It’s day 14 of my not working on the script I’m supposed to be writing and for some reason even now that downtownster has 9 writers working on stories—I’ve been blessed with writing something about LA Fashion weak and yes I know how to spell-WEAK…Okay let me put this simply—I hold organizations in the same esteem that I hold big corporate America and smallpox. I particularly love when artist like Peter Gurnz come to LA from New York—to bring back 1930’s Hollywood to Downtown. Oh, and if you aren’t familiar with my story…I moved Downtown thirteen years ago to get away from all those giants of thought and culture in tinsel town. So thank you so much Peter for your effort—my words drip with sarcasm and disdain.
I skipped eating to avoid throwing up in the Los Angeles Theatre, which if you read my piece on the Purim Party, you’ll see that I hold in considerable regard. And no I don’t fault the theatre for taking the money Gen Art and BoxEIGHT gave them…Although I would have sold blood diamonds before I took a dime for this event, which would be so much better off in Culver City. As I approached the theatre there were…let me count…ten good looking Aryans in black suits at the door. Now I do like Vegas clubs, but unlike the guys at the Vegas clubs who actually make money by taking care of people, these guys had the air of faking it about them. Imagine that, some good looking wanna be fakers at the door of a Hollywood wanna be fashion event—
I stared at the little skank behind the red rope with the list and restrained myself from laughing in her face. That’s about the time when good-looking guy number 11 walked up and suggested I could pay to come in.
“But George Stiehl invited me to come by,” I said. George is the publisher of Citizen LA. And I like George so trashing this piece of trash event is distasteful to me. But charging press to come into your event…And what type of fashion show charges admission anyway? Sounds like some organization is making a buck or two.
“Why don’t you call George?” said good-looking guy 11.
I pointed through the glass doors at George who was busy at a long table filled with more lists—I’m sure the biggest names in the industry were on them. “He’s right there, why don’t you just get him?”
“Why don’t you call him?” said this brain dead moron.
“Because the music is blaring, I doubt he’ll be able to hear his phone if he even has it on, and he’s twenty feet from where we’re standing.”
“Well other press is paying.”
“You know I think I know what I’m going to write.”
I walked off intent on eating at Blue LA Café, which will be the subject of my dining blog this week.
What do I have to say about this years Gen Art BoxEIGHT fashion week? It reeks of scam wrapped in art. Why my anger? Well, I wasn’t such a bad painter before I took up writing, and the clothes I once designed appeared in almost every major fashion magazine, I think of myself as an artist’s artist and I don’t like when people exploit what we do under the guise of discovering the next big thing! And I hate the Hollywood attitude being brought to Downtown—even if it’s by an organization that likens itself to Warhol’s Factory. I’ve actually owned a Warhol guys—you’re not the Factory. If you want to learn more about Warhol, Bert Green is having a nice little Viva Hoffmann show.
After my bite to eat, it was off to Hollywood; that would be the real Hollywood where a-holes with attitude belong at the door. Now as distasteful as I find this trip to be, at least it was for some young guys trying to do a legitimate event for fashion week. Whatever the meaning of fashion week may be.
The event was at Kress on Hollywood Blvd, Hollywood’s biggest, hottest club according to the gossip entertainment shows and magazines that I don’t watch or read accept when I’m trying to buy groceries at SUPER RALPH’S on 9th Street. Comes late night they never have enough cashiers so there’s plenty of time to catch what’s going on, on the covers. Apparently Jessica Simpson is back in Daisy Duke shape!
So Josh Johnson, a good-looking, bright, young friend of downtownster wanted me to check out the Jeff Sebelia show that was being put on by Royalty Rope Events on the rooftop level of Kress. Okay, it’s not my scene…But I’m not mad at the shabby crowd…They just don’t know…I had the advantage of running around Hollywood as a youth in Armani, driving a Ferrari, financed with unlimited drug cash. I know it’s wrong, but seriously those were the good-old-days. And if I didn’t already have a hot young girlfriend and there weren’t 9,000 cops looking to give me a DUI I might have actually had a few drinks and taken home a tacky souvenir—meaning one of the cute young things all around me that did have some potential, after a good bath.
Jeff is a cool guy, he was the winner of the third season of Project Runway, my girlfriend loves his clothes (she has great taste), and he is a real downtownster—he lives above Pete’s at 4th and Main. Jeff, like myself is part of the tribe of Angelino natives that live Downtown. A hard rocker turned production designer who went to Trade Tech for twelve dollars a unit—and now reasonably famous fashion designer. Now that’s not a fake it til you make it story, so I’m happy to tell it.
The show itself did not do Jeff justice—it’s the nature of trying to do an event full of club goers. Rather than a runway they used a platform and the MC did not have a mike plugged into the clubs sound system so nobody more than ten feet away could really understand what was going on. But a fair amount of people did stop what they were doing to get a gander at the clothes and while the models weren’t SUPER—they were having a good time and that was enough. Before I left I huddled with Josh and Matt and told them I had a good time. Then I suggested that they do some events Downtown…The fashion industry could use some bright young guys whose hearts are in the right place…Maybe next year.