Last night I invited Peaches Geldof out to Whipped Butter. She came. She left. She totally hates me.

Dear Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof,

Thank you sooo very mucho for coming to Whipped Butter last night. When you confirmed your visit via Twitter I contacted the party hosts we were working with and asked them to have a table ready for you. For some reason, this simple request was misconstrued and they assumed you wanted a table to sit at rather than bottle service. I feel like a total douche. I arrived at 12:00 and waited, hoping you’d show. Was totally looking forward to meeting you and getting your thoughts on Fashion Month and to talk about your dreams of being a magazine publisher. Know the first one didn’t work out, but was really hoping to see if maybe print wasn’t the right approach (digitals booming).

I headed up to the door girl at 2:00 and was told that you came and left earlier in the night. So, so, so, so sorry. I heart you to death and am totally pissed about what happened. To make it up to you I’m naming my first child Peaches. Okay, I’m not, but hopefully you get that I feel really bad about the mix up.

Hugs & Disses,

Daniel Saynt

P.S. Bring back Trash Pussies.