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We always had 'Vogue' in our house. But, when I was around 12, my Mom finally took me seriously about modeling and put a stack of magazines in front of me, then told me to study all the poses. The ones I loved the most were in 'Vogue.'

At an early age I discovered the beauty in pictures in 'Vogue' magazine and Ebony magazine, and I would read 'The New York Times.' I had to make my own world within my world because I was an only child.

I was twelve years old when I started reading 'Vogue.'

Eventually, my highbrow parents, who so hated the Eisenhower suburban culture of the 1950s that the only magazines they subscribed to were 'The Atlantic' and 'The New Yorker,' broke down and got 'Life' magazine.

I remember in the fifth grade my dad would take me to Manhattan to shop for clothes.

When I still lived in Manhattan, people-watching was my hobby, and I spent many Sunday afternoons eating up the scene from a window seat at a Starbucks on Broadway.

For me, the sketching of dresses was about fantasy and dreams. In my little room at home, I felt that I was somewhere else. In Paris, for instance.

I grew up in New York, and I've always been surrounded by fashion. My grandmother used to write for 'Vogue' in the '50s, and my mother was a dancer and a model.

I think the mix of narrative and analysis that the 'New Yorker' requires is a perfect expression of what my parents each gave me.