How To Be Happy, By Patricia Field

I write this not from my tiny apartment, or even next door cafe with the great coffee and Brit pop soundtrack, but from a - gulp - internet cafe. My laptop is on the brink of breakdown and is currently being stripped and inspected like a drugs mule at Heathrow, by two men with goaties who use words such as, 'motherboard', 'boot disc' and 'dual core.'  Until they ring with good news, I'm slumming it with the backpackers (reason #1 not to love freelance writing; if your computer is screwed, so are you).

Anyway, back to the blog and from Sex and the City dating we slip to Sex and the City style. Last night I went to the CLIO Awards, which honour 'creative advertising in package design, print, radio and television, at the American Museum of Natural History. There, I met Patricia Field, the woman responsible for the best-dressed characters on television. From Charlotte's Stepford Wives-esque wardrobe and Miranda's office chic, to Samantha's block brights and Carrie's fabulous, enviable, and downright bonkers attire, Patricia Field styled all of it. Along with The Devil Wears Prada and Ugly Betty. 

With a voice raspy of a thousand cigarettes and late nights, and a full-on New York twang, Patricia - or simply 'Pat' as Sarah Jessica calls her (the two still speak, "Here and there, but not on a regular basis") is as cool and quirky as you'd expect. I simply had to ask for fashion advice, as a British girl Faking it in America. "Dress like a New Yorker? Why should you," she exclaimed. "Those kids in London do pretty good. What makes New York really New York is that mix. The mix of personal, sensible and outrageous. New York and London are very close in their way of dressing."

And is life better after 50? (Patricia is 72) "My life gets better every day. Every decade is better than the last. What makes me happy? My friend's and their beautiful smiles, brilliant thoughts and my two dogs. And real estate. I buy clothes for other people, real estate for myself."

And with that, the most stylish woman in New York was off.

This morning I stopped by her store on Bowery (http://www.patriciafield.com/). Amongst the silver sequinned mini-dresses, vintage jumpsuits, logo-ed caps and bright bomber jackets, there stood Pat herself. She instantly remembered me and shook my hand before scolding the shop assistant about not getting the shop's air conditioning fixed. Only in New York.

Reasons NOT To Love New York #1: Dating is Harsh

We assume that New York knows a thing or two about romance. It gave us Carrie Bradshaw, Woody Allen and Rachel 'n Ross. It has carriages in Central Park and dainty candlelit restaurants on every corner. And the world's flagship Tiffany store.

Well, I'm afraid to say that, as romantic as Manhattan may seem, the reality of being a single girl in this city is harsh. Carrie and co cruelly had us believe that all it took to get a date was flashing a smile at a chap in a bar or kicking your Manolos out of a cab as a dashing millionaire strode past. I love SATC as much as the next girl (that's an understatement; I can recite every episode word for word), but it takes more than that to find love in the Big Apple.

The first thing you need to know about being a singleton in New York is that women waaaay outnumber men. I think the last ratio count was 5-1 in favour of us girls. Secondly, everyone Multiple Dates. That is, having two, three or even four or five people on the go and not giving it a second thought. I actually wrote all about the pitfalls and merits of Multiple Dating in my latest Ask Men column... http://uk.askmen.com/dating/heidi/casual-dating.html

You see, dating here is a business. People know what they're looking for, they go for it and very rarely settle for less. Why should they? New Yorkers are conditioned to believe in the American Dream; that anything is possible and nothing is out of reach. Dating included.

Consequently, being a single man in New York is fantastic. You have a wealth of women from which to choose, they are all confident and you can feasibly shag around without the guilt factor. Pretty great, huh? Not so great if you're a single woman. Many of my British female friends have given up on the NY dating scene altogether, figuring it's too brutal and time-consuming. They long for the mystique of British dating - and British men.

So, girls, take note. As wonderful and magical as New York is, being single in the city is no dream come true. 

Reasons To Love New York #2: Central Park

I mean, just look at it.

Seriously, it's like Disney just drew these, sprinkled on some magic dust and they came to life.

Manhattan in the spring time is somewhat magical and Central Park is arguably the most beautiful location on the otherwise rather gritty island. There are still many parts of Park I've not yet visited (Bethesda fountain, the famous Boathouse restaurant by which Carrie and Mr Big fall into the lake), but anywhere you stroll through in Central Park, especially in the spring, is stunning. 

I totally didn't know before today that there was a baseball pitch in Central Park. This picture makes me want to run onto it, waving a bat, chewing gum and mouthing off like Madonna in A League of Their Own. 

I definitely need to get out more.

Reasons To Love New York #1: Exhibitions and stuff

I'm no artist. I'm certainly no expert in art. But I am an art-fan, especially when it involves photography, fashion and/or anything that gives me an insight into the cool, and glamorous years I wasn't alive for. New York has one of the most thriving art scenes in the world and there's a new exhibition in town every other day. You're never short of a culture kick in this city.

Thursday was the opening of Lost then Found, a small collection of previously unseen portraits of Andy Warhol by the British photographer Steve Woods. The exhibition starts at the 345meatpacking gallery in the heart of Chelsea, before moving to London next week. I headed down with my only born-and-bred New Yorker pal Sarah. That's us below; I'm on the right.

I'll be honest, photos aside we were also there for the open bar and celebrity sightings - Courtney Love looking surprisingly fresh-faced and Fat Boy Slim supping cocktails. Go to an industry party, press viewing, launch or opening in New York and there's a fully stocked bar and dozens of canapes running throughout the event. Not like most London parties where you're lucky to get a free beer or warm glass of wine. No no, New York does things properly. I was at a party thrown by ELLE magazine a couple of weeks ago and they had champagne and mini-burgers flowing until 1am.

Next up, Punk: Chaos to Couture at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The MET is actually closed today in preparation for tonight's  MET Ball, however did open this morning purely for press to have a first look at the exhibition. Anna Wintour made an appearance along with Riccardo Tisci (he who is credited for reinventing Givenchy) and pretty much every fashion editor in New York. I was the only Brit, only one in denim, and only one eating. A huge disappointment to my profession and country. *Disclaimer: Obviously I did not know it would be some huge fashion event. It was a Monday morning press thing, not Saturday night at Studio 54.

Onto the exhibition. Lit only by neon spotlights and wall projections of Sex Pistols performances, various rooms took us through different stages of punk fashion; the early days of ripped tartan trousers, studded leather jackets and safety-pin t-shirts, to the phenomenal effect punk had on high fashion. Mannequins were adorned with furry black or bright coloured wigs covering faces and dresses by Viktor & Rolf, Gianni Versace, Alexander McQueen, John Galliano and, of course, punk pioneer herself Vivienne Westwood (above). I say dresses, they are in fact works of art.

Check out this jaw-dropping bondage outfit by Versace and this swimsuit made of plastic white bin bags by Maison Martin Margiela. Cool, huh?

 

Oh, hi New York!

Today is a new month. Not just any month; the month of May; the month when we can officially ditch winter coats and spring into a new style season, where we can skip to beer gardens and fire up the BBQ. Summer is a'comin'.  So, what better time to finally start the blog I've been meaning to start for the past two months?

To be fair, it's been a busy two months. I left London where I was born, raised and, spare a spot of travelling and stint at University in Liverpool, have spent my spent my 28 years of life. I moved to New York with two and a half suitcases, a wad of dollars and total uncertainty about where I'd live or what would happen.

Having left my job as Entertainment Editor at Grazia just before Christmas and with a new-found sense of freelancing freedom, I figured there was no better place to kick off my freelancing career than in the city that never sleeps. Unfortunately, after a delayed flight and four hours cueing through customs, sleep was exactly what I needed. My two and half suitcases and I fell into a taxi and crammed our way into what can only be described as a dormitory at the achingly cool but painfully small Bowery House (theboweryhouse.com/). I'd recommend it if you're travelling on a shoestring budget and don't mind having no room to actually place your shoes.

Fast forward eight weeks and I'm living in a three-bedroom apartment on the Lower East Side, on the cusp of China Town, with the Brooklyn Bridge, Soho and East Village just a short walk away. My apartment may be small (where in Manhattan isn't?) but I can hang my clothes up, have a desk to write from and a stunning rooftop with a pinch-yourself Skyline of lower Manhattan to drink and sunbathe from. What more could a girl possibly want?

Work-wise, in these past eight weeks I've interviewed Gerard Butler, Angela Bassett, Penn Badgley, Zac Efron and Julianne Moore.

Injury-wise, I’ve had 11 stitches in my little finger from falling off the step ladder in my room (more of that later), a burn on my wrist from over-zealous stir-frying, bruise on my forehead from banging my head against the wall in my sleep, a scar on my ankle from an evil disposable razor at the gym, scar on my leg from another time I fell off the step-ladder and did I mention I tripped down the stairs yesterday and sprained my ankle? The good thing about having a boyfriend who's a physiotherapist is an instant diagnosis is just a phone call away.  

Ahh yes, the boyfriend. Whilst having a gorgeous man back in the UK is testing at times and infuriating at others, at least I can now add 'Long Distance Relationships' to my dating CV. It can go next to ‘failed attempt at commitment’ and ‘how to date a man-baby.’ Again, more of all that later.

I've rambled on far longer than is appropriate for a first blog entry, but if you're at all interested in my celebrity stalking, emergency room incidents and long-distance-dating, plus general life in New York and the occasional pretty photo, please do keep reading.

Until then, happy May 1st.

Scarlett x