Bash Compactor: Skrap It
Gerry, be there at 8:45 sharp. We wont wait! Cole texted me. My tardiness was catching up with me again. My impatient friends were meeting in front of the Hudson Hotel and I had to be there. There was a whole gaggle of them and theyd all be in outrageous costumes. In a frenzy, I tore off my day-job rags and threw on a silver dress, tearing out of the house in a frenzy. I could tease my hair and paint my face in the taxi.
We were invited by Kimyon Huggins, the DJ from the Danger parties, to Skrapper, an art party held at a new club called Good Units nestled in the bowels of the Hudson. The invitation described it as a private exclusive venue. Whatever. That didnt sound like my kind of thing. What the hell is Skrapper? Turns out its a T-shirt line and the party was being thrown by William Quigley and designers Katherine Theofilos and Alex Claster.
My friends werent outside when I arrived, so I ventured downstairs to find a team handing out gift bags and offering free Russian Standard vodka shots. There were corporate sponsors aplenty, including Yuengling, NYC Condoms, Chairmans Reserve Rum, Redbull and even some guys who walked around giving out bottles of organic tequila. I entered a large room full of thirty and forty-somethings, mostly yuppies and socialites, with a sprinkling of artist types. At the edge was a balcony overlooking the dance floor that was almost empty except for my 24-hour party people.
Hey, photographer Hannah Ulrich called up to me. She snapped a photo, the flash bursting into the darkness. Yes, my group stood out among these debutante types. What are you guys wearing? I asked when I finally found them downstairs. Among the little black dresses and Armani suits, were the Super Heros wearing recycled clothing made out of Astroturf, yellow crime-scene tape, DayGlo safety vests and duct tape. Most of the dudes had on skinny little loincloths barely covering the private parts. Cole Nahal and Garrett Bowser are designers who formed an art collective of characters who improvise happenings with only a vague idea of what might happen. Bowser, a waif-like blond with neon paint on his face, used to work with the production team at Fashion Week and was using leftover material. We wandered over to one of the rooms filled with various paintings and artwork. Can you take my photo next to this one? It was painted earlier today, Jennifer, a pretty brunette told me. DJ Kimyon paints nude women and massages the canvas on their bodies. Now that sounds like art!
One of the mistakes of the party was the class division the organizers had inadvertently caused. Where are your bracelets? demanded the woman at the door, on the attack for criminal partygoers. Were on the list and Im covering this party, I explained. Were close friends of Kimyon, Demanda Dahling added. All of us had started out on the VIP floor but now this door bitch wanted to relegate us to the slave quarters down below. The dance floor was empty despite a live band. No, we dont care about the DJs here, she said smugly. Hes an artist too, I said and took her picture. She made a little moue with her lips in a glamour pose. Now thats what I called scrappy.