April 26, 2014 began as any other Friday might have.
I snoozed twice, back-combed Oscar Blandi dry shampoo through my hair and made my way to work to the tune of Daft Punk’s Get Lucky. A quick stop at Stumptown, my favorite local coffee shop, was essential. My head was pounding.
A few replays and many head-bops later, I turned the corner to my office only to see a particularly well-dressed, petite blonde woman gracefully exiting a black town car in front of the building. Or, wait — was she floating?
“It can’t be,” I thought, mid-reach for the Gatorade in my bag. (Yes, that kind of morning.) “Not when I skimped on under-eye concealer and have my Nike Dunks on!”
Shit. Holy shit.
Tory fucking Burch and I had arrived to work at the very same time that day.
I turned into the building and paused for an awkwardly long length of time in an effort to hold the door for her, pretending to be extremely interested in a message on my phone. (There was no message.)
Once inside the building — and at a loss for words, feeling utterly star-struck — I focused on cautiously placing one foot in front of the other, dedicating myself to the 40-foot walk from entrance to elevator.
“She has to take the elevator,” I remember thinking. She’s on the 11th floor — aka the corporate penthouse. God, I’m smart.
I selected my destination (floor THREE, did she hate me?) and fixated a wide-eyed gaze on her Robinson satchel. I became aware that I wasn’t breathing.
Ironically, I’d fantasized about this moment the very day I set foot in the door at my new agency digs (knowing full-well that Tory Burch’s corporate office was in the building):
“Hey, Tor. Love the spring line this season — the graphic motif on those Sullivan pants? SO on-point.” Or perhaps a calm-and-collected, “Just picked up a fresh pair of Reva flats. They’re, like, my favorite shoes. Hashtag ICONIC!”
No words were exchanged. I mean, what do you CALL her? Tory? Ms. Burch? Tory Burch?
At any rate, she was dressed to the nine’s (head-to-toe in her label), colorfully-clad in mix of prints, pastels and metallic accents. I couldn’t find the actual items she was wearing on the site, but above is a very similar rendition of it.
Maybe next time, Tor. Until then, you better believe I’ll be timing my walk to work and turning the corner with an eager eye… That is, unless you read this and file for a restraining order first.
*Shop Tory’s Faux Look: Rimon jacket, Nicky striped cardigan (on sale), Mora blouse, Caleb logo earrings, Eliza pants, Metallic Careen loafers // In Tory’s Faux Robinson satchel: Super-chic sunglasses, Snake Eddie ballet flat, Amanda continental wallet, Robinson iPhone case