My invitation to the Gucci party arrived in the mail, chiseled on a
piece of stately marble with “Gucci” all fancy in gold letters on the
front, because that is how the wealthies roll. The wealthies
don’t use paper. They communicate on marble. On marble inlaid
with gold! When you’re done with it, throw it in the garbage! Or
build a throne room with it (I mean, have your feudal serfs do it, obv)
or fuckin’ trebuchet the shit out of your enemies with it!
Closer inspection revealed the invitation to be heavy cardboard
printed like marble, inlaid with gold-colored ink. But STILL.
That is wealthy enough for me, wealthies! I am sold on your
fanciness.
“Why the fuck am I invited to this Gucci party?” I wondered.
“Something about SIFF,” the invitation replied. Ah, interesting. I put
on a fancy dress (ill-fitting, from Goodwill) and headed
downtown to Seattle’s brand-new Gucci store.
Seattle’s brand-new Gucci store is not a place I ever intended to
go. To me, a $5,000 purse might as well be a $50,000 purse might as
well be a $both-my-kidneys purse (you need at least one to live, you
know). Inside, it was very elegant. A cute boy in a little suit
took my coat and gave me champagne. Or maybe it was prosecco.
Everything was made of glass and leather. Another cute boy offered me
“food”: some sort of microscopic cracker with, like, half a pimiento
and a lobster hair on top. I “ate” it. He handed me a cocktail
napkin, which was made OF CLOTH. “Oh my god, is this a cloth napkin?” I
whispered. “I don’t even have cloth napkins at my house.” He
laughed. I put the napkin in my purse, receiving the old judgy
up-and-down from a lady in a fur vest.
I cornered SIFF Cinema’s publicist to get to the bottom of things.
He told me that Gucci is one of SIFF’s major sponsors this year, and
then he said something about a foundation that had something to do with
Martin Scorsese, and then he said he didn’t know how to pronounce
“Scorsese” even though he had done it correctly only moments
before. I pretended to understand, but my brain was elsewhere.
Specifically, my brain was over there, on the far side of the room,
where stood a most wondrous sight. A thin girl, wearing
ridiculous stilettos and an expensive hanky, stood motionless on a
small platform. A human mannequin. A HUMANNEQUIN. It’s not every day
that I get to see something as pointlessly indulgent as a humannequin!
You just pay her to stand there? She’s basically an
organic coat hanger with side-boob? Groucho “Dale Chihuly”
McEyepatch shuffled past the humannequin. I jumped up and down a little
bit and took his picture. “You’re not authorized to take pictures,”
said some lady. Hmph. Cocktail napkin. Purse. Best party ever.
Please meet me in the international district so we can touch a weirdy old chinese charm or bash into eachother head first going around a corner and switch lives. Thank you.
“Groucho ‘Dale Chihuly’ McEyepatch shuffled past the humannequin.”
God bless us, every one.
I threw my invite for that party into the trash, but had I known Lindy would be there I would have gone.
Lindy, you are the lobster-haired gold-inlay of my cold marble heart.
” Groucho “Dale Chihuly” McEyepatch shuffled past the humannequin.”
Yeah, that’s one of my favorite sentences ever.
thank you lindy west, sometimes you make my day. still laughin at those spacedogs too.
I wish that this could have gone on forever.
It was a fun party – did you try the chocolates at the end?
Lindy – this was awesome.
I want to see the invite! That was picture worthy.
10,000 bonus points for your use of ‘trebuchet.’ Inspired as always, Lindy; thank you.
I have enjoyed your writing/snark on other occasions, but this was a misfire. In what one assumes was a slow news week for this column, your remarks had the odor of “gasping for word count” about them. You are definitely capable of better, as evidenced by your review of Oscar-nominated short films.
You’re motherfucking amazing.
Awwwww. Still livin in the old grunge days huh??? If you don’t like upscale parties with fancy people, then stay home. Seattle is growing up FINALLY with some GD niceness and ditching is ugly “grunge” past. You and your ugly shoes included.