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Bash Compactor: Monkey Business

C. Edwards — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The average passerby on Bergen Street last weekend would have had no idea that behind the unmarked door of the Brooklyn’s Red Lotus Room was an enclave of artists resurrecting the Bal des Quat’z’Arts, the Parisian carnival known for artistic selfindulgence and bacchanalian splendor.

The Art Monkey’s Ball was an effort from Molly Crabapple, the brains behind Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School, where artists gather to sketch and paint sexy and scandalous cabaret performers. Attendees of the Art Monkey’s Ball were happy to get in on the act, violently yoking together looks that blended 1920s speakeasy with Goth, Victorian and sideshow-influenced styles.

“I like to encourage events based on participation, rather than passive consumption,” said Crabapple. “By coming in elaborate, lovely costumes and drawing, rather than wearing jeans and snapping iPhone pictures, attendees become co-creators of the event.”

The quiet tension of artistic focus melded with constantly shifting activity as living tableaus formed in every direction; models draped effortlessly across vintage furniture, statuesque cigarette girls dispensed art supplies and an aerialist slowly shifted from pose to pose in a high-hanging trapeze while mustachioed gentlemen and corseted ladies captured her movements on paper.

I casually sipped my drink and marveled as burlesque performer Jezebel Express lured volunteers into a cage for a round of quick poses, twirling her feathered fans and jiggling her spangled cleavage. “There’s a greater sense of creative ebb and flow at Dr. Sketchy’s events than at a normal burlesque show,” she told me. “People show up expecting to create instead of to watch. It’s just a different flavor of engagement.”

Bash Compactor: Living Legends

C. Edwards — Wed, 21 Jan 2009 00:00:00 +0000

After braving the cross-town trip in the bitter, freezing night air, I arrived at The National Arts Club to a great divide: the wine crowd versus the cheese crowd. Huddled around their respective tables at opposite ends of the room, it seemed as if food and drink were an either/or proposition. The two groupings did not become a unified whole until the food supply began to dwindle—great for me because I had spent most of the evening traveling back and forth, trying to figure out which side had the most heat. It seemed that every twenty-something downtowner had shown up to toast Ray Tintori at the Legendary Children reception. Tintori, a Sundance Film Festival fave and music video director, was present to show a series of understated, quirky clips from a number of his films including “Death to the Tinman” and “Jettison Your Loved Ones”. Legendary Children’s intro features a clip from the 1990 documentary, “Paris is Burning” where two nancy black gays define the term “legendary children” as something you attain through practice and recognition, I couldn’t help but crane my neck to see if there were any actual nancy black gays in attendance.

Not a one. Just your usual mix of stylish young women in black patent leather pumps and scruffy guys who pair blazers with everything. The presence of the occasional toothy prep and poppy soundtrack gave the whole thing an exceptionally styled crowd feel, like a party scene in a modern-day John Hughes movie.

No one seemed to be taking in the neo-Victorian décor of the space, something I felt guilty for not doing after my good friend Kimberly pointed out that I was leaning up against one of the brightly colored acrylic paintings that lined the walls of the room. Minutes later, we were playfully counting the number oversized envelope clutches that passed us by, when I grabbed her shoulder with a gasp; “Is that Kevin Bacon?” She squinted ahead, “No, I think it’s… John Norris from MTV.”

Bash Compactor: On the Shopping Block

C. Edwards — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 00:00:00 +0000

As the holidays approach, emerging designers were offering recession-friendly prices at The Metropolitan Pavilion for GenArt’s Shop NYC event last week. With its DJ booth and open bars, it was one part party and two parts sample sale, but the designers weren’t the only up and comers in attendance, among the crowd of savvy style seekers was the cast of CW’s fashion magazine trainwreck, Stylista.

Unnoticed by pretty much everyone, I bided my time and waited for one to stray from the pack. First, it was production assistant and model spawn, Ashlie Darrel, who, in her black furry jacket and python heels, went into a speech about the importance of supporting new talent in the industry. When I asked if she thought the event was a good substitute for Black Friday, she responded, “Definitely, but no one’s going to get trampled here.”

Quite the opposite really. Next to the piles of handbags and tables of jewelry were spa treatments, complimentary hair products and—believe it or not—free cupcakes. “I’m going on vacation to Maui, so I’m staying away,” said Darrel’s catty co-contestant Megan Johnson, who was otherwise pleased with the event, “I’m a buyer, so I’m mixing business with pleasure; swiping my card and enjoying a drink or two. It’s very Anne Slowey of me.”

The subject of the sacrifice of food for fashion came up again when a cater waiter with a tray full of M&Ms passed by myself and Chinese linguist turned Stylista hopeful, Johanna Cox.
“Access to clothing is a perk, they’re all sample sizes and you either fit or you don’t. Indulgences better be worth it.”

Her most recent indulgence? “I had pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, but not too much, I knew I would have to fit into this outfit.” She said as she motioned to her Zoe Hong dress. I inquired if her indulgences extended to footwear when I noticed she was wearing the it shoes of this past summer: the $800 Dior Extreme Gladiator Heels. “They’re my one big summer splurge."

Bash Compactor: Setting Sale

C. Edwards — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 00:00:00 +0000

The VIP section of Housing Works’ Marc Jacobs–chaired Fashion for Action charity event didn’t offer much in terms of VIPs, it was mostly those expectedly stylish, overly coiffed young people waiting for someone to compliment them on their shoe selection. If you were looking for the genuine very important people you’d have to move past the whirlwind of air kisses and carelessly flung scarves—then you’d find New York John Bartlett, Steven Alan and Agathe Planchon blending in around the bar or perusing the silent auction. Up for bidding? A lunch with Tim Gunn, a backstage pass at a Ray Dragon porn shoot, a wide variety of handbags from Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada and Etro, among many other fabulous things, were available at a discount.

And what goes better with an elegant evening of fundraising than the uncontrollable madness of a sample sale? “It’s too much for me,” said singer Ryan Malloy. “I only like to shop Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to noon when it’s quiet.” But when it benefits the fight against HIV/AIDS who can resist a good sample sale? Not even Top Model’s, Ermina Cunmulaj and Ana Mihajlovic, who hit the racks before coming over to the party. “We were only there for about half an hour, when it comes to a sale, women don’t mess around,” said Mihajlovic, clutching her recent purchase. “It’s a Martin Margiela dress.” Not that they need a sale to keep their closet current: “Catherine Malandrino sent me a $3,000 coupon,” Cunmulaj beamed. “I can’t wait to use it—after I use it, I just want to frame it.”

Bash Compactor: Donkey Show

C. Edwards — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Both the politically conscious and the sexually adventurous got a little action at the unveiling of Politics, a large-scale satirical painting by Molly Crabapple last week at the Museum of Sex.The event started out with everyone perusing exhibitions of homemade sex machines, male physique pictorials and Real Doll sex toys—and ended with a viewing of the final Presidential debate. I needed prodding, the idea of seeing Obama and McCain’s grinning faces in the place where scratchy black-andwhite porn retrospectives would usually be, put me a bit on edge. “Are you coming to the debate room?” One slightly tipsy partygoer asked, “It’s full of master debaters.”

I took some time to chat with Crabapple, professional artist and founder of Dr. Sketchy’s Anti-Art School, about the fall of Playgirl magazine, her recent tour of the Museum of Contemporary Art Kiasma in Helsinki and, of course, how offended she is by Sarah Palin’s city-phobic rhetoric. “This whole idea of small towns growing only good people makes me want to vomit. I was born and raised in New York and somehow that’s supposed to make me less authentic, less decent—I fucking hate that shit!” Politics, the artist told me, with its politically cartoonish depiction of donkeys and elephants engaged in a full-scale clusterfuck with debauched farm animals, “represents the swirling media circus of our political system”.

“I thought it’d be bigger,” I thoughtlessly observed. “They don’t make paper bigger than that!” While she posed for photos with sister act Zoe and Kim Boekbinder, of the band Vermillion Lies, I chatted with the artist’s mother— who showed off her political affiliation by rocking a pair of black O-shaped earrings— and ran into Fleshbot editor John Leavitt, who seemed a little weary of the whole porn world, “My eyes glaze over after the 48th cock.” — C. Edwards

Bash Compactor: Fame On

C. Edwards — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 00:00:00 +0000

If you spent your pre-show time at last week’s Rubin Singer collection scanning the front row for celebrities, you would have been disappointed. In their place, however, was former blog darling and would-be superstar, Julia Allison. She had hopped across the runway from her second-row spot the moment the lights went down. It was a bold move but totally worth it, now everyone—anyone? anyone?—was sure to see her in her full splendor; pairing her signature headband with a skirt of bouncy blue pleats and a white cap-sleeved blouse.

I decided to engage in some shameless ego stroking by inquiring about the progress of her reality show, “How’s your TV show coming along?”

“Which one?” she asked,

“Do you have more than one?”

“No. I have an exclusive deal with Bravo,” she said as if I was offering her a show and she was turning me down.

Clearly the network that brought winning personalities like Nina Garcia to the masses wasn’t moving quickly enough for its newest monster. In fact, earlier that morning, you would have found her stomping through the lobby toward BCBG, only to be stopped by a security guard with no clue who she was.

“Have you checked in, Miss? Check-in is to the left.”

“Oh, I NEVER do that” she smirked

“You NEVER do that?”

She playfully nudged him in the side, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

A ballsy move considering that the Bryant Park rent-a-cops aren’t likely to know who Nicolas Ghesquiere is, much less Julia Allison.

“Ohhh” he said, squeezing her shoulder, “Check-in is to the left.”

Not being one to let a security guard snub keep her down, Allison reappeared 10 minutes later with a microphone thrust ahead of her as if it were an all-access pass. It worked. She glided past the same ropes without interruption.

Looking Back at Fashion Week: Gay Porn Star Reveals He Prefers Parties to Clothing

C. Edwards — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 16:06:47 +0000

The beginning of my Fashion Week was spent mostly at the Bryant Park tents, but as my confidence grew, I began to work my way onto some of the offsite shows. Adam Lippes was supposed to show in the outdoor garden of the Theological Seminary, but under the threat of rain, it was moved into the building’s refectory, where the lack of air-conditioning duplicated the humidity outdoors. Lippes’ use of white vicose tiered dresses, crocheted jumpsuits and raffia tweed wrap skirts were super casual. Like 30 pieces of incredibly high-end weekend wear, perfect for the girl who chooses to spend $300 on something that can only be worn to brunch.

The rain hit hard, and Loden Dager started earlier than scheduled so I managed to miss the entire show at Bungalow 8, but chose to stick around for the free vodka. I watched everyone crowd around Laura Dern and David and Courtney Cox Arquette. So far, my celebrity scoreboard was higher than the days before, where the highlight was the little gay kid from Ugly Betty at Perry Ellis, and the “captain of the women’s gymnastics team” who came to see ruffles of cotton voile bursting from the vaginas of the models at Alexandre Herchcovitch.

I braced myself for the Y-3 show at a warehouse space on 6th Avenue and West 21st Street where, everyone—dressed in black, of course—encircled the room on 14 rows of seating. Cameramen moved around turntable-like to snap pictures of Keegan Singh, Veronica Webb, Cory Kennedy, Peaches Geldof and Marvin Scott Jarrett. As nice as the designers had made the shows at the tents, they paled in comparison to the customized spaces you could find outside of Bryant Park. The only on-site show that caught my attention was Rock and Republic, which converted the runway into a swirl of LED lighting with mounted cameras following the models up and down the runway. Hypnotized by the flashing lights and rock music, I didn’t even stop to think about the clothes, except that apparently, the little black dress is back. And it’s even littler and sheerer than before.

R&R even boasted some recognizable celebrities; an Olsen twin, John Legend, Chace Crawford, Robert Buckley and gay porn star, Michael Lucas.

“What did you think of Rock & Republic?” I asked Lucas.
“It was horrible. Just horrible,” he said, not missing a beat, “All that money for just black and white clothes?”
I pointed out that R&R is less about the clothes and more about the spectacle,
“Well, they should have taken some of that money and put it into the clothes.”
“What other shows do you plan on seeing?”
“I go to many things,” He rattled off a few names and then capped it off with “but, I don’t care for shows, I just like the parties.”

Bash Compactor: Hang Like A Donkey

C. Edwards — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Tired of keeping up with the presidential campaign alone in my
apartment, I headed over to the Living Liberally NYC Convention Watch
Party at The Tank on Lafayette Street. Promoting “progressive action
through social interaction,” Living Liberally has dedicated the full
week to social events based around the Democratic National Convention
and another around the Republican.

“People just want to be around other people and see what everyone’s
reactions are. This is just like a giant pep rally,” said Katrina
Baker, the group’s director.

Serious effort was made to re-create the experience of sitting around
watching CNN with politically inclined, slightly intoxicated chums.
Both weeks end with acceptance-speech drinking games and are punctuated
with comical peanut-gallery commentary. For every smiley couple or
small group of people engaged in lively discourse, there were one or
two individuals obsessively watching the scrolling news crawl or
reading the newspaper. I couldn’t decide what camp I should belong to.

Meanwhile, when the Republican convention rolls around, Baker said that
it would most likely still be bleeding hearts populating her events. “I
think that liberals are attending either way, but it’s more amusing to
watch the Republicans because everyone talks over them. People have a
higher tolerance for everyone shouting out comments during the
Republican speeches.” Isn’t she shooting herself in the foot a bit, I
asked. After all, it it’s rumored that those buttoned-up GOP types are
wildcats when the lights go out.

“In 2004 we throw an event called ‘Sleeping with the Enemy,’ where we
invited the young Republicans to come. There was a lot of mixing,
alcohol tends to help that,” she said. “But I don’t believe that for a
minute. Though I converted a Republican myself, so the idea doesn’t
bother me too much.”

Too Many Gimmicks CAN Spoil a Bag

C. Edwards — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 15:53:40 +0000

They’re eco-friendly. They’re stylish (supposedly). They’re made by Katrina victims. They’re made of "ItsLasTik". Someone give them an infomercial already!

Bash Compactor: Stilettos In the Grass

C. Edwards — Wed, 06 Aug 2008 00:00:00 +0000

Every year in Prospect Park, the Junior Committee gathers
supporters for The Summer Soiree benefit party at the Audubon Center at
the Boathouse in the heart of the Park. And even this year’s threadbare
theme; “Beach Blanket Bingo,” which conjures up washed-up images of
bouncy jalopies, drive-in movie theaters and strummed ukuleles,
couldn’t keep a good party down. With barely a trace of Frankie and
Annette in sight (thankfully), an eclectic mix of Brooklynites came
together for the fun, youthful energy and an open bar. “I hear there
are a lot more fashion interns this year,” says one uncertain Park
Sloper referring to some of this year’s high profile sponsors and
supporters; Anthropologie, Bumble and Bumble and Vogue Magazine,
“They’re the only ones wearing stiletto heels on the grass.”

Brooklyn has Vogue magazine’s Sally Singer, the event co-chair,
alongside mayoral progeny Emma Bloomberg, to thank for that. She has
made it her personal responsibility to increase the attendance of
stylish partygoers more frequently seen outside The Beatrice Inn than
zipping across the river on the Q train. Fighting back the crowd of
doting flesh-pressers and insider-y air-kissers (Take that Keegan
Singh!), I asked Ms. Singer just why a woman such as herself, who is
known for taking up residence in The Chelsea Hotel, cares so much about
a public park in a borough other than her own. Because, she said,
despite her swanky Manhattan address, she and her children still visit
Prospect Park regularly. And while others get their workouts in running
through the Olmsted-and-Vaux-designed park, Singer gets hers “dragging”
fashion industry writers, stylists and emerging artists there—which
isn’t too hard; after all they’re all Brooklynites, too.