Marc Jacobs Aoyama store opening, I arrived late, and by the time I got there all my friends had moved on to a gallery opening somewhere nearby. Around this time friend Sophia (Fashimi) texted me about “feeling like the uncool kid in school”, which I could relate to at the moment. I rode my bike to subway sandwich with a metaphorical storm cloud over my head, sulking into a toasty avocado sandwich. Not so long after Sophia arrived, I tried not to let my sorrowful mood ruin her bubbly (tipsy) upbeat self. Misery loves company, and my metaphorical storm cloud turned into a real one by the time we left the cafe.
“Oh drat!” Sophia says, or did she really say that? I can’t be sure, it sounds like something an Australian person would say. We were walking back to the store opening to get a glass of wine and be the only people left standing there, when suddenly a cloaked Diego appeared behind a stone pillar.
“I am not Diego, I am Ali Baba!”
He flips his scarf over his shoulder and covers his face.
“I am not drunk! I am Ali Baba!”
It’s hard to respond in conversations like these, I fumbled over something that might have almost been witty, or condescending, masked in a smiling face and laughter.
We join forces with Diego and his friend Yohan, the eager early birds at Le Baron.
It was one of the better times I’ve had at that place, and though I found discussing someone’s sexual preferences with them for an extended period of time to be quite trying, it seemed to be the theme of the evening. I’m pretty sure I touched Sophia’s boobs more than once, Diego requested her to “Sing into his microphone”, dirty, but funny. We took a lot of photos for our blogs and it felt less silly having a partner in crime.
Good job Marc Jacobs, and Martin Webb, and thanks for the free Champagne.
