Photo: Piotr Redlinski for The New York Times GLIDING Waitresses in Rubin Chapelle dresses at Takashi Murakami's party.
via NYTimes Fashion Diary:
Amid the Bust, the Boom Boom
By GUY TREBAY
Published: September 18, 2009
SHOULD you ever happen to run into the Japanese ultra-genius pop star artist and handbag designer Takashi Murakami at the Boom Boom Room of the Standard Hotel, on the eve of his latest art opening, it may help if you have a few questions prepared.
Sample question: Do you find that conducting the whirlwind jet-setting life of an ultra-genius pop star artist and handbag designer leaves you time for quiet consultation with your muse?
Or: What role does fate play in fame and global recognition? Do some ultra-genius pop star artist handbag designers just get lucky, while others wind up making Hendrick’s martinis behind a bar?
Or: Who styles your topknot? It’s kind of cute.
The one thing you should probably never inquire of a person of Mr. Murakami’s stature, on the eve of his exhibition at the Larry Gagosian Gallery, on the final night of Fashion Week, in the Boom Boom Room of the Standard Hotel, locus of all things flossy and urgent and cosmopolitan for the last seven days (and, looking forward, one might predict for the following 90), is what he thinks makes a party fun.
If you present such a banal query, well, be prepared for a look of smoldering incomprehension, a coldly evidenced distaste for breaches in the protocols of global celebrity. You must be ready to experience a displeasure that could atomize you, reduce you to an integer of laboring-class nothingness, a mote of dust.
“Do you know who you are talking to?” a Murakami acolyte will ask you in a tone that is equal parts astonishment and horror.
“Do you know who this person is?” the acolyte will repeat.
And then Mr. Murakami himself will give you a slow burn and mutter, “I don’t like bars,” and then another acolyte will soothingly murmur, “Let’s sit down,” and then the Murakami coterie will commence to fan the pop star artist and handbag designer with flattery, much as drones in a hive do a queen bee, so his core does not melt.