Very Important Clientele

Saint Laurent, Lives of the Saints

Mar 29, 2026

I’ve been saying, amongst friends, that the legacy luxury house doing it best right now is Anthony Vaccarello’s Saint Laurent (yes, this is what my friends and I talk about) in terms of branding and product, which, in fashion, are the same thing.

You may recall that in December, Kaitlin discovered where Vaccarello found the patterns for his Resort 2026 lingerie-based collection, via an un-captioned post by his friend, the stylist Lotta Volkova. We visited this relic of a store in the midtown Manhattan Art & Antiques Center, finding it to be delightful and fairly priced, which is to say, everything is expensive because it is an original piece of silk and lace art.

Also, not exactly easy to style, since we’re not in those 20s anymore and it’s all meant to be underwear—vented and buttoned at the crotch. Plus, nothing is listed online and the hours are not ideal. Alternately, one might look for recent past YSL seasons on the Real Real and be surprised, like I am, by how much lands there. Below, and throughout, some pieces that deserve good homes.

24 shoes, 23 dress, 23 top, 23 skirt, 22 dress, 22 dress, 23 dress, 23 coat, 22 coat, 23 pants, 22 shoes, 22 shoes, 22 shoes, 23 dress, 23 dress, 23 dress (don’t quote me on these years!)

I love this Times profile of Nancy Lemann, on the occasion of her earlier novels being reissued:

In New York, Ms. Lemann attended a lecture given by Gordon Lish, a mythical writing teacher and an editor at Alfred A. Knopf. “When I heard him speak, I just smote my forehead and said, That’s the only guy who would take a chance on me,” Ms. Lemann recalled.
“So then I literally went to Knopf in person with my manuscript,” she continued. “I went to reception and I said, ‘Is Gordon Lish here?’ And he said, ‘I’m racing, babe, what is it?’” She extended her draft of Lives of the Saints. “I said, ‘Well, this is my heart’s blood,’” she recalled. “And I gave it to him.”
As Ms. Lemann tells it, that encounter took place on a Friday. Mr. Lish called her on Monday with an offer to publish Lives of the Saints at Knopf [in 1985].
Now 92, Mr. Lish noted that some of his recollections had been lost to age. “But I do feel my feet are on firm enough ground when I dredge from the very considerable past that Nancy easily outscored her rivals in charm,” he wrote in an email. “Charm, charm, charm—or, to put the matter at its best, charmant, Nancy had it in spades. Doubtless, she still does.”

On Thursday, I went to the Paris Review office in Chelsea for the relaunches. Nancy and editor Emily Stokes were hilarious in-conversation, hopefully a recorded event. In response a question about the perceived cavalier attitude toward fictionally portraying family members, Nancy said something like, My husband, the tycoon, doesn’t read…or, he reads plenty of autobiographies. Let’s just say, he’s not literary. He’s a tycoon.

Her husband, of course, was in attendance, as was their daughter, the writer Emmeline Clein, who, although a resident of New York, had to fly in from Mexico for the day. She was participating in a friend’s week-long wedding, she explained, to which she’d return. The signature cocktail for the evening was named after Nancy’s 1987 nonfiction book, Ritz of the Bayou and was made with whiskey and mint but tasted like cough syrup. The spread, on the other hand, was delectable.

Audrey and I spoke with editors Jackson Howard and Naomi Huffman about the books they’re next publishing, to reviewer Christian Lorentzen about the book he’s next reviewing, to writers Krithika Varagur and Rob Franklin about longevity and denial. After, we walked a few blocks down to Shukette and had some small plates, a glass of the Vermentino, and the desert: a swirl of tahini soft serve and pomegranate sorbet, with lime, dark chocolate, halva floss, and hazelnut.

23 shoes, 23 shoes, 22 dress, 23 coat, 2? dress, 17 top, 22 dress, 2? dress, 2? dress, 2? bag, 23 jacket, 23 shoes, 23 shoes, 2? dress,

On Friday, Joey and I went to a dinner launching the sixth issue of Zeitung, a German magazine made by lovely and smart people. It was at Food, the Lucien Smith venture that has gotten so much bad press, it has to be good to have stayed in business. The food at Food really is. We had bites, family style, of a drenched radicchio salad, asparagus in lemon sauce, beef and broccoli, steak au poivre, mixed ceviche, white rice, potato chips, another salad, I think, and cheesecake.

Another meal I remember from the week is the simple rotisserie chicken bowl at Don Ceviche, after a shopping event at Café Forgot for Anna Sui’s latest collection, which served rosette-adorned purple taro cake and single-serving bottles of tequila with purple straws, or fizzy peach margaritas. I was chatting with Delia, each of us wearing borrowed Anna Sui outfits, when a customer assumed we worked there. Valid!

“What is this? Where are the clothes?” she kept asking, and we were confronted by the reality of us, the press/influence, versus them, the people who actually pay full price for products, in stores. This VIC had on a logo-marked sweatshirt, I noticed, and her huge purse was heavy with AS keychains. She was on the hunt for a particular denim skirt. It wasn’t part of the store’s revolving rack. Delia asked what she did for work. “Business development,” the woman demurred. “I make money now.”

But, the cake, the drinks? Anna was actually here, in person, as were many of the models from her latest runway show! This woman could care less. It was cool. Why do I care? I wondered. If I worked in business development (?) would I see free desserts as a distraction, an affront, even? “This took up my whole afternoon,” she sighed. It reminded me of when I worked at a magazine and always said yes to taking press trips, no matter where. “You want to go to Ukraine?” my fellow editors asked. “One day, you’ll have your own money and decide for yourself where you want to go,” one of them said, many years ago.

That hasn’t really happened; I’m still showing up to things I’m invited to, eating the gratis meals and wearing the lent out clothes. Part of the pleasure of living in a city is letting go of some agency, allowing for the tides of publicity to guide one’s free time and aesthetics. That’s what I keep telling myself. That day, though, after meeting a customer who was not in the mood (she’s buying the skirt online, she said), I didn’t get swept up. I opted, upon reflection, to miss an eyewear launch at the Shed, some eBay thing, whatever else might have come from staying out. All the gift bags were gone, and I already had what was in them, anyway. The weather was nice enough, so I walked all the way home.