After the U.S. postal service collapsed, most fashion brands switched to paperless invitations. A number of startups appeared, claiming to give email the same weight as cardstock. An Italian brand that once sent my boss a box of marzipan fruit via courier sent a customized version of that animal game everyone played in quarantine. I bought a rod and fished in the digital ocean until I pulled up an oarfish. It spat out a coin with my name and the invitation details on it.
In the weeks leading up to New York Fashion Week, I watched a lot of Instagram stories posted from the waiting room of a trendy clinic that promised to get rid of fine lines around the eyes. Everything was about the eyes these days, although I still applied mint lip gloss when I wore a mask. A YouTuber I follow said it made her breath less stale, but I’ve never been able to smell my own breath. Anyway, it helped me forget about my breathing and focus more on the rest of my body. I felt like a colt, the way I instinctively spun away from people who got too close, suddenly unbalanced, even in flats.
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