Kate Rigg Kulturefuk

I, the polymorphous perverse subculture vulture known as Kate Rigg, am getting too old to remember my own sordid and trashy stories. I'm blogging so that my future self can be a voyeur into my own voyeuristic dips into culture. Kulturefuk math: Gumption=access, I may not last long on this tasting spree in the world of kulturefuk, but for now, as they say at a vogueing competition: It's ON.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Soho House Wednesday Nights Skinny Dipping in couture

( Leda's amazing butoh flower girls at our Juliette Longuet runway.)

Sometimes the best way to get into the party is to actually throw it. If you have been living the kulturefuk lifestyle and actually paying attention to the litterati and the glitterati you start to have an idea of what feels like a good time. Lance and I went to a Pat Field Party JUST BEFORE Sep 11 at the Sub Mercer lounge. Leda was in a white pantsuit. So was lance. I was in black. Jimmy James was there. Hors D'oeuvres on little trays and champagne everywhere and the space was GORGEOUS. Drag queens rubbing elbows with editors. Fashion freaks and uptown girls. It was heaven. There were plastic beds and lucite lamps and spontaneous performances that no one could see and a heavenly DJ. Lance and I said if we could LIVE at this party we would. So fast forward 8 years later and we are throwing Wed night parties at the poolside of the Soho House outdoor deck under the name Skinny Dip... (Sato! on the runway)

Somehow I found synchro swimmers willing to do shallow water choreography to Lady Gaga. Somehow we managed to make the pool lounges into a runway and had models walking in Jill Stuart's new collection to a remix of the remixes of Dinah Washington and Nina Simone I heard on Virgin's playlist.

Party Crash tip #56
: Sometimes the best way to crash an a-list party is to throw one, and entice other a-listers to show up by giving them the gift of seeing through kulturefuk eyes-- a hybrid of trash and panache, a uptown meets downtown experience. Hardly anyone can resist the thrill of meeting at that party.

Somehow we got Maine to be in full body paint and do a Kali number where she lights her nipples on fire at the end. And somehow we got Lea DeLaria to jam with Justin Bond's band. It was a good party. I didn't really attend it but I was there. Holding beach balls and hula hoops. Cleaning up non toxic neon from the faux heart Maine pierced in her number. Stay tuned to see if it is more fun to throw it than to crash it. I am sort of thrilled to be puppet mastering, especially because the Skinny Dip runway is hosting some major talent: Malandrino, DVF, Williamson. And there is drag. And glow in the dark hulahoops. And tap dancing. Seriously, I would jizz if I was actually just sitting at the party. But for now it's a slight reversal of the usual voyeuristic cultural tourism that defines my existence as queen of the poverty jet set. I'm letting the guest list be the tourists while we party by throwing a party.

(on stage with the first look at the Ungaro show.)

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