Because life behind the scenes is often just as exciting as life in front of them, May-Britt takes you along in her life every week. Dull moments are not on the menu.

Where was I? The departure to New York. It started with the rather hopeless announcement from an extremely cheerful flight attendant who, with a smile from ear to ear, said to us: ”Your flight is cancelled.” When asked what was wrong, she intelligently replied with the words “It's technical.” Good. Okay. I won't bore you with the hassle that followed. Eventually, we flew via Frankfurt to New York where we arrived a few hours later and missed two shows, but hey, the sun was shining and we were there.

Because there was a line of taxis that took, say, about three hours, we got on the city bus. I am a princess spoiled to the core but found this bus just fine. For 16 dollars, we rode to Bryant Park where we transferred to a small van that dropped us right at the door. Nothing more to do.

Our apartment was heaven on Park Avenue. It is a studio of two photographers who rent it out via Air B&B. I don't know if the gentlemen have some sort of mathematical obsession, but everything was in duplicate. Two refrigerators, two ovens, two washing machines (so big that I could, seriously, sit in one), and two dishwashers. Sonos sound system, a cannon of a wifi, and a fridge full of wine with the request that we should plunder it because the gentlemen didn't drink themselves. Okay. Someone has to do it.

“In the evening, it sounded like “could you take us to the Plaza Hotel, please,” when Liesbeth and I went to the Icons party of Carine Roitfeld . If you talk about a party where everyone was, this was it. Linda Evangelista, Brooke Shields, Lindsey Wixson, Karolina Kurkova, Daphne Groeneveld, Pharrell, and Lady Gaga performed. So much champagne was consumed that the glasses were dirty and we were served the fizz in lemonade glasses. Bus, champagne in lemonade glasses, so I'm not that spoiled.

Saturday was all about shows, a divine lunch at café Gitane on Mott Street where I rode my bike, and a very quick manicure. It was needed, I can tell you. That evening we met Micha Emmering (founder and director of Micha Models) and her husband Sander, oyster king Rifko Meijer and his fresh bride in good old Morandi. Terrace, rosé, and the most delicious food.

It became a late night and the alarm rang again at 05:45. I was allowed backstage at Victoria Beckham waar Maartje Verhoef, speaking of Holland's Next Topmodel, walking in the show. Maartje is from Micha Models and is the hottest girl of fashion week. She walks almost every show and the ones she doesn't walk, she has declined herself because you simply can't do everything. Maartje was also the face of the lookbook and had posed for the photos a few days earlier. That happened to be her birthday. Victoria surprised her with a little cake with a candle, how sweet.

Maartje closed the show (that's a lead role on the catwalk. Opening or closing the show is an honorary position), was introduced to Victoria's son Brooklyn with the question of whether she already had a boyfriend, and then got to take a photo with David Beckham.

That day it became twelve o'clock at night. From Victoria Beckham to Derek Lam, on to DvF for the casting for the Calvin Klein show and two fittings. Whoever says that the modeling life is a life full of luxury should try tagging along for a day. If I keep this up for a month, I'll spontaneously have a waist size of 90 centimeters.

Before I start writing a novel here, I choose the short version. I saw the shows of Marc by Marc Jacobs, Vera Wang, Michael Kors, Tory Burch and flew crisscross through the city. Didn't see any more restaurants (because too busy) but on my last day sat ultra-luxuriously with Liesbeth on the rooftop of Soho House. You know, the members-only club where Samantha managed to sneak in to Sex and the City. All the people who were around me, I saw the next day on Style.com.

A perfect closing of New York Fashion Week that ended up being a lot more glamorous than it started.