Damn, y’all! It’s certainly been a crazy couple of weeks. Last time we spoke I had just begun my most recent job, the hours (10 am-8 pm five days a week) I am just now getting used to. Of course, now that I’ve gotten the routine down pat the gig is drawing to close, as such is the nature of freelancing. And with the additional drawback of inconsistent pay, I’ve just barely made enough in the meantime to pay off my August debts with a little leftover for that other thing. Survival. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten anything not on my Trader Joe’s Budget Friendly Shopping List that when I went to buy toilet paper from my local bodega just now, the owner asked me if I’d moved. More than once I’ve seriously considered the “ride n ditch” method of drunken taxi transport. I’ve gotten more overdraft notices in the mail in the last month than I have birthday cards (which is to say, ONLY ONE. Don’t worry, family. You’ve still got a full two days before I disown you completely.)
I have managed, though, as I usually do, to indulge myself with some top-notch extracurriculars. Most notably, I’ve hit a major milestone in my top-secret entertainment project with OMGAlex, who btw finally has a blog of his own (thank god). It’s really quite perfect if you’re into that whole “sardonic account of psuedo-bougie urban gayness” thing, which let’s face it, you are.
Someone told me recently that I am “obsessed with living in Bushwick.” This is in fact true. One of the main reasons for my allegiance, right below “semi-affordable housing if you get lucky enough on craigslist” and “large population of friendly stray cats” is that there are always parties worth attending within walking distance of my apartment (this of course is due to the other great reason for living here, that it’s where everyone worth seeing resides). One example of this is the Dizzyland party, which had its one year anniversary, Dizzy /World/, two weekends ago. The circus was hosted by pretty much all your favorite Bushwick supercelebs (Trey Latrash, Ms Fitz, Allison Wwonderland, Brian Whateverer, Genevieve Belleveau & Juliana Huxtable to name a few) and included performances by Pictureplane, Lil Internet, and House of Ladosha ~~and many more~~ so it was a basically one of those can’t-miss things. Hannah and I, getting a late start to our day, arrived around 2 in our best attempt at anime-inspired self-infantilization. I even wore two pink bows from my early 90s days.
I only wish I had been there for longer (although I generally find that no party /really/ gets going until 2 am). We could have gone to the Spectrum for after hours, but being the old farts that we are, we opted to walk home at 4:30. Here I am holding my shoes on the way back, looking as real as ever:
You can find more (better) pixx from the night on PAPERMAG.
The following week was hellishly busy, as the job I’d been working on was set to take place at Lincoln Center during the shit show that is MERCEDES BENZ FASHION WEEK. I had never been to fashion week before and part of me was excited to see it up close. In high school I used to willfully lap up allll that industry bullshit. It seemed like such a fantasy land compared to my bored suburban life. There was GLAMOR and CELEBRITY and LUXURY at fashion week. I had bedroom walls covered in pictures of Gemma Ward and Jessica Stam and a casual eating disorder. Of course, any grown New York woman with two eyes and an awareness of culture consumption and class struggle in this city would be a little disconcerted by the whole thing. One popular picture from last year comes to mind.
I spent most of the day on location last Saturday guzzling free Doubleshots and storming around for 13 hours with a walkie talkie on my hip. I think the most fun I had all day was eating two giant plates of chinese food amongst a parade of cigarette-nursing models. At most I have a post-ironic relationship with fashion, and always try to have a sense of humor about it. That being said–
Later that evening, despite not getting any decent sleep in days, I decided to attend the Alexander Wang after party, hosted by SHADE in the abandoned Pier 17 mall. By this time I’d been working since 6 am, had been drinking caffeine since, and wasn’t going to stop any time soon. After plotting 12 murders and a suicide on the L Train Shuttle I ultimately decided all I needed was a very large pick-me-up in the form of a few champagne and red bull cocktails and a lot of hair and make up. Around 11 I rode into the city with the New Bushwick Fam, over caffeinated and plenty drunk (though neither perceptible by me.) The party was a gigantic, crowded mix of ~club kidz & celebz~, a thrilling mishmash of fame and anti-fashion that culminated with a bizarre surprise performance by Nicki Minaj. It pleased everyone. By this point the open vodka red bull bar had burned a sizable hole in my brain. I stepped out to make an exasperated and ill-advised phone call to my ex before silently weeping into my hair extensions as I rode down the mall escalator. Outside on the pier I sat in a corner and took a quick one-hour cat nap, then spent $30 on a cab ride home. The next morning I had the worst hangover I’d had in 2013. It wasn’t the best night ever, but I didn’t really care. At least I had shown up and looked good.
The other night at Body Actualized Center, Brian was taking instagrams of people in his Whatever 21 line (which btw is now available on Vfiles). After asking him to redo my shot more than once, I laughed and took a selfie instead.
“I’m so vain!” I said to Rachel who had watched this all transpire.
“You are,” she replied. “But it’s part of your charm.”