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‘Twas the night before Fashion Week and all throughout New York City
Not a creature was stirring, not even the tent workers making the sets so pretty
The nylons were hung by the radiators with care
In hopes that Ralph Lauren soon would be there
The PR girls were snuggled all tight in their beds
While runway shows and Valium danced in their heads
And I in Oscar cashmere and my roommate in Gap
Had just settled down for a wine-infused nap

(I guess part of this poem is missing because Tommy Hilfiger definitely didn’t come arising a clatter on my frosty porch, but they do have goodie bags– HOORAH!!)

And now I say to you, darlings, as I dream of the spot light
Happy New York Fashion Week to all, and to all a goodnight