There is an art to looking pulled together when the sky opens up between 14th and 42nd. New York weather has no loyalty. You will leave Brooklyn in sunshine and arrive in Midtown underwater.
My uniform, earned through three ruined silk blouses: a heavy cotton tee under a tailored blazer I do not care about, wide-leg trousers that don't show water lines, a small leather bag because canvas soaks through, and loafers I can run in. A collapsible umbrella that lives in my tote year-round, like a Swiss Army knife.
The secret is the blazer. A blazer makes everything beneath it behave. A blazer says, I have a meeting even if the meeting is a fitting with a designer who will tell me the sleeves are wrong.
The 2 train is not kind to fragile clothing. Neither is my boss. Dress for the longest possible day. Dress so that if someone pulls you onto a rooftop for a last-minute look-book shoot, you're ready.
And carry snacks. The 2 train is long.
Love,