Ladies, I’ve taken my birthday week off to devote myself to higher ideals (and press lunches). I absolutely don’t want to write anything this week except for this paragraph, and I certainly don’t want to compose any bitchcraft as I am burning cow dung and karma by the truckload daily with my guru dropping in from Woodstock, so here’s a special guest column penned by drag débutante Fabiola Asustadiza. Enjoy! -Johannes
Hola Amigas, The cream of the pink glitterati descended en masse onto Kee Club for the gala afterparty of Chi Heng Foundation’s “A Single Man” charity premiere. Spotted: Guest-of-honor Mr. Gay HK 2009, Rick Twombley, accompanied by his usual coterie of impossibly gorgeous creatures; Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival director and DS Mag publisher, Joe Lam; Les Peches’ Betty Grissoni and Abby Lee; Fridae.com’s Nigel Collett; irrepressible columnist Johannes Pong (all together now: “Bitch, please.”); plus a sea of other namedroppables.
People looked good in their “Black & White” outfits; some deviants flouted the dress code and were consequently dismissed by the savvy papparazzi. Hello, didn’t you see the film? Nothing is ever out of place!
It was hi-so bedlam on Kee’s main level from midnight to 2am. Difficult to imagine that barely three hours ago, Coco Pop, Emmanuel and myself practically had the entire club to ourselves as we prepared for our grand entrance.
“I’d like you to try something else on,” Emmanuel suggested, digging into his trolley. “It will make you look more expensive than that black top you fitted in my atelier. I just hope this fits...”
I winced as soon as I saw it. “Ooh, it’s gonna be tight.” The jacket was so tiny Emmanuel practically had to pour me into it. “Uhm, can you hold your breath for a few seconds,” he grunted as he wrestled with the buttons. There must have been more than 20, which allowed the garment to maintain its silhouette while accommodating my form.
“Now, put your shoes on.” I regarded my skyscraper boots with great trepidation but followed Emmanuel, nonetheless. “I can’t breathe,” I declared. “AT ALL.” “It’s fashion,” he explained plainly. “It’s not meant to be comfortable. It’s meant to look good.”