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So, what is she like? Carrie Bradshaw with a toddler, apparently. Fox has dragged her bed into her living room – leaving her room to serve as part playroom for her two-year-old son Valentino, part wardrobe space (those conceal-and-reveal looks have to go somewhere, after all – even if it is next to your son’s tiny mint-green Vespa). “I also have shoeboxes in the kitchen, which is very common for New Yorkers,” she declares, panning over a king’s ransom worth of footwear (I spy Hermès), piled on top of a box of rainbow chalk and capped with a Gucci bucket hat. On the table next to it? A cotton-candy machine – weirdly not mentioned on many lists of household essentials.
Where Fox and Bradshaw part ways: their approach to rodents. “We do have a little, small mouse problem,” Fox muses, “but, you know, it’s a problem depending on how you look at it – I kind of let them rock. I appreciate that they, um, at night while we’re sleeping, come out and clean up the crumbs that my son drops on the floor. So, yeah, I’m not gonna evict the mice anytime soon.”
