Basel Thots: Confessions of an Art Basel Party Girl (Part Three)

Last week, Miami hosted an international affair of modern and contemporary art called Art Basel—which everyone knows are just code words for the last great turn-up of the year. I made it through Sunday night—the final night—to see Ezra Koenig at the SBTRKT show, Arcade Fire's surprise set, Benoit & Sergio's DJ set, and a dash of afterparties for good measure. I haven't slept in days and my body is not well, but I made it through Basel without killing anything except for my phone. Follow me through the last installation of Basel Thots, and catch up on parts one and two here. 

Everyone has their cellphones up as A$AP Ferg invites people onstage to rap. An island version of Alice Glass is screaming into the microphone to "Shabba," followed by a thriving/struggling Lil B who's (still) riding that #based hype. People keep shouting "TRAP LORD." I'm drinking a double something that the DC man from yesterday got me, and someone is sprinkling stuff into it. I'm hesistant because the last time I did molly in Miami two years ago, I felt like I was on bath salts, and was up for three days praying for the ability to sleep. But I see Myles Shear—the young "hotshot" manager for Riff Raff, Kygo, and Thomas Jack—and my THUMP editor's advice to "feel free to get weird" is ringing in my ears. I go in for the content.

Myles tells me that Arcade Fire is playing a surprise show at Soho Beach House. OMG poop. I want to go but my phone is charging backstage. It's chill, everyone seems to really like SBTRKT—even the bros are fist-pumping. I run to the porta-potties while Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig goes on stage to play their new duo pop banger "New Dorp.New York."

I pee a little on this $6 floral romper and notice that I'm spotting on my period. At least I wore underwear today. Coming out of the bathroom, I say hi to Post-Fedora Guy from a few SXSWs ago, and he tells me about a table reservation he has in the VIP section. I'm with my friend Cedar though, and her Red Bull friends are turnt. Plus I remember what this dude said to me yesterday. Fugetaboutit. (For now.)

I make my way to Drake at the same mansion that hosted FKA Twigs' afterparty on day one. The hosts have arranged a very nice Uber-X to take me and Cedar, who is an editor at Complex, to the party. Bless. I drink all of the Uber driver's mini water bottles while talking Cedar's ear off. I'm trying to remain sober because she's trying to remain sober. Uh oh, there's a bottleneck of cars at the gates of the mansion. We're warned by two girls not to get out of the cab because the party is over. I change plans and arrange to meet my Turnt Mom at Soho Beach House for Arcade Fire.

There are too many privileged foreigners waiting outside. I'm stressed out and message Myles to get me in. He says to use his name, because of course he's a member at this private club. Then he tells me to meet him at Grand Central, this club in an old train station. I find Turnt Mom, and we fight through the battleground of South Beach car services to reunite with the suslords Myles and Post-Fedora Guy.

The bartenders in the VIP room have dreads. "Unreleased Kaytranada track right now from SBTRKT," Kaytranada's manager tells me and Post-Fedora Guy. Myles is here, with abundant liquor in front of him. Kastle is also here, looking very put together considering where we are and what time it is. I walk up to him like, "Hey, I took a selfie with you at SXSW" and take another selfie with him.

Post-Fedora Guy grabs my phone and writes, "Basel is SXSW for the %1." I think he meant "1%." We start talking about the music industry, but he interrupts me saying, "People don't think we should know each other." He's being weird again. "My boyfriend is thirty," I reply. Then I turn around and ask Turnt Mom if she's ever had a heart attack. I'm OK I swear. Just thinking deep thoughts while watching Amtrac and his eye-searingly bright visuals. Next thing I know, Post-Fedora Guy is literally on top of some Miami fashion model. I give Myles' assistant my phone number. It gets saved as Basel Thot.

It's pitch black in here and I'm trying to make my way through twerking MILFs. I'm too poor to buy a drink but I buy two and it comes out to $30.68. This is the only alcohol I've paid for this week. Turn up to $8 in my bank account post-Basel. I'm texting people, wishing them good flights back to New York. The DJ is playing dark, break-y dance music. Flashback to the time I went to Mutek and met IDM boys.

My best friend Lori and I sit on the couches watching old men chase their thirst. I'm grateful for my child's onesie and for not having boobs right now. This Soulection producer Eno is here with my DC friend. They must think I'm very weird because I'm speaking in a monotone and keep opening the notes app on my phone. Whatever. I pretend to be blogging to avoid eye contact.

My Lyft driver says he gets paid $300 every two hours. Maybe Lori should get in on this and I'll be her bitch seat security girl. Imagine if we did that for the rest of the month here.

We arrive at E11even, the same place we were at last night for Kaytranada. This place is basically a 24/7 strip club. Post-Fedora Guy is trying to get us in. How is he friends with everyone? I make it up to the roof, where these girls on their fourth installment of fake boobs are like, "I like this song!" It's a house remix of Ellie Goulding's "Burn."

Lori and I huddle at a bar next to E11even. A man walks up to us, saying that we look very isolated. He touches Lori's finger tattoo. Is he pimping us? Lori, shut it down. Adam Sandler, Lee Bannon, Memphis Fleek, and Kindness walk by. My vision is blurry but it doesn't lie.

I PUKE GRACEFULLY INTO MY OWN TOILET. I WILL BE OK. THANKS BASEL FOR ALL THE SUS CONTENT.

Briana Cheng is THUMP's Art-Basel-party-girl-at-large - @banacrisp