Admit it, you sort of feel for salary-capped Masters of the Universe, because when you break it down, $500K a year in this ‘burg doesn’t go so far. (Also, their shopping-and-lunching wives keep our industry alive.) [NYT]
Plus, someone has to go to the $900-a-month studio ($1,500 initiation fee not included) soon to be opened by Madonna and Gwyneth’s trainer. [NYT]
Wake up, order coffee, shower, dress. I’m in Paris for the opening of a group show I’ve co-curated with Aaron Bondaroff at Colette. Aaron, who’s sharing his 300-square-foot room with about five other people, is still asleep. I wake them up to ask for an adapter for my cell phone (yikes). I can barely keep my eyes open after a mixture of a late-night at Le Baron and jet lag.
I arrive at Colette to meet with Sarah Lerfel and to finish installing the show. Things look amazing. The first piece that you see when you walk in is Jim Goldberg’s Confiscated Objects, from his book Raised by Wolves. The print is gorgeous! It’s one of my favorite pieces in the show and I’m thrilled that he’s given it to us to exhibit. Hanna Liden, Leigh Ledare, Kon Trubkovich, Adam McEwen, Rita Ackermann, Richard Kern, Dash Snow, Dan Colen, Aurel Schmidt, Jack Pierson, and Neck Face are some of the 30 artists in the show.
Aaron is still sleeping.
We finish up at the shop and I walk to Café Flore to meet friends for a snack. No cabs (go figure), so I have no choice but to walk. I bump into a French friend on a motorcycle who I hope is going to offer me a ride to the Boulevard Saint-Germain—but he doesn’t, so I keep walking. I pass the Hôtel de Crillon, where I see gorgeous women in gorgeous fur coats. Only in Paris would you see women in fur in 60-degree weather. Très faboo. I’m wearing a T-shirt.
Finish lunch and meet up with a girlfriend to pick up some tights from Fogal. She gets a call from a friend who’s with a “nurse” who is giving vitamin B injections (how French). We jump into the car and go to the Plaza Athenée. The nurse has left but she’s coming back. We order coffees but I decide to skip the injection and leave.
Aaron finally wakes up.
I’m back at my room and am getting ready for the opening. I’m tired and a bit nervous! This is the first time I’ve curated a show and I want everything to be perfect. With my fingers crossed I take a bath and listen to videos on European MTV, including Madonna’s “Justify My Love” and “Informer” by Snow.
We leave for Colette. When we arrive, the shop is packed with people. Leave it to Sarah to attract such a j’adorable crowd! I have a bottle of “420″ water and eat a cookie that reads “I Love New York.”
We all pile into a London cab belonging to my friend André, the unofficial prince de Paris, and go to one of his bars, Le Baron, for the show after-party and Purple magazine party.
We arrive at Le Baron. André has ordered pizzas and they arrive “au cheval”—with a fried egg on top. Who knew that Parisians know how to make a pizza?
We leave to go to Régine’s for the secret after-after-party. We spiral down three flights of mirrored glass and arrive to a Guy Bourdin portrait of the gorgeous night-life queen Régine herself! The discotheque is beautiful and has a dance floor that lights up. We laughed and we cried until it was time to go home.
Tinsley Mortimer isn’t exactly the first person you think of when hip fashion rag Purple is mentioned. “What, I don’t have street cred?” the perpetually blonde New Yorker jested at a party for the magazine Monday night at the perpetually filled Le Baron. Well, not exactly, even if she wore black, deviating from her trademark pink, to try and blend in with the Paris fashion folk. To help her at least look the part of the average Purple reader, her friends Lazaro Hernandez and Lauren Santo Domingo stepped in with some styling tips, which we see here. Santo Domingo offered up her Balenciaga motorcycle jacket and Hernandez suggested she swing back those trademark ringlets. Toss the girl a drink and a pack of Marlboro Reds and the deal was almost sealed.