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THE DAILY BACK ROW: Loungin’ on the Edge


An insider look from the outside. Issue 4: Tequila mockingbird. 

Fashion Week lounges are the best thing in the world. Better than hugs, better than unicorns, better than random sex with strangers on a subway platform in the middle of the night. Life is all about a NYFW lounge.

THE DAILY BACK ROW: Loungin on the Edge

The HTC Lounge at the Mandarin Oriental

I spent the majority of yesterday grinding away at the HTC Lounge at the Mandarin Oriental, a hop-skip-and-a-stomp away from Lincoln Center. There I gorged myself on carbs like my waistline was going out of style and basically hooked up an IV of coffee and Diet Coke while charging my death-prone phone. These amenities are a lifesaver for anyone trying to get any work done in the midst of the chaos of runway shows. By the time the night fell, my phone wasn’t the only thing recharged.

Along with Intern Emily, I popped into a party for Casio‘s new piano at the Edison Ballroom in Midtown where I downed four tequila greyhounds in an-even-impressive-for-me 20 minutes. From there, we trained it over to Milk Studios for The Blonds‘ spring 2013 show. Emily sadly had no invite but proving that resourcefulness and tenacity are qualities absolutely necessary in NYFW and in life, that little so-and-so ended up sitting in front of me.

THE DAILY BACK ROW: Loungin on the Edge

Paris in New York

I’m not (that) bitter though, as I managed to snap a few great shots of Paris Hilton, Amanda Lepore, Zombie Boy and the other crazy-fun people Phillippe and David routinely attract. The show was a highlight of the week just because those wacky siblings clearly don’t take fashion too seriously and paraded enough sequins and crystals to outfit every showgirl in Vegas from here to 2020. Also, the presence of River Viiperi, Sebastian Sauvé and Andre Ziehe in speedos and little else proved a big hit with the audience, who shamelessly applauded the male supers-in-training.

THE DAILY BACK ROW: Loungin on the Edge

The view from the top (of the Mondrian Hotel)

Those four tequila greyhounds ran through me like Usain Bolt, however, and I booked it out of the show as soon as the lights went on to relieve myself. Then, Em and I shot over to the Refinery29 party at the Mondrian Hotel in SoHo. The scene was a bit of a mess with god knows how many people left out in the proverbial cold, but thanks to some luck and a group of Italians pushing through, we easily made it up to the rooftop where we were greeted with pink cupcakes and candy cigarettes.

All in all, it’s a sweet life this Fashion Week, but as always I’ll be glad when it’s over.

Written by Lester Brathwaite

I was center square from 1969 to 1978, during which I perfected the art of the zing as well as a crippling cocaine addiction. Bea Arthur was responsible for both. @LesFabian lester dot brathwaite at gmail