A glimpse inside the tents.

Good morning, cupcakes! As promised, here's a recap of Thursday afternoon's Ports 1961 show. I can sum up the experience in three words:

ethereal (the collection)

enchanting (the company)

elephant-like (the appearance of my ankles, come Friday)

But I know you want the juicy deets. So take a big swig of that Skinny Vanilla and let's dive in, shall we?

My day kicked off with the darling Emily meeting me at Ports, looking adorbs, of course. And tall. I arrived looking like a to-scale version of the Bryant Park tents—large, bulbous, eliciting stares. Seeing as my broken foot had not quite mended, cute heels were not an option. And seeing as my Super Solano hair dryer had started smoking and burning just that morning, properly groomed hair was also not an option. Boy, did I feel glamorous! Thankfully, Emily and the delightful Natalie of Coquette, who had also scored a ticket to the show, were chic enough to pull my weight. And so we sashayed in, the three of us a fierce foursome.

Below is a sprinkling of my faves from the collection. Mira:

Post-show, we dashed off to Starbucks for some lattes and light chatter. It was so fun to catch up, face to face, with one of my all-time favorite bloggers and a major fashionista. Sadly, the two girlies departed soon after for a party at Coach, and so I met up with one of my best girlfriends, Lauren, for a heaping plate of nachos. Because that's what pregnant people do during Fashion Week. They eat saturated fats smothered in four pounds of MSG-laden cheese. Salsa!

Some two hours later, it was time to board my train back to the 'burbs. I picked up an Us Weekly and settled in for the 45-minute ride. Unfortunately, somewhere between Bryant Park and my backyard I lost my ankles. For real, they're gone. Apparently, pounding the pavement + standing during the show + ingesting 14,000 pounds of sodium = ankles as defined as vanilla pudding. My legs now consist of two giant thighs and ten puffy toes. Picture it, please. Thighs-toes, thighs-toes. Zexy! Perhaps this season's crop of over-the-knee boots are just what the doctor ordered.