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Article: Inslee vs Daphne, the struggle is real


Inslee vs Daphne, the struggle is real

The trouble with creating a fabulous alter ego is just that - she's fabulous. 

Daphne is always making me resent the mundane, day-to-day struggles of being Inslee. While I was cleaning up our office after throwing a party in here, she was galavanting around Cannes. Daphne is a regular invitee to all the major film debuts at the festival.

I am a regular at Duane Reade, where I am often spotted shopping for more swiffer wet mops. 

This is what my desk looked like the morning after our party... 

What did Daphne's desk look like the night after walking the red carpet in vintage Dior? 

Are you kidding? Daphne does not have a desk. 

She spent the day in this darling Esther Boutique playsuit romping around Cannes. Also, disclaimer, Daphne does not need a map of Cannes. She knows the city like the back of her hand. But a map is a great prop for an instagram composition, don't you think? She also hates technology, did you know that? And if she did need directions, would definitely consult a map/a handsome man with a map before she'd dig through a bag for the gps on her phone. 

Where do you find a handsome man with a map in 2015? Daphne would find one, I bet... 

The following week the June gloom descended upon New York City. Rain and wind and cold, very unseasonable. I suffered through, wearing jeans and sweaters and loading up on comfort foods. Where was Daphne?

Somewhere sunny, wearing a plunging back one piece and cat eye sunglasses. She posted this cheeky little reminder that every day is a constant opportunity for thin-spiration on "National Cheeseburger Day"... Daphne feels that a cheeseburger is something that belongs in one world, and plunging back one pieces belong in another world. She chooses to live in the latter. She hopes you enjoyed your burger though, respectfully. 


Have you ever tried on a plunging back one piece? Inspired by Daphne, I ordered three online. Let me tell you... I then promptly returned all three to the mystical return center of Shopbop as fast as my prepaid USPS label would carry them. Plunging back solid color one-pieces are not flattering unless you are Daphne.

I looked like a member of the 1920 Men's Olympic Diving Team. Or perhaps an extra from Foxcatcher.

To continue the laundry list of disparity between Daphne's truth and my own... let's play the old magazine editor favorite game: What's In Her Bag...

While walking home the other day I found myself caught in such and epic downpour that my paper grocery bag completely disintegrated into pulp. (cosmic retribution for not bringing my own bag?!) I was forced to shovel my groceries loose into my purse before they fell onto the flooded sidewalk. I arrived home with a fascinating purse-soup... loose thyme and shallots were marinating my supply of Puppy-Poop-Bags and seventeen different half used tubes of Aquaphor ointment. 

Daphne opens her adorable handwoven rattan clutch from artisans in the South of France to find a set of maracas and a Cuban cigar when she's fishing for her black card. Why did she have maracas in her purse? Because, of course, she was invited to Stella McCartney's Cuban-themed garden party celebrating her Spring 2016 collection. 

While I was scooping up Ophelia's droppings on an evening walk on Elizabeth Street (with thyme marinated baggies) I glimpsed Daphne in the garden party through the chainlink fence that protects the beautiful setting for the party - The Elizabeth Street Sculpture Garden. She'd somehow convinced one of the models to trade outfits with her and was parading around in a billowing yellow gown like one of Bacchus's nymphs. 

If you haven't visited The Elizabeth Street Garden and you live in or come to New York, you must change that! It is one of my (and Daphne's) favorite haunts. A whole chunk of city block is carved out of the otherwise over-populated Nolita neighborhood for luscious green grass, flowering plants and a meandering collection of very nobel stone statues that look like they wandered straight out of the halls of a Roman sculpture museum.

It's chained off by a very threatening looking barbed wire and chainlink fence that is almost always locked - adding to the garden's allure - but on sunny days it magically opens and you can go in and sit in the grass and watch your puppy go nuts over REAL grass in the city. 

It was a perfect spot for a party, and the perfect metaphor for Daphne v. Inslee.

Here she was amidst this fairy land of a garden party and here I was on the other side of the fence with a handful of thyme-poop. 

Well, my friends. Do you feel sorry for me yet? 

Don't. Because every once in a while, the lines between Daphne and Inslee blur, just the tiniest bit.

What is that saying? If you dream it, you'll become it... Did I make that up? It seems I daydreamed about Daphne's exotic adventures enough that the heavens finally opened with a direct flight to Saint Martin for a long weekend. 

Consider this my Out-Of-Office email alert. I wonder if I'll spot Daphne in Saint Martin, or if she'll be in Saint Barth's this weekend... 





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