Absolutely Quasi-Fabulous

The best nights are always those that are not planned nor can be recreated, instead they unfold happenstance in the most wildly unpredictable fashion. They are always the nights you were anticipating you'd stay in with popcorn and a movie, and the next thing you know, you've been whisked to a dance club with a group of rock stars you ran into at Blockbuster - in your pajamas no less.

This past Saturday was such a night. Kasey and I flat-out missed the "planned" event (a Martin Margiela party) - but quickly found ourselves caught up with the remaining straggling revellers who, right there on the pavement, proceeded to cobble together an after-party.

After a march through Mayfair, we found ourselves in a dark, tiny, cave-like room in the basement of Soho House (it was the only place they could find to put us) where we talked art, ambition and parental expectations. Occupationally, it was a creative mixed bag... a singer, installation artist, fashion stylist, makeup artist, model, dilettante (me), fashion PR revolutionary - you know, the delectable crazy-artist gamut. Then, feeling we knew each other a bit better, and growing tired of heavy conversation, we traded in the demureness of our Soho grotto for dancing at the equally diminutive and subterranean Bungalow 8.

It was a wholly random and interesting crowd... a fantastic evening... and to top it all off, we'll probably never be in the same room together ever again. Pictures of this once-in-a-lifetime event follow.

Enjoy!

Palm reading.


Cowboys and uh, Native Americans...


Kasey - blatantly skeptical of her newly-acquired accessory.


Don't shoot!


A stunning couple - non?


Oui.


Ze group.


Candid group.



Dancing on the tables...





And the floor!


Parting curtsies?


What happens at the 8...


Stays at the 8.

The Nightmare Before Christmas

No, not referring to Jimmy and Leslie (above) - although that was the theme at Bungalow 8 this past weekend...these two just hadn't seen Tim Burton's claymation story, so came, well... a little more North Pole than eccentrically dark and Victorianesque. Ha! It wasn't till they got there and saw people with white faces and dark circles around their eyes that they fully understood...

Anyway, the nightmare before Christmas that I'm actually referring to is something of what the lead up to this year's holiday has been for me. I don't even mean it a smidge metaphorically; the proverbial 12 days of Christmas have been more of a walk through uncertain gloom and doom than bursting with new surprise trappings of holiday cheer. Each day of advent felt like opening a gift of coal, or maybe more accurately, nothing at all.

You see, I applied for a visa to remain in the UK, which involved shipping my passport and plenty of other documents off to the "UK Home Office" - and even though everyone else that I know who applied for the same thing got theirs within a month, mine, for whatever reason (I theorize that the Brits think I could be a Communist spy since I've traveled to way too many subversive countries, and my passport and neither of my visa photos look anything like each other) there was no sign of mine.

As a result, I moved out, but was unable to the leave country the next day as planned, and found myself, not only stranded in the UK sans family, but homeless.

Yet, as my sister told me when she departed for her flight to the States that I was supposed to be on, we wake up from our nightmares. And so we do. On Tuesday my visa came (a day late), and I was miraculously able to get a flight leaving today.

So while you all hold your breath for me that I do indeed end up home safe and sound, please enjoy these pics from one of our last 2008 nights out in London (and Kasey's last as a resident Londoner - for now) - a much more enjoyable version of "A Nightmare Before Christmas" a la Tim Burton at the uber exclusive Bungalow 8. Enjoy!

Madame Kasey caught in spider webs.



Scary snake that Jimmy found on the floor next to our table... after he terrorized people with it sufficiently, it ended up in Kasey's purse...



Who ya gonna call? Jimmy, Kasey, and Bosaina in a wretched struggle over the phone in the St. Martin's Hotel lobby.



Jimmy with me after he figured out that he should rethink the Santa theme.





The group.



Ahh... sisters... (Kasey, London and I will miss you!)

London Fashion Week: Ummm... Some of the Models Look Like They're About to Cry....

So it's Fashion Week here in London, and now that Kasey's a veteran of the entire affair she's able smuggle me, pretty much the antithesis of a erudite fashionista, into LFW shows and events here and there. I think my fashion ignorance probably gives her a unique perspective on the entire scene - that fashion is not everyone's world, such that when people start whispering about the fact that some fashion celeb has just entered the room, I have to whisper back, "okay... but who IS he/she exactly?"

Our first show was 'off-schedule': Polycok & Walsh, Krystof Strozyna, and Emilio de la Morena (for those of you familiar with the Sundance Film Festival, "off-schedule" is sort of the equivalent of a film being shown as part of Slamdance). It was here that the young models seemed both ultra-nervous and ultra-skinny; like their fragile selves might fall apart under the weight of the clothes on their skeletal bodies or the emotional duress of having thousands of critical eyes peer at them as they tried to saunter gracefully down the catwalk. I was so concerned with the well-being of these poor creatures I could hardly pay attention to the new season's apparel offerings!

It got a little better after that. Our next show was on-schedule Peter Jensen, where we wandered around backstage for a bit before we finally managed to find ourselves escorted to front row seats (for the fashion uninitiated like me, the front row is exclusively for the elite - fashion editors, socialites, celebs and the like - not that either Kasey or I fall under this category, we just manage to have really good luck [and looks?]).

Today was another 'on-schedule' show, Issa, where the highlight was the fact that Naomi Campell made an appearance and confidently sashayed down the runway for the last look (shown above).

This was when I finally witnessed in-person what genuinely separates a supermodel from those girls who merely model clothes. She absolutely owned the runway - and you didn't mind it. I only managed this blurry photo, but wow... she IS fantastically beautiful, with enviable smooth skin, shiny hair, large eyes and mesmerizing cheekbones. (Check out the girl in the front row just beaming with admiration at seeing Naomi).


And what would a proper Fashion Week be if a person didn't manage invites to any of the parties?

This is Kasey and moi at Hannah Marshall's party at Bungalow 8....


... just touching up our makeup...

... before finally ending up here at the Feathers' party at The Wellington.

I may not be such a fashion person, but the party part of London Fashion Week, I can definitely do!