When I first moved to New York on a book tour in 2002 and subsisted on a diet of champagne (courtesy of events I’d attend as a young reporter for NBC) and cans of tuna (courtesy of being a 21-year-old author with zero money), I came across Plum Sykes. A fellow New York transplant, this Oxford educated Brit was the  epitome of my version of the New York dream. Eternally McQueen and Manolo clad and in possession of cheekbones you could rest a cup of tea on, she had an enviable position as a scribe at American Vogue…