Elegantly Wasted Circa 1960s Halloween Special

I’ll get right to the point here: on Halloween weekend, Elegantly Wasted’s weekly party at Vault paid homage to 1960s fashion while directly overhead, an organization known as SMack! (emphasis on the S and the M clearly intended) held a Halloween celebration of an entirely different sort. So, dressed merrily in skin-tight bellbottoms and polyester, I made my way to the corner of Houston and Essex where, before descending to Vault, I encountered an unheavenly assemblage of goths, dominatrices and other grim individuals awaiting their admission to Element, Vault’s upstairs neighbor.



In contrast to the menacing dress code being enforced at Element, Vault was all flower-powered heterogeneity. Barney Rubble and Fred Flintstone made an appearance in a clever tribute to ’60s television, as well as Lily’s anachronistic friend Kyoko whose little white bowler hat we decided looked slightly more celebrate-the-victorious-Allied-troops than bring-the-boys-home-from-Vietnam.



Before long, however, a stream of leather-clad émigrés began making their descent down the stairs. What had we here? Apparently, a decision had been made to open the staircase between the two venues, allowing a free flow of Halloween revelers from one party to the other. One of the first pilgrims, a chubby witch with fishnet stockings, a coffin-shaped handbag and a lollipop in her mouth, followed close behind a young couple chained together at the neck. A science experiment unfolded: what chemical reaction would result as these newcomers decked out in their house of horrors best interacted with all of us ’60s throwbacks?



Now, I’ve seen a lot in my six years exploring the nightlife of this iniquitous capital. But the sea of gotho-sado-masochism surging upstairs at SMack!, which bills itself as NYC’s premier fetish party, caught me off-guard. Everyone upstairs was dressed in black. Chimeras with ram’s horns curling out of their dreadlocks stared at my dandy attire through vacant white pupils. A sturdy man in leather rotated a spit to which a young woman was strapped horizontally (like a roasting pig, but without the fire). I lasted only five minutes before I decided to put an end to my peek upstairs (though I ventured back a while later, just in time for a depressing display involving two topless she-devils, some hot wax and a strap-on dildo of a not inconsequential size).



Downstairs, Elegantly Wasted was getting lively. Our guests from SMack! were digging the electronic stylings of Elegantly Wasted’s resident DJ, Velizar?, and crowded the dance floor. I marveled at the strange circumstances that brought such two unlikely crowds together on the dance floor: hippies mixed easily with harpies, afros and devil’s horns bobbing in unison. Once I got away from the Marilyn Manson soundtrack, I saw they were such a sexy and fun bunch. I met a lovely Cleopatra who asked me if my notepad was part of my costume. Yes, I responded, I’m covering the Vietnam War protests. “Are you kidding?” she laughed. “Dude, this is a fetish party.”


© Justin Lynch 2007