Hey, fashionistas and fellow city wanderers!
It’s official: New York City will never stop surprising me. I mean, I had every intention of just grabbing my oat milk latte (with cinnamon, obviously) and heading to a sample sale in SoHo… and yet, I somehow ended up in the most incredible, totally unmarked jazz club in Harlem. Just your average Wednesday, right?
Let me take you through it — because it was a night, a vibe, and honestly, maybe a little bit of a life reset.
☕ So, I Walk Into a Coffee Shop…
You know the kind. Tiny. Smells like comfort and ambition. The type of place where everyone’s laptop looks more stylish than your handbag (which, by the way, was vintage Fendi — so rude).
I walk in to get my usual, and then I see him. The barista. Tall-ish. Wore a beanie and didn’t look like he was trying too hard, which obviously means he was trying very hard. He had this tattoo that looked like maybe he read Kerouac once and never got over it.
So of course, I order with a smile and the whole casual "what playlist is this, it’s really vibey" line. He smiles back. Instant flirt energy. Honestly, you could feel it over the hum of espresso machines. Maybe even the beans felt the tension.
📱 "You Like Jazz?"
So I'm about to leave — latte in hand, ready to conquer racks of discounted Marc Jacobs — when he says,
“You like jazz?”
And somewhere deep in my soul, Ross probably sneezed. (Sorry, Ross! I couldn’t help it! He had dimples!)
I said yes — because who doesn’t like jazz when a hot barista asks you?
He writes down an address on my coffee sleeve, leans in, and says, “Don’t be late. Door’s unmarked. Knock twice.”
I mean—what is this? An indie spy movie? Did I just become the main character?
🎷 Welcome to Harlem After Dark
Fast forward to 9 PM. I’m standing on a quiet street in Harlem, in heels I absolutely shouldn’t have worn for walking, staring at a black door next to a laundromat.
Knock, knock.
The door opens just a sliver, and this lady with the most amazing silver afro looks me up and down, nods, and lets me in.
Inside? Oh. My. God.
Red velvet banquettes. Candles in whiskey bottles. A saxophone player doing things to "My Funny Valentine" that should probably be illegal. The crowd? Cool. Like, leather-jacket-chain-smoking-poetry-reading cool.
I spot the barista across the room. He just nods at me like this isn’t the most cinematic moment of both our lives.
🥂 The Vibe: Technicolor Noir
We talked. We drank. I accidentally said “jazz hands” once and immediately regretted it. But somehow, it was still okay.
We didn't even exchange numbers. No Insta follows. No promises of future coffee dates. Just vibes — and maybe that was perfect?
As I walked out into the crisp Harlem night, streetlights glowing and music still humming in my bones, I realized…
New York gives, when you let it.
You never know when grabbing a latte might turn into a late-night saxophone-laced adventure. So say yes more. Be curious. Talk to the barista. Always talk to the barista.
✨ Things I Learned:
- Wear shoes you can dance in — even when getting coffee.
- Hidden doors are almost always worth knocking on.
- Jazz feels better live. Especially with whiskey.
- Sometimes the best nights are the ones you didn’t plan.
'Til the next unexpected adventure…
Xoxo,
Rachel 💅🏼
P.S. If anyone knows where to get waterproof mascara for spontaneous emotional jazz breakdowns, please let me know.
