Take the Aperol Spritz

Franny

Mid-day sun pierces Franny's eyes. Blithely, she positions her hand above her head, reminiscent of a Victorian lady prior to a fainting spell. What beckons her glance? A bird? No. A flock of birds? A ship? No. A Dries Van Noten-swathed lady holding two Aperol spritzes approaching Franny. The hour strikes 18 30. Aperitivo seems more than appropriate. Franny coyly takes the Aperol spritz.

Tomorrow she will be adorned in her traditional daytime armor: an ideally balanced homme-femme blouse, bright tailored high-waisted trousers, a gold pseudo-tie necklace lingering sensually at her nape. Franny's red, nearly pursed lips suggest self-imposed alienation, albeit inciting endless invitations. She will accept a few. Politely decline the masses. Friday evening arrives. Franny dons a new-age garden-inspired kimono. She glides from drinks at Rum Club to a show on the West Side as seamlessly as her kimono. White slacks command simplicity and sophistication. Will she accompany the slew of twenty somethings to the next bar du moment for Sazeracs? Franny couldn't be bothered to decide. She ponders a flight to Oslo or Vienna.

Image graciously borrowed from Daria Werbowy's campaign for the Celine collection.