Forgive me for my lack of cultural references, but the best way I can describe last night’s masquerade fête celebrating Lady Gaga‘s foray into the fragrance industry is as a Gossip Girl episode brought to life.
It was pretty much the manifestation of all my CW-driven, pre-NYC life fantasies. There I was, Little J (Little N?) circa Season 1, before the peroxide and raccoon eyes. I walked past the flashing bulbs in my party dress and feathery sequinned eye mask into the Guggenheim–sadly, I couldn’t find a lobster headpiece, as requested by Gaga via the invitation. It was one of those hazy, slow-mo, high society soiree-type scenes, made even hazier by my total lack of peripheral vision. I didn’t recognize anybody (looking at Getty Images today was like piecing together a puzzle). And no one recognized me. But being incognito was part of the fun–after all, you never know when a Nate Archibald might mistake you for a Serena.
But less GG, more Gaga: Following a projection of her Steven Klein-directed short film, a real-time camera revealed Our Lady ‘sleeping’ in a massive Fame perfume bottle in the corner of the room. Party-goers could reach their hands inside and touch her hand and wig. To say it was surreal would be an understatement–and some masked attendees found the ‘performance,’ appropriately titled ‘Sleeping with Gaga,’ more than a little confusing.
“I would love to see Gaga, is she here?” Crystal Renn asked me in earnest (to be fair, she’d apparently arrived late)–but once I explained the sitch, she got pretty psyched: “Wait are you serious, this is all happening right now? I love this! Oh, I love stuff like that! I love live performance art. Oh, I think that’s brilliant. I love that it’s happening right now. And the crowd’s amazing.”
The crowd was amazing. It was a healthy-thin mix of fashion’s power players: Models, designers, editors, photographers, socialites, a lady with a taxidermied kitten on her head, and Yoko Ono. Marc Jacobs flitted by me in glittery devil horns; Alexander Wang wore his Hannibal Lector finest, and Jessica Stam looked like an ethereal Cinderella. Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton did a decent job of hiding out someplace, too. A barefaced Jason Wu complimented our host on her napping habits: “I’m a pretty good sleeper, but I don’t compare to Gaga!”
I was most impressed with Olivier Theyskens’s mask, which he craftily constructed on the ride over from the hard event invite and a pair of glasses. He explained: “When I was a kid, I [watched a lot of] Macgyver, you know Macgyver? It’s a very old series? So I had a Macgyver attitude and at the last minute I had to find a solution with what we had! I like to find solutions with what I have.” Legit presh. And his hair was so silky.
Sometime in the night, Gaga finally ‘awoke’ and emerged briefly, only to return to the bottle, where she slipped out of her Prabal princess dress, re-shaved the back of her head, and promptly had it tattooed. All of this was broadcast on a massive screen, which eventually faded into the background, and after a while, I kind of forgot Gaga was even around.
Sadly, I never found my Nate–but I did find Crystal Renn again, with whom I ended up chatting for a good hour about boys, horoscopes, the greatness of Zac Posen, tattoos with meaning, and rodentia (a presumably cultured Guggenheim-ian mouse scurried past us into the night as the party wrapped).
Spotted: Little N making nice with one of New York Fashion Week’s elite. XOXO… (Sorry, couldn’t resist.) Click through the gallery for more pics from the event.