(Via Vice Style UK)
Every two years, the Venice Biennale brings pervy curators, pretentious artists, and glamorous prostitutes together to create a swarm of sleaze and excess only possible in a city as ridiculous as Venice.
I went with only my hopes of, a) picking up a Russian dealer, and b) drowning myself in prosecco, neither of which came easy. Why drink if everyone’s too chic to get drunk or pick up a billionaire if you can’t stay in his suite? And why does Venice stink so much and have all these goddamn bridges?
I guess I did have fun, nearly everything was free, after all. Most of us believe that radicals, good fucks, and the most fun people at a party dress differently, therefore you'd figure as the Venice biennale is a gathering of the art world's greatest, the people in attendence would look amazing.
Things didn't start off well. This is Jeff Koons—he who saw fit to turn making love to his porn star wife into art—in the most boring suit anyone has ever seen. I know nothing about art and wasn’t planning on doing anything other than party, until I was asked to help a friend install his exhibition, which I only agreed to do because it gave me an excuse to get high on spray glue. In reward for my hard work he took me to other exhibitions and told me who to take pictures of.
This scary green lumberjack in the cheap-looking shirt is art world big deal Julian Schnabel. Either he is the very opposite of stylish, or maybe his amber lensed glasses are a knowing nod to the mid-90s, or some rubbish like that.
These two on the left are London and New York's most fashionable artists, respectively. Feather earring, multi-colored print shirt, and all white ensemble aside, they're still wearing suits, like nearly everyone else at Venice Biennale.
The national exhibitions were open to journalists only and I didn’t have a press pass, so I had to jump over a fence, run through the woods, and lie to security just to get in. I felt like a total badass, until I realized sneaking into an art show is about as hardcore as breaking into a church. It was worth it, however, as I got to see everyhing. Plastic Lady was in the Austrian Pavilion and boy, did she look good. Her fashion non-sense allowed her to wear a water bottle blue transparent plastic mac and plastic wrap footwear. Maybe she's the future of art?
Most of the women were total clichés, in their Prada bandanas, YSL heels, and Armani dresses.
This guy, rocking the Mexican pimp look, was a Milanese DJ, apparently.
Dressed down and super comfortable was a big look with Asian art people.
There were a lot of bland outfits accessorized with whatever people thought Nicki Minaj would wear, hence lady on the left's orange nails and their fake eyelashes.
None of them, however, could compete with my favorite—red ball gown and backpack woman.
New Gentlemen’s Club magazine hired Danni Daniels to host their boat party. The boat cruised around for so long everyone got seasick. Danni gave me make-up tips and pulled me onto the bar, where things quickly turned hot. And gross. I don’t remember much, but now strangers ask if I’m "that psycho boat girl who poured vodka into everyone’s mouth”. I wish I had pics of the dance-off, or when I vomited in the trashcan, but I’m sure if you Google “stupid drunk girl” you’ll find some pictures of that yourself.
I actually saw Elton John but wasn’t allowed to take pictures because he was having a “fat day”. Instead, I had to make do with this picture of Courtney Love who performed two songs for a small group of rich cunts that didn’t know who she was.
This party was about as exciting as a dentist’s waiting room, but eventually I found French fashion designer agnès b. sat in a corner and as you can see, she looks as bored as I was. In conclusion, I was shocked how bland the fashion was at Venice, I'd actually brought all my best outfits thinking I’d be competing with futuristic art freaks but ended up just wearing whatever I'd slept in the night before.
Maybe art people used to look different, but in Venice they pretty much just look like business men in odd shoes, which says it all, really. The only vaguely surprising outfit was worn by this guy, but I'm not sure what to make of a fake Marc Jacobs channeling teenage female H&M fan.