Still at the Ace Hotel in New York City. Bastion of all things vintage-fabulous, steampunk and industrial chic. I like the use of typography throughout the hotel. I brought my camera but forgot the cable to download images to my computer. (Duh. I swear I will get the hang of this soon.) So instead I am posting this picture of me taken two years ago, at a truly fabulous hotel outside Udaipur, called Devi Garh. It's an ancient Indian palace and one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. (More on that soon, when I post about the incredible Kashmiri curry I ate there and now know how to make.) I suppose it's a sad fact of colonialism, but the Indians really know what good service is. Here at the Ace, not so much. Our do-not-disturb sign—a magnet that says "Not Now" and can be stuck to the metal door—somehow vanished during the night. The room service burgers delivered from The Breslin's kitchen (beef not lamb): Eh. The thrice-cooked fries, however, were divine. And I give them credit for sending up little jars of ketchup, dijon mustard and mayonnaise. And for the crisp lacinato kale and radicchio mixed into their green salad. For dessert? The homemade ice cream on offer was vanilla only, and no chocolate sauce available, so we passed. An in-room viewing of The September Issue wrapped up the evening, and we were really quite happy. Grace Coddington, with her witchy mane of flaming red frizz (gorgeous) versus the bizarrely stiff and bug-like Anna Wintour—no contest, really. Given her upbringing, and the real-world accomplishments of her talented siblings, Anna, poor dear, is clearly burdened with the shame of working in fashion. It's too bad, because when you see the magic that Grace creates, the sheer transporting fantasy of a beautiful girl in an other-worldly dress, you see that fashion's escapism is not without merit.