When the illustrious Jennie C.C. told me she had landed us on “the list” for a fashion industry party, I was repulsed. If you asked me, a room full of catty designers and vain models seemed like Dante had crafted a hell just for me. Due to the near-gag-reflex reaction I had hearing of, I knew it would be the perfect thing to try.

All week long, Los Angeles has been host to “Fashion Week” - a fact I didn’t really realize until today. My normal mode of dress is somewhere between 70s detective and geek chic - a lot of wide ties and loud jackets. Just yesterday I wore a hat all day because I hit snooze too many times to properly wash my hair before work. I’m not exactly Fashion Week material. But I knew I had to up my game for a big fashion party.

I slicked my curls down, shaved my face in the most ridiculous way I could think of, wore the hipster tie-with-t-shirt combo, and cut up a sock to use as an armband in a fashion that I think was last successfully executed by Punky Brewster in 1985. I was going for the sort of emo/falloutboy look that, when photographed from arms length, constitutes 98% of all myspace photos. This is how I looked.

I gave myself a backstory. My name was Edgar. I worked a Whole Foods during the day, in their Meats and Cheese department. I was in a band called “Cryboy” and while I didn’t consider myself a designer, per se, my friends were always begging me to help them with their clothes. I chewed gum and affected an accent somewhere between a valley girl and Keanu Reeves. You’ll also notice I decided to remove my glasses for the evening. I thought it would make me look cooler.

9:45 - Jennie C.C. (dressed to the 9s, by the way, although worryingly without a character) arrive at the club. Our invite says:

*BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE ONLY * ENTRANCE IS AT VENUE DISCRETION

We are fairly certain we’ll get in.

9:50 - People (beautiful and not) are mulling around a set of ropes in front of the club. Nobody seems to know what’s going on. I look around and notice there are a lot of Asian people there. Then I begin to freak out because, me not wearing glasses, I am squinting comically to make out these Asian people. Sorry, Asian people.

9:56 - It becomes clear that “The List” means nothing. There is another set of rules in action here, and much like any sport, I am entirely unaware of the rules.

10:00 - A huge man begins look over the crowd. I’m sorry, the word “big” is simply not big enough to describe this man. He makes the word big look small. The guy is huge. He’s several men. He’s prime real estate for a first home. Light passing by him bends to his gravity. He is a Mountain of Man. He is, of course, the bouncer.

10:05 - A girl behind me squeals and runs up to a guy. In one high-pitched spurt she bleats, “Hi how are you I’m Christine’s friend i met you at the mall how was the show were there any movie stars there!?” The guy shrugs. “Dustin Hoffman,” he says, coolly.

10:07 - I try to make eye contact with The Mountain of Man, but thank to my lack of glasses, I think I may have looked him squarely in the chin.

10:10 - The Mountain of Man is beginning to pick out people from the crowd. Women shout out “Five girls, one guy!” and he lumbers over to let them in. I look over to Jennie and tell her to show a little boobage. She does so. Alas, boobage does not sway the Mountain of Man.

10:13 - A boy with a fake ID is turned away. For the rest of the night, he lingers, sadly, around the perimeters. I am not sure what he’s hoping for, but I feel bad for him.

10:17 - Jennie C.C. keeps pointing out the scandalously short skirts and revealing necklines on the women in the crowd. I keep pointing out I cannot see any of that thanks to my boneheaded decision not to wear any glasses.

10:20 - I am beginning to think this is like getting picked for dodgeball at school, only with a lot more bad cologne. People are being chosen from the pen, and collective shoulders slump in disappointment every time it’s not them. The stress level is alarming. Everybody is on the verge of freaking out. And this, to them, is a “fun night on the town.” I cannot imagine doing this on a regular basis without developing a very hip and trendy ulcer.

10:22 - I invent a designer friend “Charlos” who is waiting for me inside. “Charlos is going to be SO pissed to learn I’m out here!” I say, loudly. “And you do NOT want to piss off Charlos!” The phantom Charlos has even less effect than the boobage.

10:25 - I am beginning to realize the way it works. A man or woman will shove his or her way to the front of the pack and shout “D! D! D!” until the Mountain of Man (whose name is, I have now learned, D) turns around. They drop a name and a high woman-to-man ratio. D either ignores them or lets them pass. At one point D is actually holding me back in order to let some women in, so I try my luck. “Hey, D,” I say, as Hollywood Cool as I can muster, “When do you think a handsome guy like myself might make it inside?” D reclips the velvet rope without a word and walks away.

10: 27 - “Charlos just texted me that the bubbles have gone flat in the champagne. He is SO pissed!”

10:30 - I overhear a man on his phone behind me, “Just come down for a drink, I’m in the neighborhood. (Pause) Oh, honey, the last thing I want you to do today is sign a contract! Just come down, let’s have some fun!”

10:35 - I figure I might as well be bolder. I try to call over D again. I thought maybe we could bond over the fact we’re both extraordinarily tall. Even though he could easily use me as a toothpick. “D!” I call, loudly, to the man just a few feet away, “Hey, D!” D casually turns his back to me. I am determined. “Hey! D’s back! Hey, D’s back!” I call. Nothing.

10:40 - A man pushes his way right between me and Jennie CC, already tight quarters. “Hey,” I say into his ear, “Now we’re spooning. This is sorta fun, huh?” He squirms and finds a way to give me a little more space.

10:42 - I am running out of patience. I am realizing that the people inside will be the same people outside. And I wasn’t too fond of them as they were crowding me and pushing me out of the way to get to D. I don’t see why I’d want to hang out with them when there was the benefit of bad house music and watery drinks. I have very little left to lose. “Oh, I remember when D was just a lower-case d” I say loudly, hoping the Mountain of Man has a sense of humor. He doesn’t respond. He is more mountain than man.

10:45 - We have been here an hour, in this velvet-rope veal pen. Hundreds have passed us and gone inside. Almost all of them seem to have known D personally. Being a Hollywood socialite is, apparently, a full time job. You’ve got know a lot of people in order to pay too much money to get inside a bar to pay too much money for drinks. I was half hoping that my cynical attitude towards such a hip gathering would be proven wrong - that the group would be warm and welcoming, that they’d be a friendly bunch who gave me wardrobe tips and laughed and clapped as I danced. Perhaps that’s what it was like inside. Jennie C.C. and I will never know - we head back to the car. Secretly, I’m thrilled. I do not want to be part of the Hollywood Elite Fashion Crowd. I want to be home.

Now I’m home. I’m going to bed. There’s no crowd, no bouncer, and the only cover is cotton filled. Now this is what I call a fun evening.

–opus