Say you're a glamorous media type who gets invited to fascinating, star-studded events, and you need a buddy to bring as an accomplice. A buddy who laughs loudly and wears an outlandish costume and/or matches your colors. I am that buddy. It's good to have me around, because I'm not competing for your job -- I'm just there to be agreeable.
Wednesday night saw me and Rohin at SoHo's Agent Provocateur for an inexplicable Wednesday night social. I was unclear as to the purpose of the party -- did they have a new line out? -- but I do love looking at AP's pieces, which always wittily mix the humorous, sexy, and impractical. (Case in point: the Bullet Playsuit. How is this a thing? It blows my mind that this and the word "suit" can co-refer to one object.) That said, AP also does the Western traditional costume (that is, the brassiere and underwear duo) very well. Add this to the eternally-smiling staff, who on Wednesday offered up chocolate truffles and champagne, and to the extremely killer soundtrack that seemed like it was straight out of my teens (Hole; Nirvana; Siouxsie & the Banshees; David Bowie), and it was a pretty good day to be in SoHo. Much better, at least, than the random Abercrombie event we saw happening on the parallel street: some bored, shirtless dudes with shifty eyes. I'd rather have a chocolate and speculate about how long it would take me to ruin a pair of Cuban-heel back-seamed stockings. (Dollars to donuts I'd get a hole in one of them in ten minutes.)
Tonight, I came to the realization that anything based on Les Liaisons Dangereuses is fucking weird. I went to see Robert Wilson's Quartett at BAM with my as-of-now-former boss tonight, and just about had enough Gothic overdramatization (but not quite enough; never enough). The production, written by German playwright Heiner Muller, is on as a part of the Next Wave festival, and stars Isabelle Huppert as that ice-cold bitch the Marquise and Ariel Garcia Valdez (pictured, in red) as a monstrously phlegmy Valmont. The entire play is illuminated in a strange and what I'm told is a very Wilsonesque way: pinpoints of color-gelled light pointing out specific objects, body parts, and movements. It was visually beautiful and textually perverse, full of gross overstatements of good and evil and detailed descriptions of lascivious and downright filthy acts. At all times, everyone on stage is doing one of the following things: yelling and/or laughing insanely; staying completely still; talking and/or moving slowly. The music, by Michael Galasso, is at times quietly backgrounded, and at others eardrum-blastingly loud. In other words, very European. Recommended -- this production has one more week to go at BAM.