New York. The first thing that pops into my mind is Carrie Bradshaw in her Madison Avenue apartment, Manolo Blahniks cast aside, longing for Mr. Big to walk through the door. The Empire State Building, where James’ giant peach is perched; a giant cake-pop in the sky. And Central Park, just a stone’s throw away from the cafe where Phoebe is performing a musical triumph about an unhygienic cat.
So I know nothing about the real New York; I’ve never even been there for a festive shopping spree. But, in a few days, I’m packing my whole life up into just two cases and boarding a big shiny jet plane. The destination? Fabulous, darling!
But what if this huge metropolis of fabulousness swallows me whole? I mean, I've done my best to prepare - shout out to my colleagues who presented me with the most glamorous wide-brimmed charcoal hat I've ever laid eyes on - but what if I never manage to order a cosmopolitan with the sultry sass of Samantha?
Years of living the British life, with Ps and Qs, tea and cake, airs and graces, have left me frightfully unequipped for the ‘go-out-and-grab-it’ ethos of NYC. I fear that I’ll be politely waiting in line for a mustard taxi for the foreseeable future. The bolder and the braver will step off the sidewalk in their tailored macs, arms flailing, unafraid of neither man nor high-speed motor vehicle.
But I am determined to grab this experience like the first time I clutched a pair of Christian Louboutins - there's no way I'm letting go. I'll be sipping a skinny macchiato in downtown Manhattan come April, armed with a leather bound notebook and a faux fur collar for a touch of everyday glamour. I'm ready for you New York City, show me what you've got.