I am still not quite myself, but nonetheless, I simply could not RESIST when I received the following invitation:
Deb Malkin has dared to open a shop in these troubled economic times, and I say BRAVA! Yes, we sell similar merchandise in some ways, but as I have written before, a rising tide lifts all boats. And the shop is in Brooklyn, where my high heels have barely, if ever, trod. Nevertheless, I gave the order to my limo driver to take me there!
Well, it was quite the evening! Your faithful correspondent usually goes to soirees where Krug is flowing and the male guests are in black tie. However, this was a walk on the wild side if ever there was one! Male guests, when one could spot them, most times turned out to be female.
My wardrobe choice was a cobalt blue suit from the 1960s with a sheared beaver collar dyed to match (it was, after all, 7 degrees outside). As for the more obviously female guests, my beloved readers, they were almost entirely plus sized, and it was an absolute SEA of cleavage! Deb herself was wearing a tartan-trimmed bustier skirt combination that had been custom-made for her, and her bounteous bosom was certainly on show. I brought a hostess gift of eight polyester maxi-dresses...it seemed the only appropriate thing, don't you think?
Being a woman of broad mind and loose morals, I was not thrown for a moment by being probably one of the few heterosexuals there (and as my long-time readers know, I am ready to cross over if it means a particularly lucrative sale). In fact, it was delightful to be surrounded by large, lovely ladies in beautiful clothes from all eras, proudly showing what they had! Take THAT, Karl Lagerfeld!
So I drank sparkling apple juice served by a handsome woman in an impeccable suit and tie, nibbled on some nibbles. One friend who was in attendance was the ever-witty Stephanie Schroeder, my publicist, and our friend Lisa Haas, a playwright. However, they were fatigued and left before the show started.
They missed a treat! There were not enough chairs, but fortunately for moi, my height proves to be an advantage in these situations. Les danseuses were, with one exception, ecydiasts (look it up) from the old school of burlesque. World Famous BOB (not certain why her last name is all caps, but celebrities are funny that way) is called that for a reason...it was as if one was watching Gypsy Rose Lee crossed with The Lady Bunny.
Photo by Sara Macel
There were also go-go dancers of considerable heft, and a belly dancer from Washington, DC who proved that you don't have to be built like Madonna to shake it and not break it. Oh, mon Dieu, did I just write that? One believes one did. Her name is Miasia, and the photo does not do her justice! Her website is http://www.miasia.org/.
Now that I am feeling slightly better, you shall be hearing from me more often.
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog