Inauguration: Of Queens and Goddess

After nearly a year of hiatus/ sabbatical, I am finally back. Lets start with a bang, shall we?

I happened to get my hands on a VIP passes for Tribumove’s 10-year anniversary celebration. Having Virgin as one of their main sponsors, of all places, it was held at the Galerie du Carrousel du Louvre. Yes, indeed it’s the venue for every season’s prêt-à-porter shows but then again, regal it may be, a gaggle of queers and their hags does not really constitute a glamorous affair. Even though there were some who seem to put on some effort (yours sincerely included), on a Thursday evening, most of them seem to have arrived straight from their office. Spotted were a predictable assortment of LV and Longchamp, one or two Chanel –especially noted was the one carried by the madame already d’un certain âge who kept elbowing me during the mini concert, a couple of Hermes' H belts, and now being the bi-annual Sales weekend, bountiful of Gucci.

Due to the dreadful weather, I was wearing a red and white striped hooded bomber jacket by McQ-Alexander McQueen over a white v-neck t-shirt with a grande décolletage and slim cut black jeans, accessorized with last season’s DG buckle Dolce & Gabbana’s belt (not that I want to be passé, but my wallet is never in accord with me). I am falling more and more in love with my jacket. I have not taken a picture of me in, so I have to make do with the one taken from McQ’s site. Love the quirkiness of the stripes (see how the white cuffs binds in the salmon of the sleeves to the jacket?) and finally, a hooded jacket that is properly made. You have no idea how hard is it to find a hoodie that is just right, which talking about it merits a post by itself.

Anyway, I digress. I am supposed to talk about the soirée. Drinks wise, champagne –lots of it (served not even in plastic flutes, but plastic cups… a bit cheapo, if you ask me. It’s the flute that makes the difference between having champagne and bubbly fermented grape juice.), Svedka Vodka, Chivas Regal, Ricard Prêt à boire and Carslberg, some sort of energy drink which I can’t somehow recall the name were the choices. Food wise, we had buns either salty or sweet (same thing with sugar chips on them) and topless beefcakes who were serving the drinks. I don’t care much for the bartenders… which muscle group is bulging is irrelevant, just be efficient and serve up the drinks already!!! 3 slow bartender and loads of thirsty hungry people (make that a liquid diet, with the party starting at 7.30pm, that was probably dinner for many –which was my case) is not a pretty picture.

The highlight of the evening was of course the mini concert featuring some local artists and of course the ravishing Sophie Ellis-Bextor. She came on and sang 3 songs, starting with her latest single, Me and My Imagination, which is mediocre, but quite catchy nonetheless,

Get Over You

and finally her dance anthem, Murder on the Dancefloor.

I am sorry for the horrendous quality of the clips. Being a bag-less fag with tight jeans that night, I had nothing but my mobile phone with limited memory space with me. Albeit the so-so sound system and the echo of the vast marble surfaces, she gave a stellar performance that got the crowd moving.

Looking at the triangular bump rising from the floor and the partying crowd, maybe it was due to too much champagne without anything lining the stomach, a funny thought coasted by. Anyone who is a Da Vinci Code buff would know that the secret location of the Holy Grail, final resting place of the sacred feminine is located right underneath La Pyramide Inversée, the inverted pyramid. If it were really true that the sacred feminine is buried right underneath, she would have turned in her sarcophagus, knowing that a bunch of men who are not into the ‘sacred union of male and female’ are partying and celebrating the fabulousness of men-to-men fornication right next to her tomb.

-The only way to resist temptation is to yield to it.