Fashion Kid

The trick isn’t necessarily to do cocaine off a chic little rococo mirror — with a nice, yet subtle gold chain — that fits inside your Swedish friend’s purse. No, the trick is just to look like you did that repeatedly last night. You are too tired for life when the sun is out. Destiny and the incomensurability of the universe have given your eyes severe and noticeable social anxiety. So you decide to help them out with some glasses. Any glasses really. But everyone knows that “any glasses” really means glasses that people write novels. Of course, by “everyone” you mean your friends, and DJs. And by DJs, you mean your friends. You like music, but not that kind. Actually you used to like it. But that song reminds you of going to parties at Le Pompon last summer. watching that German girl scream into the microphone. You tell this to a friend over lunch at Palais de Tokyo, eating a tiny portion of mac and cheese served on a hot pink tray and listening to the Blondes (the band, not the people). Neither of you has gotten that internship at Egoïste but you wouldn’t have time to do it anyway. What with the Sartorialist hanging around the Jardins de Luxembourg and all, there isn’t enough time or enough taxis, or enough maxed out credit cards in the in the city (and thus the world) to keep up with you.