Author: Danielle Lucia Shaffer
Photographer / Danielle Schaffer from CityGirlGoneMom
Hair & Makeup / Tia Rosenkrance
Art Direction & Styled by / Veronika Howard
Children’s Pajamas / Petidoux
Cloth Bound Classic Series of books / Coralie Bickford-Smith
Hand Screened White Linen Pillows / Kriss Lecocq
Models / Jackson, Dylan, Roman, Brody & Emma
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the Soho House
Not a bedtime hooligan was stirring, not even a mouse.
The Gucci stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Yves Saint Laurent soon would be there.
The children were nestled in Petidoux, all snug in their beds,
While visions of pillow fights danced in their heads.
And mamma in her Jocelyn Fur, and I in my Hide & Cotton Trapper,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s night capper.
When out on the runway there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the sketchbooks and drew up the patterns in a dash.
The super moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to the catwalk below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Mini Tesla, and eight lucrative designdeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Laurent.
More rapid than a production line his designers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Versace! now, Prada! now, Lanvin and Dior!
On, Missoni! On, Burberry! on Fendi and Chloe!
To the top of the runway! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the Soho house-top the designdeer they flew,
With the Tesla full of Prada samples, and St. Laurent too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The sewing and fitting of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney with fabric, St. Laurent came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of threads he had flung on his back,
And he seemed to be wearing Tiffany, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a yardstick he held tight in his teeth,
And the tape measure it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
With satin and silks, wool and a smirk
He filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And drawings in his sketchbook aside of his clothes,
And giving a nod, up the catwalk he rose!
He sprang to his Mini Tesla, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
The illustrator, designer and contributing editor
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight,
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”
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