As usual, it was 5:45 when I yelped “Shit – I’ve got to get up to Holts!” Typically when I attend an event at Holts I like to brush my hair and put on some clothes that aren’t looking like shit from a giant coffee stain. Knowing the crowd will be decked, I put in effort. But unfortunately, I had no time. The best I could do was press on some Joe Fresh cheek stain and gloss, using the subway door as my makeshift mirror.
Of course, my hasty fashion was commented on within minutes of ascending the escalator.
“HA, you are just like me, in a rush, don’t care what you look like, wearing crap!” announces Pink Mafia Don Anna Von. I give an embarrassed smile and modestly duck away to head for the bar. The line up was too long, so instead I found myself in a shopping jam intertwined with fourteen year old girls drooling for Nicole, and their highly valued moms: “JESSICA – come look at this outfit! Its PERFECT for your grad dinner….JESSICA ARE YOU LISTENING?”. Then there were PR ladies with fans, over exaggerating about being claustrophobic, socialites saying nothing interesting at all and uptight security guards just waiting to yell. They pounced on me twice “MA’AM GET AWAY FROM THIS AREA!!!” Sooo pushy. Relax.
The reason we were all there was to see how skinny Nicole Richie really is. Oops – I mean, we were there for the free booze. Wait – no. We were there to see Nicole Richie’s House of Harlow jewellery named after her fashionista baby girl. So sweet and OMG – she’s SOOO SKINNY, even preggers she’s tiny. I could quite easily toss her over my shoulders like a potato sack.
Anyway, I tried to look at the jewelry, but a gaggle of blondes were blocking the way, trying on this weird head belt thing that looked Egyptian. I dunno about that piece, but loved the rocker bracelets and boldly cut necklaces.
When Nicole arrived she walked softly down a trail surrounded by foundation caked ladies who whispered in unison: “THERE SHE IS!”.
She turned to us with her doe-eyes and hushed, “Thanks for coming to see my jewelry.”
Sitting on the stage Nicole patiently let the paparazzi snap away as she signed box after box from fans who, minutes ago, snatched up a Harlow piece. Unlike Lohan, who would have probably done a 30 second walk through, Richie sat there for a good 45 minutes signing away – maybe longer. I watched her and thought – ‘Wow, this girl has done a 360 since her drug fueled days and bratty Simple Life antics.’
Once she left, things got messy. One woman completely ran into the photo paper causing a noisy and gigantic tear, while another smashed red wine all over the floor. It started to look like a murder mystery. I ate some brownies, lusted over the fashion and had irritating conversations about Twitter.
Home again, home again – jiggity jig.
Photos by Zach Slootsky – take more photos