INDIE REWIND: The Only Lines I Do Are in Bathroom Stalls
Feb 16, 2012 - by Lester Brathwaite
With New York Fashion Week finally winding down, I say goodbye to my days and nights of standing on impossibly long lines and say hello to my bed where I will stay for the remainder of my life and/or weekend. To commemorate the end of yet another season -- and to mask the fact that I woke up SUPER late and pretty drunk this morning -- here's a tidbit from last July about New York and its love of exclusivity and douchebaggery:
New York City is all about a line and/or a cover. I refuse to do either, but to get into the most exclusive places in and around the city you have to know the right person, have to wear the right clothes and lets be real not being a minority never hurt anyone. The New York Times asked some arbiters of nightlife what to wear if you want to stand a chance of getting past the velvet rope.
Firstly, dont come from Jersey. Guidos and guidettes are anathema to the hotspots lining the effortlessly cool Meatpacking District. Michael Stasky of the Gansevoort Hotel s Provocateur nightclub says, We do not do plaid, and we dont do stripes, but a blazer, a solid button-down or a solid sweater is the uniform of choice. On the other, softer hand, women who dare to wear anything less than a five-inch heel better keep (comfortably) walking. So the clientele mostly looks like expensive call girls and the men rich enough to buy them. Provocative indeed.
But strict dress codes arent solely for the impossibly chic.
The Continental, an East Village hub for sports-loving douchebags, has a no baggy jeans or bling policy. OwnerTrigger (really?) Smith explained to The Times back in January that [t]here isnt a racist bone in my body, but it just so happens that more minorities are prone to wear said baggy jeans and bling. See, thats not being racist. Thats just being a dick. The Times, however, is quick to point out that on a typical Saturday night, the Continentals mixture of frat boys and barflies sports an unironic mélange of ripped blue jeans, grubby backpacks, baseball hats and sneakers. A little bling would do that trash some good.
Brunch is a sacred weekend tradition that should be attended in ornate hats, statement broaches and sunglasses large enough to hide your hangover/disdain for everyone else. Duh, right? However, Daniel Koch, the snarky brains behind Day and Night Brunch, believes people need to be told in no uncertain terms to step their fucking games up, even if that means buying $400 sunglasses: You get guys in from L.A., they think a brunch is a brunch. We have to say, Look, dude, this isnt what you think it is. You cant rock a T-shirt here unless youre a rock star.
And thats the fundamental problem. A T-shirt at brunch isnt acceptable no matter who you are. But thats what matters at the end of the day and at the head of the line: not what you wear but who you are. I mean, Im all for harshly judging people based on their wardrobe its in my job description. But I couldnt care less who you are, what you do, or who you know; tell me a story with your goddamn garment. I care about the clothes, not the person in them.
For that reason I refuse to stand in lines or, god forbid, pay a cover. That and Im a bitch. But, if I cant get into some bar or club, I have no problem turning around on my Cuban heels, calling my huff and leaving in it. There are simply too many places in New York to deal with the politics involved at the door, especially when the most fun is usually had at some dive bar where theres no dress code and no one coherent enough to care what youre wearing to being with.