informed us that noneother than Clairo was DJing that night. I jokingly asked if I should request Bags, and have serious regret now writing this that I didn’t.
I woke up Saturday with a pounding headache at 7 in the morning, near tears in agony of not being able to succumb to more sleep that I desperately needed. Before I knew it, I was rising again, this time at 10 feeling good as gold. In performance of my favorite new weekend ritual, I saddled up in my On Cloud sneakers and made my way over to Abraço for the best latte in Manhattan and a slice of carrot cake. After fueling up, I embarked on a journey to cross another thing off of my 2026 Bingo Card: a long walk across the Manhattan Bridge to Dumbo, my 2nd out of 3 bridges I needed to cross to accomplish my goal. I had never walked across the Manhattan Bridge however I frequent the Williamsburg one as you all know. I didn’t know how good I had it. I’m not sure I would encourage the experience as the railings are much lower and the large gaps big enough to fit a hand or a small child even caused a bit of vertigo, but I’m sure I’ll find myself on there again.
I arrived by foot in Dumbo where the wind was whipping and the temperature was about 10 degrees colder than it was in my neighborhood. I did a quick loop, pondered the Brooklyn Flea where I came out victorious for some new bathroom art, and made my way back to my island.
20,000 steps later, my hips were sore and I had laundry to fold before watching college basketball with my friend who graciously included me in some plans with her sporty crew. I didn’t want to show up empty handed, so I went to buy beer for the second time in my life. Naturally, my contribution to the hangout was Patagonia-brewed lager.
The team they wanted to win lost and the dog whose space I was invading was giving me some mild allergies, which meant it was time for me to go home and catch the 9 hours of deep sleep I was hoping for.
After a very confusing nightmare, I woke up early to go spend some time in the pottery studio. In an effort to make breakfast, I smashed a bottle of balsamic vinaigrette on my floor, which smelt like someone tried to cover up an Italian crime scene for the better part of the last four hours.
I’ve been working on a series of floral-glazed bowls and dishes, which I think I’ve finally completed:
Although to me they look quite amateur, I’ve gotten incredibly sweet and kind feedback on them. I’d like to try some other type of artwork next, but my hands always gravitate towards the twisty vines of unidentifiable buds.
The line for the Sandy Liang sample sale was wrapped around the block about an hour before they opened up shop for the fourth and final day. I will never forget the experience of standing in line for 3+ hours during her 2023 sale and only moving three feet before surrendering. It was like seeing a horrible ex. Godspeed to those stronger than I.
I recently booked a solo-trip to Copenhagen (please send recommendations if you have any) for later this year, so I’m not exactly in the place financially for a sample sale of any kind. I’m also not in the position for a $10 matcha at Le Gaz, or $60 luxury groceries at Happier Grocer, both of which I indulged anyway. I met my friend Maddie for our monthly Happier Grocer date (two months strong), and she accompanied me through troves of Goyard, Chanel, and Rolex on every block of Canal.
Now, here I find myself writing to you, dear reader, with overpriced chicken salad in my refrigerator to bring to lunch tomorrow, about to head out the door to watch even more college basketball (who am I?). This Sunday has felt about 100 hours long, but I’m not complaining.