Dior Mugs, Cigarettes and Total Glamour

All I’ve ever wanted is a window in my bathroom. I went to a hoity-toity, Upper East Side, private all-girls school for 13 years and of the outlandishly chic, Park Avenue apartments I visited for playdates, most seemed to contain…a window in the bathroom. Mundane ablutions—rinsing my hands, sitting on the toilet, showering—were instantly glamorized by the presence of a window, even if the view was nothing to speak of. A particularly romantic image I’ve held on to: my friend Susan Crile, age 15, perched cross-legged on the edge of the bathtub, blowing slick gusts of cigarette smoke out the window while her parents plodded around in the living room, unknowing of our illicit bathroom adventure. After each exaggerated drag, she’d ash into a delicate tea cup—bone china?—perched on the window ledge. The window, the cup, the ineffable intrigue that is smoking cigarettes at 15, the beautiful home existing outside the door all add up to unspeakable glamour, and somehow these Dior-emblazoned mugs fit into my bathroom-window vision of chicness. Perhaps I envision Susan and me placing one on the window ledge, ashing into it.

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