Thought Catalog
February 7, 2012

Overheard At The White Girl Problems Book Release Party

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Even though I live in New York City, I rarely do anything chic. I mean sometimes, when I’m bored and at home, I’ll put on a fur coat, spray Tom Ford’s Tuscan Leather all over my body and hang out with my hydrangeas but that’s hardly something to brag (or blog) about. So when I got an invite to the White Girl Problems book release party at Milk Studios, I knew I had to attend. 2011 was, amongst other things, a very strange and isolating year and in order for that to really change, it was imperative for me to stop clutching my fur and actually leave my apartment. So I did! I went to the damn book release party. I bought a new pair of combat boots for the occasion and took great consideration into the state of my appearance. I treated it like it was my very own debutante ball. “I’m here, I’m queer, and I’ve stopped talking to my hydrangeas, so deal with it.”

Thank god I actually went because it turned out to be an amazing time. White Girl Problems took the usual model of a book release party (stuffy old white people with drinking problems sitting around and talking about other stuffy old white people with drinking problems) and dipped it in couture and cocaine. And I’m not JKing about the cocaine part. I think white lines were actually being released through the ventilators because there were a handful of girls who were just Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights-ing their way through the party. They formed their own little dance party and started grinding against the framed photos that were featured in Milk Studios’ current exhibition and scaring all the other guests. No one knew who these dancing queens actually were but I secretly think they were hired by the book publishers to attend as Babe Walker’s embarrassing cokehead friends that got denied at the door and had to sneak in through the back.

The always amazing Kanon vodka served up cocktails called Anorexia and Bulimia (JK, they actually were called The Size Zero and The Size Double Zero, which I guess is the same thing), so that meant the whole party was wasted in 2.5 seconds, myself included. About an hour into the party, I stumbled downstairs to the bathroom to pee and found a gay boy and his girlfriend with a hideous back tattoo having a high school-style meltdown at the bottom of the stairs. The conversation went something like this:

Gay Boy: I AM WASTED. THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo: What do you need? It’s okay. Just tell me.
Gay Boy: I need water. Or just a line, honestly.
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo: I don’t have any right now. But we could get some.
Gay Boy: I’m just too drunk right now and I feel like I’m a hot mess. (EDITOR’S NOTE: He was. You don’t sit down at the bottom of the stairs at 7:30pm with your BFF, begging for coke. That should happen around 3:00am at the earliest.)

Bored with their conversation, I went to go pee and when I came out, they were still having the same exact dialogue. “I’m wasted. No, you don’t get it. I. AM. WASTED.” You know how that happens sometimes when your friend gets really plastered? They repeat everything they say and each time they do it, it’s done with more emphasis and importance. Meanwhile, you’re just like, “I’m a celebrity. Get me out of here!” Yeah, it was like that. You could tell The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo was over babysitting her friend and just wanted to find something to blow through her nose or in her mouth.

Patrick McMullan took photos for the event and I swear to god, there was one girl standing in front of the camera for 20 MINUTES just posing for pictures. Except I think they stopped taking photos of her after ten seconds and she somehow didn’t get the memo. After ingesting a few Double Zero’s, I mustered up the courage to take some photos with my friends, one of which is me just trying to lick the White Girl Problems poster. Love that look for me.

What else happened? Johnny Weir showed up in a major “I’m married and wearing fur, so bye!” moment, one dude walked around wearing a neon mesh tank top, which was hot but also super sick, and, um, there were a lot of blonde girls on a lot of coke, but what else is new?

Overall, it was a roaring success and if you haven’t
bought the book
yet, you’re psycho. It’s a hilarious read full of Jamaican maids and shopping and sex and horses and rehab and drugs. So go do it. READ A BOOK. TC mark