Cary Randolph, rad grrl, spent her Friday shopping flea markets, eating lobster, "sulking in a corner at Soho House", and squeeing her pants over the Boom Boom Room. Of course, all that lobster and martinis made those pants a little tight: Y’all know how much I love khaki pants. But after midnight they did not work to my advantage. They felt constricting. They felt wrong. They put me at an unfair disadvantage when fighting for bar space with a leopard minidress-bedecked Lily Donaldson. I excused myself from my posse of tequila-tossers, checked my military coat, beat Leslie Bibb to the...
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