To read Zachary Palmer's feature on Bowery Electric Mondays, visit thelmagazine.com
Fashion-Crashing Guidelines
10 Secrets for Getting Into Fashion Week Afterparties
by Zachary Palmer
1. Know who is DJ’ing. Start going to their weekly parties tonight. At their own parties, New York DJs are very accessible. Become friends with them (but don’t be sycophantic). Try to sync up with them: eat dinner at the same time, go to bed at the same time. Women: will your cycles to match theirs, and you may find yourself waiting on line just as they are making an entrance. Make sure they see you, and you might get swept inside along with their entourage.
2. Show up alone. Of course, make friends with the people in front of you. One of them might be able to help you out, either because of who they are or because no doorman wants to deal with everyone in the line banding together with cries of “let him in, let him in.” Also, you might be able to get some freelance work from the editor behind you.
3. It seems like a long shot, but if the curbside synchronicity is there, pull a DIY house-show courtesy move and offer to help carry an amp, er, crate of records (er, case of CDs). Carrying something heavy is always a good credibility-builder and crowd-parter. My favorite last resort is to chase down the DJ and tell them how much coverage that you are going to give them in a forthcoming issue of The L Magazine.
4. Very simply, know which line is which: pay attention to the door staff as they explain which line is guest list only, on-call, etc.
5. Do not try to skip the line. Independent of the fact that this is a red flag, if you are not on the list, the least you can do is wait (bring this feature along with you to memorize as you do so). The trick here happens before you approach: feel out the line from across the street. Approach from the side opposite the line/the shorter line. That way you have to pass by the door staff on your way to the back of the line. Perhaps there will be either a moment of recognition or a panicked scream of, “I need his look in here, now!”
6. If the doors have not yet opened, and you recognize a familiar face on the door staff, ask if there is anything you can do to help out. On the night of Courtney Love’s Cheeky Bastard performance, I (fireguard license in hand) cleared the street, repeating some form of the following, “Hi, I love you and do not want for you to get run over, also, if the cops come and see you all standing here, the party will be shut down.”
7. Once the doors open, be prepared with your reason for being allowed in without being on a list. Know who you’re talking to, do not tell the doorman you’re on so-and-so’s list only to have him explain that it is he who is so-and-so. You should know some trivia about the DJs, performers and designer. The door staff has better things to do than quiz you, but throwing out a random fact might add authenticity to your #1 Fan foam finger.
8. Your buddy inside cannot get you in and if he has not already put you on a list, he does not have a list. Save your breath. Speaking of not lying: tell the truth throughout, about your age and connections. Even if you are no one, being caught in the truth always goes further than being caught in a lie and being told to leave the line.
9. If you do make it in, you will immediately find yourself among the anonymous, unrecognizable proletariat. The VIP area is your next target. Either make friends with the bouncer (in advance) or find the party’s host. After explaining who I was at the 2006 F/W Heatherette party, Susanne Bartsch (while money fell from the ceiling) handed me a VIP wrist band.
10. All of the tragicomedy and drama aside, a Fashion Week party is not a movie. Going home, putting on a disguise and coming back is not going to fool anyone. Going home, changing into something fabulous and coming back… well, maybe.
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Three Questions for Stylish New Yorkers
1. Is the hipster dead?
2. Where’s the best place in New York to spot real trend-setters?
3. What’s the most fabulous fashion item you’ve ever worn or owned?
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MICHAEL T.
Terrifically fond of cowboy boots, Michael T. is a legendary promoter-DJ whose more infamous current projects include: Rated X: The Panty Party (on hiatus until September) and Motherfucker.
1. Yes, the hipster is dead, the few that remain are “undead” like zombies. Although instead of eating your flesh they eat up your drink tickets and guest list... vile creatures.
2. In a photo, from 1979 and before. Clearly there is no “trend setting” in New York these days. Have you seen the “fashion of the youth”? Headbands and hanging belts... pathetic!
3. Well, I own several fabulous items, my dear. However, if I don’t own it, trust me, it’s not that fabulous.
SOPHIA LAMAR
Transsexual nightlife, fashion, music and film-theater diva, prolific beyond belief, Lamar is a Renaissance man-turned-woman.
1. No. What is dead is the term “hipster.” People think that emos, bike messengers, postpunks, rockers, nerds and everybody they do not look like is a hipster.
2. At the Misshapes party — that’s where fashion editors go for inspiration.
3. That is hard for me to answer. I have a lot of “fabulous” items, but sometimes I feel fabulous with just a piece of fabric around me. Fabulous is a state of mind.
MISS GUY
DJ and lead singer of the Toilet Boys, see Miss Guy at The Factory (Tuesdays at Lotus).
1. Let’s hope so.
2. On the street. ALWAYS!
3. Sprouse or Westwood. The two greatest designers ever!
SEAN FIGHTCATS!
Along with S.Valentine, Sean Fightcats! is one third of the Ruff Kids, while, in his own right, he is pushing the t-shirt toward couture-notability.
1. No, I saw him in front of Cake Shop, thinking it was Williamsburg.
2. Suite Orchard, at Orchard and Rivington.
3. A t-shirt.
BRION ISAACS
Drummer for 33hz and co-founder/producer of Shindig!, Brion has a motorcycle in his apartment, so we hear.
1. The hipster is a general word I never liked. There is the lame thirty-something hipster, the indie-rock hipster, the Misshapes hipster, etc. Every single person fits into some label one way or another and there is no way of escaping it. To ask if the “hipster” is dead is like asking if the frat boy is dead — and we both know that he will be with us till the last kegstand.
2. Shindig or a 33hz show.
3. Frank Sinatra’s fedora, though I don’t actually wear it, it just sits on my dresser.
ANDY SHAW
Promoter extraordinaire, he is the man behind Shaw Promotion; it is he (and his street team) who hands you event fliers every night of the week.
1. Nothing ever really dies in New York. Things just evolve and morph into something else. The term “hipster” has been so overused and abused that it has pretty much lost its original meaning and been replaced with a general broad description of a certain demographic. But it’s like a joke now — no hipsters will admit that they are hipsters. Cuz after all, who likes to be categorized… and I don’t believe most of the people even know what a real “hipster” is anymore. Is the hipster dead? No. It’s greater than ever but in different forms and definitions and most people are one. Everyone likes to be hip on some level or another.
2. I sometimes have a hard time telling the difference between trend setters, posers and cheese balls. In terms of fashion, I guess all the usual places, downtown and Williamsburg. But in terms of the real deal, it’s the people who spent enough quality time on their own, discovering, creating and inventing things. Some of the greatest minds I have met weren’t anyone popular, or even cared to be. But NYC is the place.
3. I’m a practical guy. I don’t know or care to wear the most fabulous fashion items, but I do carry more shit than most on my belt: an Elvis Presley pocketknife, a camera, and, the most useful thing I have ever carried, a flashlight — all on my belt. I use all three all the time. Another “fabulous fashion item” I own, I guess, is my Triumph motorcycle. But again, it’s practical. It’s my ride and I get everywhere in ten minutes. Subway’s for suckers.
CHRIS ROVZAR
Onetime Daily News gossip guru, now Online Editor of NYMag.com
1. My boyfriend lives on Ludlow and Rivington, and the kids there seems to be sort of overdone — as though someone had a big Halloween street party and told everyone to dress as a hipster. I guess that’s one sign of the demise of the genre, but Nantucket has been around for years and preppy somehow isn’t dead. So who knows? Also — I think the Misshapes Retrospective book that’s coming out pretty much says the party’s over.
2. I think the real place to see trendsetters is in Nolita, where people dress up to go shopping. It’s always a mix of high and low fashion. Anything more gritty makes me want to shower.
3. I have this amazing black-and-red checkered barncoat from LL Bean circa 1978. I’m pretty sure not one single person in the city has one like it. Suffice to say, I never wear it.
REBECCA TURBOW
Owner of the clothing line Safe by Rebecca Turbow
1. I don’t think so. Not yet anyway.
2. I guess that would still be Williamsburg and the Lower East Side.
3. I can’t think of just one thing. My white knee high Sigerson Morrison boots are pretty fabulous. It’s hard to find a good pair of white boots.
ELISE CHANG
Currently employed by the illustrious Andy Warhol Foundation
1. Like the living dead!
2. Quiet streets on bright days.
3. Red, white and blue Nike Airs.
RACHEL FELDER
Fashion and beauty writer extraordinaire
1. Hipsters are alive and well. After a summer of European festival hopping and relaxing in Cornwall and Majorca, they’ll be back soon.
2. Inside their rent stabilized sublets, or on their occasional trips out to the Red Hook Ball Fields, Jeffrey New York, art galleries in Chelsea, Salvor Kiosk, or to JFK to wait for a flight to Marfa, Mexico City, or Mumbai.
3. The most fabulous fashion item: My mother’s Emilio Pucci cotton shift, purchased at Saks Fifth Avenue circa 1966: it still looks great and is worth every high-end dry cleaning bill it takes to keep it that way.
S. VALENTINE
T-shirt designer and, along with Sean Fightcats!, one-third of the Ruff Kids, S.Valentine drinks straight from the bottle.
1. I’m hungry, I just ate too much Chinese food. I’m so high. Jesus. POT COOOKIES! Hipsters dead? Huh?? I want fooood, not dead hipsters.
2. Ask me where I’ll be later on.
3. She was blond.
Party Tracker: Blonde on Blonde
by Zachary Palmer
Lonely and looking for something to do, tired of feeling like you are stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again? Don your Lonsdale and your leopard-skin pill-box hat and dance to a Captain Arab-arabesque, one which turns Jayne and Mansfield into visions of Johanna. International flaxen-haired DJing duo Lady Bree and Miss Harry Flowers--visions of beauty in a DJ booth, Sharon st"One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later)"-styled femme fatales behind the ones and twos--spin rock 'n' roll, garage, punk, girl groups, glam, indie and shoegaze. Keeping rap to another red riding 'hood, these residents-as-Rapunzels keep the sleeping residents of their parties' hoods asking themselves "ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're trying' to be so quiet?" Their bombshells of hits create a Rainy Day Women #12 & #35-24-36 measurements of 33 1/3 rotations per minute which has me all right with you pledging my time to them.
Putting the Absolut in absolutely sweet Marie, Erik and nikkisneakers pour the poisons that keep you tumbling about just like a mattress balances on a bottle of wine.
Whether this is your first or fourth time around the block, find a sad eyed lady of the lowlands and tell her I want you, when the blonde bombshell blows up in your face run to your buddies complaining of her being just like a woman--a Jean Harlow-looking hall of mirrors.
Have a drink for courage, then find yourself nearly-invincible--temporary like Achilles--on the dance floor, surrounded by Marilyn Monroe-fashioned "Why, Chanel No. 5, of course" strange bedfellows, obviously 5 believers all. Come some time between 3:30 and 4am, mostly likely you'll go your way (and I'll go mine).
And now, the feature using all of the words which can be made from Blonde:
On Sunday and Wednesday nights instead of nodding off in your bed, be all you can be by making your body bend in dance and drink at Blonde on Blonde--a party which refuses to blend in, where your DJs Lady Bree and Miss Harry Flowers blend rock 'n' roll, garage, punk, girl groups, glam, indie and shoegaze. If you have made bold moves and managed to neither have bled out from a dance-related broken bone nor have run into some girl who you once boned, nights out such as these bode well for your week.
Put down the bole, don some duds and take out your deb (as in, debutante) for a night out on the town and away from your apartment above a crack den, to spots where music plays at various levels of bel. Dole out for your blonde and do whatever your doe-eyed beauty wants done in the ebon corners that resemble the dungeons of eld.
En-dash out for a night that will not be done before amateur enol turns into a marriage annuled. Your DJs have spent an eon or so in front of their LED-lit mixing boards spinning Led Zeppelin, and lo and behold they lend their talents to your left and right ear lobe, lob your keys to your designated driver blond Ben (better yet, take either the El--the J,M,Z--or L trains), lobed to hear when you have had too much. Knowing that these venues are a lode of debauchery, do not be a lone dancer. Neb and hands-outstretched, do not say no to any noble offers, just nod yes to a node (as in, intersecting/connecting!), and find yourself in a cheer usually found around Noel. Beware the od and bond of women, and be careful not to O.D. We do not want to have to sing an ode to your memory until you are very old. I have gone on too long, this has to end.
Blonde on Blonde
Sundays at Lit, Wednesday at Hugs
10:30pm, FREE
93 Second Ave, between E 5th and E 6th Sts
108 N 6th St, between Berry St and Wythe Ave
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