make-believe: ice skating.

When I was in 4th grade, one of my friends had her birthday party at Wollman rink in Central Park. It was a big deal. Hermès hosted. In celebration of their 10th anniversary in 1993, Hermès invited every 10 year old born on December 7 to a big ol' birthday bash. A gaggle of us skated, minimal longterm damage was done to our ankles, and we went home donning enormous silk scrunchies and singing Christmas carols.

The only trouble with this birthday party was my disappointment in the limitations of my wintertime wardrobe. Where, oh where was my rabbit fur muff? My smart little cloak and long full skirt? My valise? Instead of being the graceful Victorian ice skater of my fantasies, I was decked out in a fluorescent hand-me-down jacket and mismatched sweater: a vision in neon and roses.

Turns out that as an adult ice skating still gets me fantasizing about upping my sartorial game. Here's the current version of what I'd like to wear. Pockets filled with salted caramels, included, and an adult-sized version of those skates, please.

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