When they’re not busy doing their hair or jerking-off to Style.com, phashion people spend their time doing mega important stuff, like attending glitzy fashion parties and wearing wierd shit on their heads. For the second season in a row I covered London Fashion Week for the VICE fashion blog. And by “covered” I mean got blackout drunk on the free booze and embarassed myself in front of psedo important fashionista freaks. Here’s an excerpt from some of the extensive coverage:
Jamie being fierce next to some random losers
Jonathan Saunders is a pretty big deal on the phashion scene – a real fly guy, he even quit showing in London and had been quaking the catwalks of NYC for a while before returning to Lovedon this season. We crashed this Saunders guy’s party to see what all the fuss was about, and to rub champagne glasses with all the tranny—woops, I mean trendy—fashion elite.
The party started off great with VICE journalist Billie being scared for life by whatever the term for this creature on the right is.
Is it heroin chic or AIDS chic? I can never remember…
How could a party not be bitchin’ with these little bundles of pixie dust behind the decks?
This was the world’s most intense Martini man. While fixing us drinks he told us all about the etymology of the word “cocktail” (the most plausible theories have something to do with inbred horses and Aztec princesses). He also informed us that Winston Churchill’s favorite drink was a Martini, and that he’s currently single and sleeps alone most nights.
After that we got hella bored so we had a few drinks with these chicks.
Then I licked a transvestite’s leg.
Then things got even more boring so we snuck through what we thought was the kitchen, only to find it was actually a magical portal to a construction site full of fun!
Fire extinguishers! Yay!
Sand! Double yay!
This is my lame attempt at being an upside down crucifix.
After all those drinks I really had to go, but there was no toilet in sight so I peed in this sink that I’m almost positive is used for food preparation.
Finally I found the one straight guy at the whole party, so I decided to take advantage of this rare moment and do a little tongue wrestling (even if he did look EXACTLY like the evil demon from Jeepers Creepers). His mouth tasted like humbugs.
This bearded chick was hitting on me all night. It’s like, get over it bitch. I’m not into facial hair.
Pics by Jamie Taete