David manages to have a wardrobe that looks like it’s from Barney’s when it’s all bargain basement. I ran back to Ebay, when I never have time to do Ebay, looking everywhere for the Renaissance boots to the top of the thigh that cost David $60 dollars, and I keep wondering why I never seem to find endless, state-of-the-art Vivienne Westwood when I explore the thrift stores. How does David just happen to know about the obscure, impossible-to-find-and-get-into flat in Paris, where a woman might or not buzz you in, and then leave with the Margiela jacket of doom? (By the way, it’s a very oversized blazer that he says makes him feel like Mary-Kate). Then there are the multiple pairs of Dirk Bikkemberg’s, the kind of boots and shoes that you could blow your rent on, but a friend just happened to give them to him. And I love that he wears them too big anyway. It doesn’t seem that I am the only one that wants to go home with all of David’s finds – someone stole his glasses when he was sleeping on the subway.