OBSCENE CITY // THE GRIND ISSUE 137 | FLAUNT

OBSCENE CITY 137 // THE GRIND ISSUE

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They say all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but we’ve tried to make a vocation out of enjoying ourselves. For our AM appointment, we toasted to the merger of Mulberry and Cara Delevigne, who were celebrating the launch of their collaborative collection. Talk about a gold standard—it was all 14-karat tresses and sparkling smiles when Poppy Delavinge posed with her sister beside gilded Mulberry balloons. Georgia May Jagger and Amber Le Bon talked serious business while sipping on marmalade mules, while Atlanta de Cadenet Taylor took a break from texting her day trader to nibble on some mini-burgers and date pudding.

“Lateral movement” in the hierarchy of American business is a damn-dirty-foil, but was originally an equestrian term, unfortunately our horse was sick so we took the train to FYF’s 2014 outing in Exposition Park. The opening riff of “Juicebox” by The Strokes had us braving hyper-vivid flashbacks to those college days in Bed-Stuy with all the terrible nose bleeds and extra blankets which we’ve exchanged for the warm embrace of California and its everlasting gridlocks. Grimes was around to enchant us back to chillville with her electronic fairy dust, and Dev Hynes lulled us back into a deep slumber no doubt familiar to all the smug capitalist overlords reading this text. 

Cashing in all those frequent flyer miles we racked up while stacking paper, Fashionworld™ invaded that air-conditioned desert playground known as Las Vegas for the summer trade show season. After a long day of rubbing elbows and getting money, we cruised down the strip to Marquee for the official PROJECT after party hosted by denim darlings Diesel. Urban entrepreneurs Migos brought their Versace swag to the party, while a cocktail of high voltage strobe lights and Veuve Cliquot ensured we donned our Karen Walker shades indoors. No one said that kicking ass and taking names was a Ladurée cakewalk, but someone’s gotta do it. 

Back in L.A. we bundled up our business cards (FYI they’re not white they’re bone—and the lettering is something called Silian Rail) and rolled over to Palihouse for a dinner in celebration of the opening reception of Kehinde Wiley’s The World Stage: Haiti with Wiley’s gallery Roberts & Tilton. We shared a Grey Goose vodka tonic with Rose McGowan, lamented the slow and steady divide of the art market, and cut a rug to Selena’s “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom.” Now sweetheart, would you be a doll and fetch us ice waters with tiny wedges of lemon before we head out? The heat wave shows no end in site, and we must continue to pound the pavement, continue to chase the stumbling American Dream, continue to run a magazine. Thanks.