When I met Daphne last Thursday at Columbus Circle, she told me a story about how she once ran into Scott Schuman, The Sartorialist. “I went up to him and told him that I loved his work,” she said. “He said thanks. And then he gave me the lookover and then walked away.” In full disclosure, this was relayed in funny context. I said to her, “Well at least you got the lookover; can you imagine how many people he must walk by on a daily basis who are an automatic no…”
On Friday, Savannah and I were walking north on Lafayette Street when Scott rolled up on his bicycle with his trust Mark II round his neck. Scott Schuman is stockier than I thought he’d be; he’s quite solid with low centre-gravity. He rides slowly, the way a shark would swim near a human in the ocean, checking to see if it makes for legit prey. The focus in his eyes are both mesmerising and intimidating. “There’s The Sartorialist,” I said. He looked at us and slowed up on his bicycle (I mean, he slowed way up), gave at least one of us the head-to-toe lookover, and then pedaled on toward Houston Street where he came to a stop at a red light. A crowd of people had gathered waiting to cross, and I kept waiting to see if, by chance, either someone would notice him or he’d jump off his bike and take someone’s picture. Alas, he didn’t.
Fridays are tough.