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An old shopping bag of mine.

 It's my opinion that September is one of the most - if not the most - exciting time of year in New York: new sartorial identities come to mind. About two months ago, I began imagining what my calender was going to look like for the next season. For the longest time I've been trying to sculpt a uniform for myself, but there's nothing remotely uniform about the way I lead my life. Like most women, I do a variety of things with a variety of people that all require different forms of dress. Should I go military chic for the weekends and classic minimalism throughout the week? Should I edit my entire seasonal wardrobe around my hobbies or my career and aspirations? What my boyfriend likes on me? What I like on myself? I've tried to find the collection that would best fit my 7-day formula, and instead, am more unsure than ever. There are so many beautiful items that I covet, that my wallet just can't handle at this point in time. I was just as excited to see what came down the runways at fashion week last February as anyone else in New York, but for all the "classics" and "back to basics" marveled upon, there was still not one solution to the angst I feel this fall, that has begun to replace the usual excitement. I hold onto that excitement with the hope that the perfect look will assemble itself in my closet by the time the cool air hits the streets. In the last few weeks, I'm sad to say that I've allowed this angst to control my style judgement. I find myself on Net-A-Porter every Monday & Wednesday morning (and now Friday, apparently, which is something to smile about at least) adding and then deleting from my shopping bag over and over again. I revisit my bag later in the day to check if my sizes have been snatched or sold out. It's addictive. Sometimes I buy and sometimes I watch the coat I needed to have slip away. I can't sour September!?!!