Saturday was Kiva and Marco’s farewell party. I had opted to work with the talented young couple for the fashion shoot in HKstylebook Dec—he’s the brilliant photographer and she’s a fabulous hairstylist cum model. They’re going back to Denmark, and they picked their favorite hangout, Senses 99, for their last party. That place is really happening now. Packed with vintage furniture, Dutch designers, bohemian hipster types, as well as a gaggle of unrehearsed jazz musicians jamming upstairs, it feels like a laidback neighborhood bar in Europe. Especially since Marco and Kiva brought their own soundtrack of Scandinavian and German club music. Supercool.
It was like a shoot reunion. One of the models we used, the gorgeous Celine (who’s still only a teen), showed up, overly energetic. She said she was going to meet her school friends in Wan Chai later. “What’s in Wan Chai?” I asked. “A lot of prostitutes,” she replied. I asked if that’s the reason why international school kids hang out there nowadays. She gave me the finger. I asked what clubs they frequent. Apparently Carnegies is still the hot spot. “Don’t you go to the Bridge?” She rolled her eyes.
I would love to have stayed at Senses 99, but I had to go to a gay club. Yes, it was the first Gay Pride weekend of Hong Kong, and I would’ve been tarred, feathered and literally gaybashed for not supporting the community. It was truly an historical moment for our city, especially for the Christians. Hallelujah!
Since it was 3am already when we left Senses 99, we skipped the parties at DYMK and Volume (not that I don’t like those clubs, I love you all!) and went straight to Propaganda. I saw a guy all in white with angel wings and silver hot pants. So very angelic, but so unfortunately very mid-90s...
I thought the music selection was too trance for Gay Pride, and a lot of sistas were complaining, “What is this morning party bullshit?” Vocals please. So I went up to the booth and jovially requested house remixes. “It’s not the first time you’ve been here, right? Don’t bother me!” the DJ responded in contempt.
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Buh-itch, Pull-leez. ESS TEE EFF YOU.
I don’t know where that little disc jockey got the balls to say that to me.