On day 2 of my Vanity Fair Agenda adventure, Jaden Smith challenges me to a dance off.
Lets get the trivialities out of the way first, cause I was recently told that being a bit too detailed is a crutch for less confident writers. Location, Teddy’s at the Hollywood Roosevelt hotel, scene, a nightclub, reminiscent of Le Baron, in the booth a young man by the name of Trey Smith moves excitedly to dance tracks by artists my Shazam app fails to recognize (guess I’m downloading the SoundCloud).
On the dance floor, Jaden Smith is clearing a space with two jewbish friends who look like they just walked out of Skrillex bar mitzvah. The song rises and falls and the three of them go into rage mode, hyping the crowd and making the room their bitch as a bulbs flash and VFer’s join in the nepotistic mosh pit, shaking their asses to DJ AcE’s mastery of the beat drop, as poppa Smith oversees in the background, in a baseball cap and tee, bobbing his head in approval to the entranced crowd. I, in a BCBG power suit and top by Clover Canyon, attempt to dance my ass off, and work off the L’Oreal Paris French Caresse 75 cocktail in my hand, clunking around the room in Rebecca Minkoff platforms, pulling an iPhone out of my Kurt Geiger clutch to sneak snaps of the Fresh Princes and testing my moves against Jaden’s, an Eddie Borgo necklace beating against my clavicle as my hands hit the air to another perfect track bumping from the DJ booth.
So used to New York fashion festivities, in which everyone stands around, well-dressed, stoic, sipping sponsored cocktails and discussing who’s doing what and who’s worth knowing, I thought that the art of the dance was dead amongst the poshest of media types. I was completely wrong. To my left a VP with a wicked hip thrust and Harlem Shake, to my right a Publisher with moves that make DeGeneres look like a NYADA reject.
I was in awe.
A room full of industry tycoons, unafraid to Vogue.
Later, we hit up Pink’s for refueling and empty calories.
I went Big Willie Style and ordered a massive footlong.
Considering the evening’s company, it felt like the right thing to do.
On a separate note, today my company and husband were featured in the New York Times.
Yeah, we’re kind of a big deal #humblebrag. Read the article here…
What the eff was I wearing? BCBG Rasha Jacket & Trousers, Clover Canyon Petal to the Metal top, Rebecca Minkoff platforms (sample, so you can’t have them), Eddie Borgo necklace, purchased at Neiman Marcus in the Bal Harbour Shops (supporting my fave indies), Kurt Geiger perforated hearts clutch (only 30 euro, total steal).
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