Last Tuesday, my makeup artist friend Alvin Goh invited me to his first major event. Venue: Watermark. Where else? Iconic Visions photo exhibition by Dior and Alvin Goh had eight celebs renovated by Alvin, with a bit of help from DiorShow Iconic Mascara, naturally, and photographed by the likes of Wing Shya, Skye Tan, Angus Chan and Olaf Muller.
I love fashion parties. It’s such an escape. The most beautifully debauched world imaginable, summoned up from emptiness by the voodoo forces of Dior, marketing and media. Alvin, who usually feels so natural going topless to parties, was evidently nervous as he had to wear a nice dress shirt during the afternoon press event, and YSL boots that were killing him at night. We were both still suffering from sore throats - his from the extra stress, mine residual from last week’s cold.
Being ill, I got there unfashionably ON TIME. I just wanted to be done with it and go home and sleep. I was a sick, lazy mo and didn’t rsvp, so I had to reveal my card at the desk. I got a white press sticker and as I prepared to catwalk into Watermark’s entranceway, a door bitch for Dior stopped me and instructed me to stand outside with the camera crew. “No, I’m not that kind of press,” I asserted with a smile. She said, “Yes. I know. You’re print. You can wait here until the celebs arrive and you can ask your questions. We’ll do TV after the party.”
I pointed all the way down the stony passageway to where the hostess stand was, where the hostess and manager Nikki were waiting patiently for me to walk down and asked, “Um, can I at least go in and put my bag down first?” thinking that I would just go in and NOT come back out and stand with the camera crews. I’m Nightlife, not Ryan Seacrest. But she was firm and suggested that I could put my bag “over there,” on the ground. My LV canvas tote. On the ground? Door bitch, please. It’s a last season tote, but still.
I protested, “You don’t understand, I’m invited to these things.” And she was like, “You’ll have to talk to the desk.” Plucky girl. She was doing her job, and she was very polite. Firm, but polite. I respect that. So I walked back to the desk, clarified, and got the white press sticker replaced by the black DIOR. And apologies. Bygones.
Once in, I got my LV canvas tote tagged and inevitably... put on the ground. I declined kissing manager Nikki as I was still a bit diseased, but she totally wanted me to give her my potent germs so that she could take two days off. Everyone’s still having parties at Watermark.
Countless drinks later, everyone’s in hot mess mode, and I told the fierce Mandy that I wouldn’t be joining them for D-i as I was still producing excess phlegm in my throat, which didn’t make me feel sexy at all. She shrugged fabulously and said, “Pretend it’s [another bodily fluid with kind of the same constitution], you’ll feel sexy! Just come!” I was actually speechless as I swallowed.