Edited by Rebecca Alexander
February 9, 2008. Day 1, post Fashion Week, and the parties continue. Tenjune is considered one of the hottest clubs in NYC (P. Diddy hosting his after party on Friday and Paris Hilton making out with Elijah Dushku) so stopping by on a Saturday night after a week of celebrating the most fabulous people that embody the city that is NY, should not be a disappointment by any means. After standing in the cold and screaming “Alex,” to anyone that would respond (the infamous door guy), we entered the mecca that is…Tenjune, unzipped our coats, showed off the ‘girls,’ and looked around.
Step one: find “brother” Jimmy and his table of cheap champaign and water bottles posing as liquor. Step two: take shelter next to 1 of 8 jersey girls who wear v-neck poly-blended sweaters as dresses and play arts and crafts with sequins and nylon to create “bras” for their saggy grandma tits that they think is some kind of asset to score some ass. I first met a pro football jock right out of college wearing a baseball cap, t-shirt, and ripped up jeans. While trying to comprehend the pronounciation of my name, he checked out the leggings on jersey girl no. 1. and the fake nails on jersey girl no. 2. He was pretty cool. I obviously had no game. I guess my outfit just didn’t scream easy, cheap slut enough.
Jersey Chicks over 30 + Dudes Who Still Think their Varsity Football Stats Matter + Over-priced, Watered Down Drinks = Saturday Nights at Tenjune
Amid the 30 something blonde in cow print boots and her cousin 5 ft away in a matching cow print dress, we start to scope the scene away from our table (god forbid we leave). We danced, laughed, and checked out the unattractive, undesirable species that surrounded us. How could such a hotspot breed all of this synthetic trash?Isn’t the sourpuss guy at the door (Alex) supposed to be in control of this department?
About one painful hour into our “exclusive” experience, the party actually started to take flight. The DJ was exceptionally talented given the unfortunate circumstances of a lame, ego enduced crowd. A false eye seemed to spot Will-I-Am looking for his posse, only to find the first of a handful of style coming through the door. The cool people meter starts fluctuating with socialites making a non-dramatic entrance into the club and then fading into the crowd just as fast. The few post-fashion week stragglers still struggling to make it out one more night are sporting off the shoulder, paisley print dresses, fedora hats, skinny ties with vests, and a plethora of skin.
For some brief fleeting moments our hopes lifted and the night didn’t seem like a total waste, our only saving grace seemed to hit the repeat button as more and more potentially interesting people tricked in, but then the music turned sour and so did the scene. It was time to call it a night and take on the identity of a cow (seems fitting at this point) in a heard of cattle to retrieve our coats.
Pretentious nerds, sleezy promoters, and sequins galore, we pondered the previous 2 hours. Finally, we came to 3 fair and rational conclusions: 1. a new promotional idea – “Saturday: all from across the Hudson welcome!” 2. find out the name the DJ and become his #1 fan 3. next time just go to The Box.
Author: A dear friend who chose to remain anonymous
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