There are days you wander into New York City with no real plan, and leave having time-traveled, socially reflected, and debated whether or not a vest made entirely of soda can tabs counts as haute couture.
That was my Saturday.
I made a pilgrimage to the New-York Historical Society Museum, which, if you haven’t been, is like walking into a beautifully curated Pinterest board… with better lighting and far fewer DIY fails.
First Stop: Real Clothes, Real Lives
The exhibit promised 200 years of what women wore, though it fell a bit short of delivering on that promise, since there were only a few rooms to walk through. Nonetheless, we made our way through corsets, day dresses, maternity wear, power suits, and yes, a vest made entirely of soda tabs, which I believe pairs best with a Diet Coke and a heavy dose of chutzpah.
It almost felt as if the mannequin was snapping at me. If it wasn’t for that glass partition separating us from one another, I would have definitely left the exhibit, head cowered in shame (for not being cool enough).
It wasn’t just about fashion, it was about identity. Each garment whispered a little about the woman who wore it. Some whispered elegance. Others whispered “I dare you to tell me this isn’t a dress.” Either way, I listened.
Second Stop: Pride & Protest
After being sartorially inspired, we wandered into the photography exhibit by Fred W. McDarrah, documenting LGBTQ+ activism from the 1960s through the ’90s. Powerful stuff.
The images were raw, honest, and full of movement. Not the kind that requires yoga pants, but the kind that shakes a society awake. You could almost hear the chants through the glass. It made me want to raise a sign. Or at least raise a toast at the progress we’ve made to date.
Final Stop: Tiffany Lamps
Ah, the Tiffany gallery. The final brain cleanse.
Imagine being wrapped in a warm, kaleidoscopic hug made of stained glass. That’s what this room felt like.
If I could live inside a lamp, this would be the one.
There were over 100 dazzling Tiffany lamps on display, each one like a little glass poem glowing with 19th-century ambition and zero concern for your modern electric bill.
But Wait, There’s More!
The city wasn’t done showing off just yet. On the way out, I popped into a boutique next to the museum (as one does), and there it was: a chunky ring with the word “Badass” etched across it in bold. I tried it on and, naturally, it fit like destiny. Jewelry that speaks your truth? Don’t mind if I do.
Alas, it didn’t come home with me. There’s just a certain air one must carry to wear that ring convincingly, and I wasn’t sure my “museum nerd with a snack pouch” vibe quite qualified.
Later that day (would you believe we walked over 20,000 steps all over the city that never sleeps?), as if the universe wanted to gift me a perfect ending, I ran into Millie, a gentle, gigantic mastiff in a pearl necklace. Yes, pearls. Yes, Millie. She was strolling with the grace of an Upper West Side heiress (except that we were in the halls of Chelsea Market) and apparently has her own Instagram account. Because.. of course she does.
A Parking Ticket Ensued
Of course, no NYC adventure is complete without a healthy dose of parking drama. We parked on the street, fed the meter like law-abiding citizens, and printed out our receipt (which very clearly stated that displaying the ticket on the dashboard was not required). Naturally, we returned to find a parking ticket tucked under the wiper, as if irony itself had issued it. I imagine the meter enforcement person looked at our windshield, saw no paper, and thought, “Ah yes, another rebel without a permit.” We’ll be framing the original receipt and mailing it back with a note that says, “Respectfully, please read the fine print.”
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‘Till Next Time
We laughed. We learned. We tried not to trip over the velvet ropes.
New York never disappoints, and neither does a good museum day. Especially when it includes soda tab fashion, vintage activism, and lighting that belongs in a fairytale.
Next stop: figuring out how to incorporate a Tiffany lamp into my Zoom background. Or at least a soda-tab vest into my wardrobe rotation.
Until next adventure.
