It's Fashion Week in New York, which means there are hot parties every night—so many that I find myself wracked with indecision when choosing which to grace. When I found out about the fête hosted by W magazine and IMG Models on Monday, however, I was certain: It would be the one I attended. The party took place at the city's hottest club, The World Trade Center!
Once I got past security, the first thing I saw as I entered the party was the elusive chanteuse herself, Mariah Carey. She was just standing there, still as a wax sculpture, while the woman on the left screamed at her. "AHHHHH," she repeatedly yelled at the five-time Grammy award winner.
"Hi Mariah," I said. "I'm a big fan. Could I take your photo?" Before I got a response, the man in the center of the photo quickly interjected. He introduced himself to me as Mariah's assistant and explained that Mariah Carey was actually asleep. That's right, he said: Mariah Carey has learned to sleep standing up, with her eyes open, specifically for "nightmarish events such as this." "It's the only way she doesn't literally vomit from disgust during fashion week," her assistant explained calmly.
However, Mariah's PR thought it might confuse the event's attendees if one of the best female vocalists of all time was just standing in the middle of the party, unmoving. So, with the helpful advice of Marina Abromavić, they decided to turn the sleeping diva into an endurance performance piece with dual aims: to showcase how loudly the woman on the left can scream, and to emphasize the technical ability with which Mariah Carey can sleep heavily.
It turns out the screaming woman became exhausted sooner than anyone had expected. After about an hour of screaming, she collapsed on the floor, presumably dead. Mariah's assistants quickly carted her away and replaced her with this man on the right, who walked sleeping Mariah around the party, screaming for the duration of the night.
This woman was paid $40,000 by a mysterious benefactor to blow up balloons, pose with the balloons for a few minutes, and then release them. All night long, her seemingly infinite number of balloons floated into our airspace. The balloons on the ceiling are balloons she released before the photo was taken. Later in the night, the room was so overwhelmed with balloons that they became a hazard; hundreds of people died. For legal reasons, I can't go too far into detail about how the balloons managed to kill people. Let's just say they were anthropomorphic balloons that were hungry for human flesh.
This was taken moments before the balloon brutally murdered and ate everyone in the photo except Ciara, who was far too powerful. Ciara ended up taming the balloon and, according to reports, kept it as a pet.
"Would you two let me take a photo of you making out?" I asked moments before taking this photo. "It would be great for this story I'm working on." "Fine!" they said, with an exasperated yet sinister tone that should have lead me to believe something strange was going on. They winked at me in unison and they kissed.
As soon as they pulled away, the two smooching socialites turned toward me to reveal something strange: slightly older and far more stylish versions of themselves. "What?" I said, completely flabbergasted. "We drink the blood of children to stay young-looking so people will pay us to go to parties, but it wears off when we make out. People always ask us to make out. It's our favorite party trick." The confused and afraid look on my face must have been apparent; they each put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Get used to it, honey. Everyone in the fashion industry does it."
I found this man alone, cowering in a corner of the party, whispering, "Help me, help me, help me." When I walked over to try and comfort him, he shouted, "Don't touch me!" As I backed away slowly, his facial expressed softened. "I just didn't want you to catch it," he apologized. He explained to me that he had a disease that made him become more and more tan until, eventually, his flesh burns right off his body. He claimed he was pasty white earlier that day, before the party; this photo was taken before his inevitable death. By now, he is probably ash. Rest in peace, that guy.
These are high school students who tried to sneak their way into the party by digging a secret underground tunnel from their Upper East Side private school to the women's bathroom in the World Trade Center. Unfortunately, they completely exhausted themselves after digging about four-feet deep. Pivoting to their backup plan, they tried to bribe the bouncer with a bag of oregano that they said was weed. That didn't work either. The bouncer immediately knew it wasn't weed. "Not even New York is weed this shitty," he said. This photo was taken outside the event. I promised I would tell the other girls in their class that they were at the party.