Since you first saw photos of the Misshapes, that scowling chick with the black hair and those two vaguely interchangeable gay guys who also sometimes had black hair, you've had so many burning questions about them swirling round your head, right? No? Oh well, the people at Page Six magazine, for reasons best known to themselves, have interviewed the DJing/party promoting group during the final 15 seconds of their relevance anyway. And it's a decision for which future cultural historians will doubtless be grateful, judging by the startling revelations that pour forth.
Do you live in one of those "second-tier" cities that seems woefully bereft of despicable and/or overprivileged and whatever the case self-promoting social climbing youngs? Ever find yourself reading, say, a blog…and feeling just a twinge or a pang or whatever of envy for New York's thriving industry of microcelebrity manufacture? [JUST SAY NO.] But Kate Carraway, a writer in Toronto reflecting on that lofty matter of Jessica Roy, actually claims she does. "We have no Julia Allison, the current Wired cover star, and centre of much debate on media celebrity; no Sloane Crossley…" [sic] she laments. Nor do they have a Keith Gessen nor an Emily Gould nor even much, like, blow! "The NY media circus is ordered and replenished by an anxious, aggressive, semi-twisted sense of value, but value nonetheless," she writes, calling for "a collective pursuit of something better and more worthwhile." Well, Kate Carraway, if this is what you deem "better and more worthwhile," allow me to get service-y with you for a minute and and share with you an abridged and hastily-told tale of a group of anxious, semi-twisted twentysomethings who tried to do exactly what you aspire to do in their own "lesser" city.
What does it profit a man if he loseth his soul but hasn't gaineth'd a Friday afternoon gazing upon pictures of tarted-up hipsters? Nothing, that's what. So why dostn't thou join Alex Blagg on his soul-degrading tour of Last Night's Party and Cobrasnake? After all, when the Lamb broke the Seventh Seal, there was only silence in heaven for about half an hour. Until one of the Horsemen shouted out, "Hey, you guys! It's Alex Blagg with Blue States Lose!"
A burly bouncer, a middle-aged club-owner type and junior MisShape Leotard Fantastic himself all tried to prevent vidboy Alex Goldberg and Emily from documenting the enormously important event that was The Final MisShapes Ever Of All Time. Leotard Fantastic was such a little bitch about it too. We'd think that if you started a party basically as a marketing device for a brand, you'd eventually realize that attempting to control the way that brand is documented is a) ultimately futile and b) ultimately not particularly beneficial to you, but maybe that's something you learn when you go to college instead of spending the college years picking out your costumes and planning which songs you're going to "DJ" off your iPod. Still, this video is the only way our children's children will be able to know what MisShapes was like. Well, that and the book, the inevitable documentary, and the ads for Jansport backpacks.
Hipster spokesmen the MisShapes want you to stop stereotyping their people. "If you're wearing black pants and shaggy hair you're automatically a 'hipster,'" MisShape member Leigh Lazark complains to Daily Intel. "I think it's just as offensive as calling somebody 'bridge and tunnel,'" adds Geordon Nicol.
"Meanwhile, star D.J.'s the MisShapes, skinny and black-clad, huddled with several creature-of-the-night friends behind the D.J. booth, looking bored. Occasionally, one of them donned headphones and approached the turntables. "For corporate events like this, it's like, whatever," said the 'smart' MisShape, Geordon Nicol, from behind his shock of severe black hair. 'At a regular party, everyone's coming to mingle and hang out and talk and dance. This is different.'" [NYO]
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.
"THE HIPSTER MUST DIE!" screams the cover of this week's issue of Time Out New York. Uh oh, does this mean that the backlash has finally begun? Showing that they're not afraid to take on a cultural movement held near and dear by many, Time Out courageously tackled some touchy subjects. They're not afraid to offend fans of the MisShapes or Vincent Gallo or trucker hats! Is there any dated "hipster" reference point that will escape their barbed wit?
Once, the elfin drunken DJ trio MisShapes were the ultimate arbiter of cool. But last night, the three stooges DJ'ed the opening of Michael Shvo's wondrous, strange and utterly ridiculous condo, "Gramercy." Gramercy is first of all not in Gramercy—23rd between 1st and 2nd?—but designer and lunatic Philippe Starck's 21-story condo is boundary-transcendent anyway. So, what is next for The MisShapes—a bar mitzvah in Lynbrook? —Josh
Holy Saturday, for many of us, means family brunches and transubstantiation—but for the two young messieurs from MisShapes, it apparently means business as usual. That is, getting wasted and passing out in an alley. The mysterious flaneur Down By The Hipster had perhaps the best sighting since we last saw Jimmy Kimmel drunk off his ass.