This past Tuesday I attended Nylon Magazine’s 13th Anniversary party at Smashbox Studios. So hipster of me right? A friend of a friend is a buyer for Kitson and…blah blah blah I’m clearly a huge fucking deal. I was basically foaming at the mouth to gawk at hungry fashion people and float around in judgment heaven. (Below, Nylon’s best cover ever. Underwear & boots is what I expected at this soiree)
First conundrum, what can I wear that will come off as effortless-trendy rather than messy-poor? Very thin line between hipster and homeless. If you do your hair just a tad bit too textured, people will start handing you their leftovers. Do I have time to paint the bottom of my heels red? I peruse my closet and after trying two different Coachella-inspired frocks, I accept that I look like a dumpster-diving bum rather than an effortless Pinterest chick. Moving on. I scan my closet yet again and ponder the most important notion when trying to impress a fashion crowd: Do I look skinny? I settle on black. Because that says: “I’m a power bitch” (Below, lost hipster or homeless? We may never know)
After valet lets me know that they are full (what kind of party is this?!), I walk four blocks in platforms. A smelly homeless fella’ with an overstuffed shopping cart says, “damn, girl” as I pass, so I KNOW I am lookin’ good! A few steps away from the party, I spy a gangly-looking boy in converse walking a few paces ahead of me. Suddenly, the paparazzi are everywhere, snapping photos like crazed post-rehab monkeys who finally got their crack fix. (Below, paparazzi taking photos of a cat. Because that makes sense)
I have a moment of euphoria and realize this must be Justin Bieber! To my utter disappointment I soon realize it is Samantha Ronson, ugh, (as in skinny lesbian DJ who dated Lindsey Lohan). Huge fail. On the plus side, I was photobombing the shit out of her pap pics so maybe I’ll make it in a tabloid and finally be famous. Fail proof plan. (Below, the Pap photos of SamRon and LohanReplacementGirlfriend that I am sadly not in the background of)
Once inside I immediately spy an In N’ Out food truck with no line! Seeing an In N’ Out food truck without a line is like seeing a Kardashian without hair extensions, unheard of! Naturally, I decide to play it cool and walk past it like I’m allergic to calories.
I walk into the Nylon party and take note of a few things a) The fashion peeps really hate smiling and b) The fashion peeps want to prove to you how not stupid they are. This means you get to listen to some dazzling pretentious conversations while silently dissecting some truly misguided outfit choices. All the while completely stonefaced. Riveting stuff I tell you. (Below, “oh no please continue….very interested in what you are saying”)
I notice a castoff from this season of The Bachelor (you know with that turd of a man Ben Flapjack or something). I can’t recall her name but she was the one who was a hideous crier and got kicked off for having a boyfriend. Cheers to you girlfriend, don’t put all your eggs in one basket.
Soon I see another human smiling at me. This is strange and I gather that I must know her. Upon further inspection I notice it is my dear college pal Christina Jones, who now writes for Ryan Seacrest’s website, a man who has more jobs than any mexican. We exchange glances like “ew fashion people are boring” and spontaneously ignite into spastic dancing from my slutty sorority years. (Christina, below. Always down for a good time)
After scaring some Nylon patrons, I head outside to keep a close watch on the red carpet. If Sam Ronson and ex-Bachelor bitch are all the “celebs” I see tonight I will weep in my starfucker soup. I score some free swag and just as I am about to head out. Christina Milian steps onto the carpet. If your first response is, “who the shit is Christina Milian?” then you would be right on target. I assume she is the same person as Ashanti and quickly get my ass out of this party. (Below, Who are you?)
All and all, I had fun but my advice to you is this: If you are going to be subjected to the fashion crowd, be armed with a flask filled with strong liquor. These peeps think having fun is about as cool as wearing Ugg boots with a jean skirt.