Clubkid fashion label Heatherette was given some award last night by the stuffy National Arts Club on Gramercy Park—clearly this was a crazy attempt to draw the youth into the ranks of its members. The oak-paneled, floral-carpeted lobby was filled with flamboyant gays, aging relics from the Tunnel days and a few older club members whose senescence was only outshone by their befuddlement. Heatherette's co-founder Traver Rains wore his signature cowboy hat, a Swarovski crystal necklace and flared alligator print jeans. He spoke to us about the intricacies of jerking off a horse. (He's been doing it since he was 6, back on the farm in Montana.) Nikola Tamindzic was there to document the... stuff.
As we circled the room, we ran into professional muse and Look Book victim Andre J, who called Gawker fierce before his friend told us Andre himself is the epitome of fierce. "Fierce," we replied, fiercely. Under a beautifully carved threshold, we met Kristian Laliberte's nemesis, Micah Jesse.
A red blazered and clearly tipsy Aldon James, the National Arts Club president, seemed happy as a clam to be surrounded by young guylinered gays. Some other members huddled in the back of the room, or attached like barnacles to the settees, seemed a little more timid in their embrace. Hadn't they ever seen the Dark Crystal? They were the Skekis and they needed these Gelflings to survive.