Intrepid it-boy Christian Ellermann reports on all the hippest haunts of the NY club scene. This week: Paul Sevigny’s FEEL UP! at the Gilded Lily
The first parties I ever went to were in my early, pastoral childhood in New Jersey. And let me tell you, they were RAGERS. To me there is still no better party than a christening party: marathon celebrations in big halls filled with just about everyone in the state, and all the free booze and food in the world. You know, nothing but joyous vibes exuding from the binge drinking relatives. It is this decadent holiness that I search for every time I go out, and I may have finally found it.
And it wouldn’t be a christening party without your favorite relative passing out. My darling friend (who shall remain nameless to protect the fabulous) found herself caught in the aforementioned tsunami of booze and threw her glass to the floor in a RAGE, then proceeded to double over unconscious. Her friends gracefully carried her out with security tailing. So concerned were they for her well-being that they interrogated her saviors of their intentions; AS IF the queen in the mesh shirt and the other in the fur shrug were fratty rapists, kidnapping her off for a scary night in Brooklyn time. I am moved by how much the guards care! I always say, it’s good security that really make a club work. As the cute queens tried folding their sleepy friend’s long supermodel legs into the cab, she growled “I need a cigarette!” It doesn’t get any better than this, people.
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