obscene City: 161 Anniversary
No surprises, the merciless mercenaries of the night and otherwise were just as lit and just as fit in the latest ready-to-where (as it will thence be called, given the rise of GPS garmentry), leaving nowhere to sit when we stumbled upon them in a bevy of 20 years foretold tomfoolery. No reprises on those surprises either that the same sexy partners in said soirée looked even younger in the cheeks than the day we said: WHY THE HELL NOT? To the freshly painted and Flaunt bulldozed Johnny Grant Gallery at The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel! Porque? Why, a very civil arrangement of blonde-as-blonde The Kaplan Twins painting their rumps and leaving Rorschachian lumps across a spread of spanking new Diesel tees, in a celebration of the fabled The Prelude Issue: 20th Anniversary Vol. 1. Down the fire escape! To a private screening of filmmaker Eva Doležalová’s
Carte Blanche alongside Jack Kilmer and a medley of his cast mates, an editorial of which can be found in the award-winning pages herein, where we sipped bubbles and peeled popcorn before lighting to The Rosy Oyster for DJ sets with Vivien James, Athena Pasadena, and Jihaari. That one got twisted! To an uninhabitable stretch of LA known as Westwood for the NuArt Theatre, which shares a view with the scenic 405 freeway, where we toasted Andrea Riseborough and her film, Nancy, with our pals BCBG, whose sightly threads the lauded actor wore with totalflair in the Prelude Issue’s riveting pages. ToDTLA, where we happened upon a dozen or so soon-dusted tacos and some PBR, to issuekudos to the beer guys’ thoughtful campaignwith VICE, “America Dreaming,” and chuckle atthe small-world-ain’t-it-edness of PBR’s brand manager hailing from a ninety-miles separated Northern Plains freeway artery as this very rag’s EIC, and being of the same bloody birth year, and of the same cacophonous 20-person field trip to this nation’s corrupted capital in 1997! Talk about AMERICAN DREAMING Next Issue loyalists!!! Back up to where the shots come gratis with the beers and the tacos are made of cashews and vegan guacamole (you read that right) and the product drops are top. RCNSTRCT Studios and Diesel (those rascals, to double-stuff this jibber-jabber!) celebrate the World Cup with a capsule dedicated to Italian footballers Bassano Virtus 55 S.T. We were fooled by adjacent fools (trust, only a couple sneaked the electric fences, but boy did they PLANT at the bar) that mezcaldoesn’t give you a hangover, before losing our minds in a wash of groovy vinyl up the street at Franco-filed cutie-pie Barbette, courtesy one of Flaunt’s most trusted, Jihaari. And what without fashion would we do with our short, short lives? To NYC, where Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello solicited a Disco yacht and dropped the scene-iest of scenesters across the water for a presentation of its Men’s SS19 collection. To Paris! Where Mr. Virgil Abloh properly melted the pot of Louis Vuitton with his debut Men’s collection to a standing ovation, the elation sensations of which continued deep into dark at an afterparty graced by the sonic laces of No Vacancy Inn. Finally, we did it for mom, we did it for the future, we did it for the unbridled orgasmia that is a 5 hours within a meter of the stacks-deep rave trip with HUGO, who presented a killer ensemble of clothes atop the energy-addled frames of beautiful kids for whom the only spectrum worth respecting is the early morning light streaming into Berlin’s original techno club, Motorwerk. Bubbles were raised as the show concluded on a stacked setup where Wiz Khalifa appeared, dropped a few hits, and then was swallowed up by the banging techno rhythms of Marcel Dettmann, DJ Hell, and Ellen Allien. All praise techno, all praiseFlaunt making it twenty years, and praise your applause-worthy patience for making it all the way through this copy.