Fashion's Night Out: A Minor Ordeal [FNO]

You know how Hieronymus Bosch portrayed hell? Okay, picture, adding Olsen Twins and three dudes in a box dressed as Ken dolls, and you have a good feeling last night Fashion's Night Out karaoke at Barneys.

Let me first say that I was totally psyched for this. I did not care so much about awards from Proenza Schouler or Row, but I love karaoke and liked the idea of communing with my fellow fashionistas than a little Kate Bush.

I somehow forgot that Fashion's Night Out combines all the worst things in the world that mocks you with promises of free booze, and is instead a fangs-Bared frenzy of long lines, short lists and limited quantities. It makes you feel bad for about ten different ways: mad at yourself for buying into the hype, for all others to buy into the hype, the officious bouncers for you to feel bad for society, the false inclusion and real exclusivity, and several other requirements for uncomfortable shoes and bad music, which all come back to you, there could have been sitting at home look old White Collar episodes. I would be recruited my girlfriend in the evening and wearing a felt hat. We pre-gamed at Banana Republic, where he gunned down a hill with Prosecco and in addition to discounts, the proferred chocolate on sticks. Next we drank Asahi and ginger ale at Gap; accidentally heard Train, on 5th Avenue, ate a mini Croque Monsieur at Henri Bendel, danced a little on Swarovski as an exhibition at Bergdorf's, skipped their karaoke competition and , oh yes, so this:

Spirits ran high: the streets teeming with fashionistas, aspiring fashionistas and large lots of teens from Long Island and New Jersey. as if a team had won, unless we just celebrated shopping and ourselves. After stopping for a quick crepe at La Bonne Soup, hied our way to Barneys. I had known it would be a shit show, but Jeez Louise. The karaoke, we were told, was on the 5th Floor But when we got there (after having passed this way, doll maker, the celebrity appearances and ping-pong competition) was not only half the escalator down, but Floor 5 was full and they would not t let anyone in. I am a bad wheedler but Kate Bush was at stake. I tried five security guards and three alternative routes, which I thought was clever, but obviously was not because guards were stationed near them all. I felt somewhat better, even worse when I saw one of my favorite fashion personalities to suffer the same indignity. I broke down in despair or elsewhere outside the men's room. Finally, after about 45 minutes of this, we managed to get in, I am not proud to tell you to sprint through a staff only passage while manager's back was turned. Then we were in the middle of it, and if I believed in hell, that would glimpse of it be enough to out me on the straight and narrow.

It was bullied. And strangely full of children. All were near-hysterical and the press of bodies was overwhelming and regularly guards would yell at people and push us back as we were May Day protesters or something. Seeing something was out of the question, let alone getting close to the mic. I hated humanity.

At one point, I think the Olsens reality because all turned out and started shouting and waving phones. So karaoke began, although this only added to the chaos. It evolved rapidly to Idol -style, people would only get one chance to sing a couple of minutes - which was I to Sadie Stein, the author of this post, at Sadie @ Jezebel. com .