Fangs bared and cash in hand, I bounded into the Hugo Boss sample sale, wiggling down to Jockey bikinis without shame. In an hour I’d found what I needed to go from “struggling writer” to “Eat me, I’m money”: a gray wool/silk suit, black leather shoes and a breathtaking wool overcoat suitable for nightclubs, interviews and funerals. I felt very Carrie Bradshaw — tossing rent money to the wind, yet “saving” four grand.
