I woke up Friday around noon-ish to discover that my photo of Kanye’s surprise performance at the Boom Boom Room had taken the internet by storm. Well, actually, it only ended up on the Huffington Post and some minor other blogs, but I’m not complaining. I threw on a Damir Doma/Ann Demeulemeester/Augusta (respectively: shirt and pants; blazer; boots) combo and was out the door to meet my good friend Gerard Estadella, the fashion and nightlife photographer/DJ from Barcelona. It took us about 30 minutes to finally catch a taxi to Milk Studios. Foreshadowing to Paris Fashion Week? Stay tuned to find out!

We arrived at Milk and headed to the Costello Tagliapietra show. For some reason, a lady with a headset sat me in the front row. The show started, ended, and then Andre Leon Talley fell off his chair and caused a big commotion. Pretty solid start to the day! After that, I headed to another floor of Milk Studios to see Tim Hamilton Redux. Finally, a men’s collection I could take photos of and write about! Unfortunately for me (and them), I could barely tell the models from the guests, because they were traipsing around outside of their cages boundaries, drinking, playing with their phones, etc. I’m sure being a male model is extremely difficult, but can please you stand still for the one hour you were hired for? Photoless—sorry, Editor [Ed. note: Still not comprehending how he’s blaming it on the models, but whatever]— I headed home to prepare for the evening.

It was Fashion’s Night Out, and I had three different DJ gigs within the span of a couple of hours. Gig #1: Paul Stuart in-store, a massive 60,000 square foot store on Madison Avenue selling mainly classic cut English-style suits, and they’ve been there since the 1930s. There were lots of very sophisticated older gentlemen walking around in beautiful suits , talking to clients, and even occasionally singing along to the music. To them, I probably looked like a goth alien in my Ann Demuelemeester blazer with asymmetrical lapels.

At around 10pm, I start the harrowing trek back downtown, in the direction of the Soho Grand Hotel for a FNO afterparty (Gig #2). Naturally, it was nearly impossible to find a taxi. After about 20 minutes, I basically jumped in front of an off-duty cab at a red light and insisted he take me downtown. I told him I’d give him an extra five bucks. He told me he would take me for the regular price. He was either in a giving mood, or he thought I was a TLC agent tempting him with a bribe. It took forever to get into SoHo and the streets were PACKED with people. I had to get off at Houston Street, as cars could barely pass through West Broadway due to all of the Fashion’s Night Out revelers. You would think that some of these people had never seen the inside of a store before.

I finally made it to the Soho Grand to find it already packed with people— inside and out— with a huge line outside. I squeezed to the decks, played for an hour, and then had to haul ass to Don Hill’s (Gig #3), which I’d heard was already a shit show like everywhere else on the island. Don Hill’s was hosting a performance by Iggy and The Stooges. I was DJing with The Misshapes right after Iggy’s set. At 12:30am, Iggy came onto stage. People went mental. The entire crowd seemed to coalesce into a heaving, throbbing psychopath with a hundred arms in the air. It was an ugly sight in the most amazing way. I stayed near the front of the stage for the first three songs (which included Search & Destroy, a rarity for his live sets). Watching the people in the crowd, I didn’t think anyone was going to stay at the club after Iggy stopped playing. Luckily, I was wrong, and when Iggy finished playing at 1:30am, it seemed like everyone had just begun to party. The joint was jammed to the walls until we finished DJing at 4. Good night, fashion’s night out.