To my left a woman in a halter top was wearing a beige adhesive patch on her biceps–I wasn’t sure if it was for birth control or nicotine. In the corner I spied stretch-marked areolae overflowing from a too-tiny jacket. In front of me rhinestone snakes swirled up the calves of a pair of metallic boots with silver stiletto heels and the price tags still on.
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The event sounded pretty fabulous, especially since it was held at the Victor Hotel, Jerry Kleiner’s newish West Loop club inside an old freezer building. I hadn’t been there yet–I generally avoid anything I’ve seen on a “what’s hot” list, which is silly of me. The place is decorated like a mod hotel lounge, and I mean in a truly glamorous way, not some douchebag corner-cutting plastic knockoff way.
But maybe dim would’ve been the way to go on this night. In the main room several tanned women much too old to dress like Catholic schoolgirls danced on blocks in teensy-weensy plaid miniskirts and men’s T-shirts tied in a big knot in the back. One brunette was voguing at warp speed, twirling promotional blue glow sticks with the Hpnotiq liqueur logo–a bartender said those were supposed to go into the promotional cataract-blue Hpnotiq cocktails to make them look…what? Less disgusting? “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” the dancer told me, panting.
She says she hopes GRO will eventually replace Red Streak. What a pair of crap-filled shoes to step into, I thought, but I couldn’t say anything negative to her face because she introduced me to her family as the first person to interview her.
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Yvette Marie Dostatni.
