This is a story about practicing what I preach. Playing by my own rules. Specifically: the friendship rules outlined in the book I co-wrote with my Dad, The Art of Friendship: 70 Simple Rules for Making Meaningful Connections. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that if I took the time and energy to write a book about it, I’d have to be able to follow each and every rule at all times-– from #1 (“Reach Out to Someone You Don’t Know”) to #70 (“Let the Sunshine In”), right? As it turns out, that is much, much easier said than done.

So, I’m hiving in New York last week at a super chic fashion party on the roof of the Hotel on Rivington, where I feel about 20 years older than everyone there, 20 times less stylish, and 20 pounds fatter. My friend is 20 minutes late, so I am forced to stand in a corner with my glass of champagne and St-Germain Elderflower liquor (a cocktail I’ve been calling “The Sally” all summer, which the St-Germain folks call simply: “St-Germain avec Champagne”), staring at the gorgeous crowd. I think to myself, “Self? You’re supposed to be a friendship expert. Make some friends!” And with that, I head to a group of cute gals in the corner, who are the hired models for the evening, posing in retro bras and the “fine jeans” of the fabulous ADWA collection, which are meant to be worn as dress attire, fashioned after styles from the ‘60s, ‘70s, and ‘80s. They look really bored, cold, and in need of friends, too. So I say to one of them, “Are you guys the ‘60s era? I was told that the jeans on this floor were the ‘60s ones…”

I am met with blank stares.

It occurs to me that the models:
a) don’t speak English;
b) have been instructed not to speak or smile;
c) think I’m crazy, 20 years older, 20 times less stylish, and 20 pounds fatter than I should be to be talking to them; or
d) all of the above.

I repeat my question and elicit a shrug from the porcelain doll with the glossy red lips. The others turn and strike new poses.

But I tried, people. And guess what? This story provided my “in” to conversation with other folks at the party, who commiserated with my feeling old, laughed with me, and gave me their business cards. Rule #8 from the book says “Be Vulnerable” and suggests a little self-deprecation can go a long way. So, I guess I did follow one of my own rules successfully.

And I practiced what I preach.

What would happen if I tried to follow my own rules every day? Watch this space…