I used to cut my friends' lines
I longed to be a person I knew I’d never become.
I don't have access to my photos before Fall of 2017 which is fine, but rather disappointing when trying to recount details from late 2016, early 2017 during my (I guess you could say) formal introduction to fashion. I first became aware of the downtown set through a friend of mine who I no longer speak to and haven’t for years after she glamorized/enabled my abusive relationship, posing for a selfie with multiple bruises she had received from her then romantic partner alongside a few Lana Del Rey lyrics— the perfect conglomeration of aesthetics for her Instagram profile. I had been assaulted by someone three months prior and was shocked by the way she had flaunted something so horrific. Bruised online with a VSCO filter cherry on top.
Before we fell out, she’d take me to Paul’s Baby Grand (she claimed to know Ludwig Persik, the doorman) and Soho Grand a few nights a week where I met popular downtown model types. Nick Hadad and his crew (Desi Perez and Ellis types), those affiliated with Walter Pearce, and street kids he had cast at Midland Agency which had been established the year prior, in 2016. One of the photographers I met through my outings worked loosely with Midland (?) and had taken an interest in me. By interest I mean he’d send love notes whilst working in Paris saying “So are we going to hang out when I get back? :)”
On my 21st birthday, he came straight from JFK to Mercer Kitchen where I was having my birthday dinner. I posed for a picture with a martini to show I was of legal drinking age, and then didn’t drink it. Afterwards, there was a limousine stalling out front and we all decided to pile in, asking the driver to take us downtown.
For the few weeks following, he'd come over to my studio apartment on Wall Street late at night and we’d have sex. He didn’t shower much, and I wasn’t even sure where he lived. I didn’t mind. It made me feel like a delinquent, racy, traits I had never been able to act out during my upbringing. He’d lay next to me and tell me that he didn’t think he'd live past thirty, and that he didn’t care if that was the case. I didn’t understand why he’d say those things. I hadn’t given too much thought to death and dying yet. I assumed he said that because he did a lot of drugs, but I never asked. When he left in the mornings I didn’t worry that I wouldn’t see him again. I knew I would.
The first designer I took a liking to was Alexander Wang, which is unfortunate knowing what we know now. I watched Cara Taylor open his show in February 2017 from my 13-inch MacBook. I recognized some of the girls, Nathan (then Natalie) Westling, Molly Bair, Hanne Gaby Odiele, Kiki Willems, Anna Ewers, Binx Walton, Stella Lucia, and of course Kendall and Bella were there, too. I replayed the show song, Pleasure & Pain, loudly into my wired headphones for weeks after.
It was the same season Tyler Blue Golden and Lulu Tenney went exclusive for Raf Simons appointment at Calvin Klein. For what I knew about fashion thus far, I thought it was brilliant. I researched Raf Simmons for long hours in my studio apartment, and watched Dior & I for the first time. I remember feeling devastated when he left Calvin Klein a year later, but felt grateful he’d ultimately land at Prada.
Vogue summarized Wang’s show with the headline “Nightclubbing with Alexander Wang”. It makes sense why I loved it so much. The remix that scored the show was reminiscent of my rave days growing up in Baltimore. I’d rush to get barricade, front row, completely sober. Most times I’d wear a version of Nike Pro spandex shorts and Victoria’s Secret lace bralettes. Sometimes I’d even tie a bandana around half my face, trading kandi with glovers nearby. When I share this antidote with new friends of mine, they’re shocked that I’d partake in such an activity. Raves, to me, were stereotypically an environment to take psychedelics, but I’d attend happily sober. I longed to be a person I knew I’d never become. I was longing for a feeling, the same feeling I got doing the PLUR handshake or watching barely there girls walk in all black down a runway.
I’d never be the conventional club girl, but I’d pretend. Nights at Avenue, Catch, Up & Down, Mr. Purple, Gold Room, Madame X (?), Le Bain (personal favorite), The Box, even Marquee (yikes). I’d stay out till dawn because it was the closest I could get to all my friends who were wasted. Except my hangovers were from exhaustion, not amphetamines. I loved to get in screaming fights with a longtime on-and-off fling in the streets of Meatpacking. In those days, I never felt guilty sleeping until 1 in the afternoon. I’d never be the one buying the drugs, (more specifically cocaine during this time) but I'd offer to be the one to go retrieve it from the car with blacked-out windows. I’d get in the passenger seat, a cool customer, as the dealer drove down the street, making conversation. Back upstairs, I’d offer to cut my friend’s lines, hoping to feel included. They thought it was hilarious I’d be willing to do such a thing. I remembered everything. And thank god.
I fantasize often about how my life could be different. I did everything I could to have drama in my life without using alcohol and drugs, and I did a pretty good job at it. I used men instead, and boy was it thrilling. I slept with my friends' ex-boyfriends (once, twice kind of, maybe three times if you count the time I didn’t know about the other woman), I made a mess in the ways I knew how to without using substances. Some might say it’s just as dangerous, but probably not. I was never on the precipice of dying, but I enjoyed sleeping with those who were close to it. The closest I got to intervention was when I lost a lot of friends because I refused to leave a relationship with an addict. I’ve begged for validation from people who I think have more than me because I want their life.
I’m fascinated with the things life gives to us, and why they happen when they do. Maybe I was naive choosing to get involved with people that eventually harmed me, but if I hadn’t, my life would be so boring.
I have a lot of stories and I want to tell them, unfiltered. So this one is on me, for everyone. It’s not going to get me in trouble.
I’m innocent, see?
