All my life I’ve been neck-deep into the lifestyle of the new york woman. The constant rush to always be somewhere while looking effortlessly chic in the all-black outfits. I’ve seen enough New York chick flick movies to shape my ideology about the new york women for life. Enough movies to even give me the perfect imagination of the smell of cappuccino mixed with the constant blaring horns of cars and the rush of people trying to make appointments.
The New York woman is always in a hurry hence she dresses in the most comfortable yet stylish clothes ever. The kind of clothes with the ethos of laissez-faire and breeziness, the perfect blend of not trying too hard and not trying at all.
I’ve been so engrossed with the New York woman stereotype, I decided to let her influence my lifestyle. So this morning I deliberately left my apartment late, so I could feel the adrenaline rush of trying to catch a bus and get to work early while still stoping to get a drink. I wore my hair out just so I would randomly sway from side to side and feel my hair flow with the wind.
Tonight, I’m going to slip on a pretty black dress, get a cab, and go out for drinks, and on my way back I would bring my head out the window and scream into the pitch-black sky wishing it would drown all my fears, anxieties and insecurities. And if it does not, I’m going to dance around in my studio apartment in an oversized tee one hand in the air and a glass of white wine in the other, dancing away to imaginary music playing from an imaginary viny player.