I finally got it together enough to get down to Wall Street yesterday and witness history! I was pretty amped. I woke up and had totally broke out of my depression -- it was insane-feeling (manic? oh boy) (I remain undiagnosed) -- and was watching the news and just felt … overcome with the need to go see shit go down! Because yesterday was a crazy day: arrests, blood and gore, the five-oh in riot gear (at least on the news), and a generally sexy feeling of extra-disquiet and unrest.
Usually the only Wall Street business I'm concerned with is that of the fictional firm of Pierce and Pierce:
Murders and Executions! HA.
...but OWS has spoken to something in me. Mainly that I want New York to fucking riot and get tear-gassy! I wanna see all the stylish kids in the riot, like in the Libertines song "Time For Heroes." How I cherish you, Pete Doherty!
But. By the time I got down there -- I slogged through the East Village, Soho and Chinatown for the 25 minute walk in the clammy November rain (I missed a G'N'R concert last night, incidentally, devastatingly) listening to “Judas,” Babyshambles, Britney Spears (“I–I–I WANNA GO – OH-OH ALL THE WAY–AY–AY”) -- it was about noon, and it was wet and weak. I guess people weren’t out in full effect because of the weather at that particular time.
Fine, I actually stopped a few places first. OK, so in Soho, in this storefront window of some art space, was this:
Naked people! Playing cards around a table. The dudes have their underpants on in the photo above, but that’s because they slipped them on before I could take a picture of their gnarly high art dicks. But everyone was pretty naked for a while. I was intrigued! Not intrigued enough to ask the creepy crowd of mainly men what was going on, but intrigued enough to take a picture on my deathy digital camera. JOURNALISM: yes (no).
But back to #OWS. OK, so I made my way downtown and first, I went shopping. I couldn’t help it! Am I the one percent? Oh man. But in New York there is this store called -- confusingly because of the real estate company by the same name -- Century 21, a designer discount emporium. It makes the loathsome Bed, Bath and Beyond feel like fucking Sandals by comparison, and generally is a place best conquered on loads of Vyvanse boosted with chewed up bits of Adderall every sixteen minutes.
Obviously I could not get enough of it in college, at which time I bought a new pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs pumps for $99 once a week because I was a Teen Vogue beauty intern and thought that my shoes would make or break my publishing career in the Condé Nast building. And I guess it sort of did. Make me, that is.
Anyway, I’m off Adderall now (as of …. a week ago, once again officially?) and so discount shopping is hugely less appealing. But. I am not often down in the Financial District, and so the siren song of the shoe department sang to me and I answered it, and wound up buying THESE:
Givenchy! $250. They’ll look awesome as soon as I get them filthy.
Anyway, then I smooshed them in my bag and guiltily skulked off to Occupy Wall Street. It was, as I said, pretty tame. A guy told me I was beautiful though, which I was definitely NOT looking yesterday (not hating on myself -- just see the picture above), so I guess all the people there really are as horny as they say.
There was a lot of chanting and drum circling and soggy cardboard signs and some pretty cute girls:
The cops everywhere looked bemused. It was not an overwhelmingly powerful experience, truth be told. I can’t believe I missed it when it was a Bonnaroo village Hooverville shantytown -- there is nothing more that I love than a tent! I should have gone down there weeks earlier, crawled into tents, handed out beauty products (just to be pointless), filmed saucy interviews for xoJane.com!
But instead, you and xoJane just get this:
I’m the worst reporter ever. Here are a few more:
This is when I bring in a beauty product tie-in to further degrade not only myself, but everything noble about the movement! No, I love Occupy Wall Street. I may have been born vaguely rich, but remember, I hate my rich Republican dad. So I’m a diehard punk at heart. Yes, I was carrying a Balenciaga bag, but it was disgusting. I usually let my friends write in magic marker all over them.
Anyway, Bond No. 9, one of the chicest and best perfume brands there is, makes a Wall Street fragrance. Bond No. 9, as you recall, makes scents inspired by New York neighborhoods, and while downtown didn’t smell like much yesterday, I promise you that this gorgeous perfume does smell excellent:
Though technically I haven’t smelled it. I just know that everything from Bond smells CRAZY good! And the bottles are so glamorous. So Republicans and one percenters, this description lifted lazily from the website is for you:
The scent of money: the ultimate turn on. The world's first securities parfum: Dollars and scents never smelled so good. A cool, zesty, spicy androgynous career scent, laden with a portfolio of brisk citrus, marine, and herbal notes.
Fragrance Notes: Sea kale, cucumber, lavender, ambergris, vetiver. Essential Elements: Ebony bottle patterned with multiples of the Bond No. 9 token; Genderless scent with strong masculine notes.
Uh huh. Sounds about right. Like any of you reading this are going to buy it anyway!
There's also a $95 Wall Street candle "for savvy traders and investors of both genders:"
So add that to your Christmas lists, baby Batemans.
What are your thoughts on Occupy Wall Street? Are you into it? I’m so psyched when shit goes down. During the London riots, I was so jealous. New York doesn’t really riot ever; it’s too much of a police state. Not sexy. I want it to get real!
P.S. Oh, and I also found THIS:
YES! WU TANG FOREVER!
Cat's on Twitter; WOOOOO! (TANG!)