
For a few years, I worked as a nightlife reporter in New York, interviewing celebrities on red carpets and at after-parties around the city. I often left for work at 4:30pm and returned home after midnight, having spent hours waiting for Chloë Sevigny to say something funny, or Lindsay Lohan to do something rash. A handful of crucial elements made the job possible: a Sony voice recorder, a modest-but-attractive black dress of hammered silk, and countless grilled peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.






















