She’s exhausted. Life as an elegant New York boheme is fatiguing. And those vitamin B12 injections, to which she must expose her derriere to her Wellness Consultant weekly, just aren’t kicking in the way they used to. And yes, before you ask, she’s tried salt yoga, but even practicing asana in a room walled in Himalayan salt bricks is just not deep cleansing the respiratory system as everyone promised. Even Frieze week has become a total slog. And she never, ever, thought she would ever say that. So maybe it’s time to get away? Eat, pray, love and all that. But without all that horrific pasta. Refined white carbohydrates? She hasn’t totally lost her mind. She’s thinking south of the border. Cuba, perhaps? Or the deserts of New Mexico? She hears those places are very de rigouer. Tres authentic. But what what to wear? A quick call to Jack and Lazaro. They are always such accommodating boys. Jack answers. We have just the thing, he says. Vogue Runway, now. Our Pre-Fall collection appeared there mere hours ago. Inspired by a road trip to the south west of America that Lazaro and I took. It’ll be just parfait! She follows their instructions. They are right. A tasseled tunic, puddles of wide-leg trous, sensible looking clogs. A flash of tangerine, so beautiful it’s almost edible. That two-piece with the Maoist collar. In white. Can you think of anything more wonderful for an early morning sun salutation on a dried-up desert riverbed? And surely, even in those far-off lands, one has the need for cocktail dress? There must be some sort of social scene. They aren’t savages. But then, it strikes her – maybe, just maybe, this collection might look just as good hanging off her body as she traipses down Fifth Avenue as it would in far-off realms. Maybe she doesn’t need to get away, after all. Maybe this was what was missing all along? Has Proenza Schouler not, as she had always suspected, been the real key to happiness all along?