A Track-By-Track Journey Through Fashion Week's Last Rager: the Jeremy Scott After Party
After multiple Twitter DMs, emails, and smoke signals, I finally wound up at the final throwdown of Fashion Week: Jeremy Scott's after party at Space Ibiza New York.
Jeremy Scott at his Fashion Week after party
Everyone knows that breaking into the Fashion Week party circuit is tough shit. After multiple Twitter DMs, Instagram DMs, emails, and smoke signals, I finally wound up on the list for the final throwdown of the week: Jeremy Scott's after party at Space Ibiza New York. Oh, and I had a + 3. Obviously, I called my photographer, drug dealer, and poppingly dressed best friend Dylan to partake in the turn up.
After selling my soul to the clipboard countess at the door of the club, I wonder who saw me skip the line and now thinks I could possibly be cooler than them. Space Ibiza is pretty empty, which is shocking because a party with a limited time open bar usually brings out the early birds. Then again, it's 10:30 PM. I wander over to coat check as "Bad Girls" by M.I.A. blasts to the vacant dance floor. I feel like Maya is talking directly to me when she says, "live fast die young, bad girls do it well," so I take her advice and stash my goods by the DJ booth instead. That $6 coat check fee will go towards a burrito later.
As soon as I start looking for a drink, I realize why the dance floor was empty. The bar is so crowded you would think Beyoncé was bartending. Dylan signals me to the back of the club—lo and behold, there's a busty bartender all by her lonesome ready to bask me in the free Belvedere. Soon, I'm on the dancefloor, my drink is spilling on my borrowed outfit, and @thecobrasnake snaps my picture. Basically, I'm in LA.
Jeremy Scott's DJ Mazurbate arrives around 11:30PM. Of course, his set starts with "Lemonade"—the same SOPHIE hit that soundtracked Scott's runway show during the day. The dance floor is packed now, and an impromptu dance battle between me and somebody's aunt ensues. I won until she grabbed my dreads and used them as Harlem Shake tools.
I'm a touch beyond tipsy and my new mission is the VIP section, which is guarded by three of Jeremy Scott's beautiful blonde cousins (the family ties aren't confirmed, but I'm spreading the rumor anyway). I walk up as Total Freedom's "Hunter's Tale Or Rihanna Stalking" is blasting; they won't let me in (surprising), even though I dropped as many names as I could, including Obama. Nothing worked until the tallest blonde on the left rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist. Next thing you know, I was in. As you'd imagine, the area was full of poppin' people smoking cigs, pouring champagne, and judging me (I loved it).
I shoulder bounce my way to Jeremy Scott's table on the opposite end as OT Genasis' "Coco" comes on. This isn't the first time I've met JScott the Gawd, but I was kinda nervous! When I arrived at the bottle and model-filled table, I simply whispered in his ear, "Great collection, can you take a photo with my photographer right behind you?" He happily obliged.
Mazurbate's remix of Britney Spears' "I'm A Slave 4 U" is pumping through my ear waves while I'm thinking: mission accomplished! As I walk out of VIP, I spy A$AP Rocky and his crew walking in, which seems fitting, since Dylan just rolled the first spliff of the night.
Mazurbate is having a party for one in the DJ booth and my attempts to make eye contact are blocked out by his cigarette smoke. Of course, all my friends have shows and/or hoes in the morning, and by 12:15 AM they are fed up! I'm stuck with that tough life decision of following the music or following your friends. I decide to go with the former, and wind up back on the dancefloor.
By 12:20 AM, Mazurbate is gyrating to a Spanish song I've never heard before. Luckily, I spot an older man sporting a blazer and mohawk look who is screaming the lyrics. I ask him what the name of this dancefloor gem is, and after a few "wait, what?"s I believe he said the title was "Aro Baby" by "Yo No Se" (Actually, it was "Son Reebok o Son Nike?" by Lyon La Diferencia.)
Suddenly, I realize I'm alone and Mazurbate's set was ending. I head to coat check and mentally try to sober up, which never works. I walk out as Mazurbate transitions from "No Type" by Rae Sremmurd to "La Isla Bonita" by Yoko Nagayama. The time is 1:30 AM, which might sound like the beginning of your night to some party-goers, but it's NYFW and the turn up has a curfew. It's obviously cab time, and I'm regretting having told the designer of my outfit that I'd drop her clothes back to her studio tonight. I unrobe in the backseat laughing and crying at the same time, thinking to myself, P Diddy never goes through things like this! My cab makes it back to my hood and I'm wearing a hoodie and long johns. I hop out to a white girl getting attacked by an African man. Of course I pull out my camera and proceed to Carmen Sandiago the situation. Turns out she lost her card and was actually trying to stiff him out of her huge fare! My phone battery dies at that moment, and that's when I know that my Fashion Week has finally come to an end.
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