You know those girls who have perfectly effortless tumbling curls? Like hair you only see on red carpets or in Victoria Secret catalogues?

Well those girls are everywhere in NYC.

Except those curls aren’t effortless. They are structured to tousled precision. Which means on this icy Arctic morning she got up at 5am to hot iron her hair into covetable tendrils.

And I huddled in bed until the last possible moment and then wrangled my greasy mop into the most jazzy bun I could manage before mussing it up under the hood of my giant coat.