the young people's professor

As I make my way into the building my body adjusts to the thick, warmth and sweat of the inside of the loft---a sharp juxtaposition from the icy, chilly weather outside. “You’re walking tonight Frank, right?” Neiman Marcus Escada asks me as he looks for my name on the V.I.P. list. “No, not tonight, I’m just here to chill” I tell him as my eyes peek past him and into the other room where I can see the crowd scattered about.

“Nice space” I think to myself as I take in the buildings funky, fresh interior: dusty-brown, exposed brick walls and soft Soho-setting studio lights. The lights against the brick walls look like moon-lighting. I can tell the Escadas have worked hard to set the mood for this event. Making my way down two steps that lead into the main room where the ball is being held—a large studio space with an elevated black runway in the center—I scan across the crowd to see what its giving. The kids are in the building. Lil Rodney Aga, Wylick Mugler, Rodney Milan, Andre Chanel, Tony Milan, Milan Blahnik, Kedon Milan, Kimora Allure, the and Chicago Mizrahi’s, Herrera’s, Ebony’s and Manolo-Blahnik’s are all here. I smell familiar fragrances by Versace, Calvin Klein, and Carolina Herrera and see every imaginable form of self-fashioning: afro-punk, club kid, sleek sophistication, bangee boi, and 1930s Harlem Renaissance regalia to name just a few. The main room is well packed and the secluded bathroom downstairs is already a scandal. I know this ball will be many things.

At 4:05 AM I feel the DJ’s beats beginning to swell and hear the voice of commentator Neiman Marcus: “Alright—are ya’ll ready for Grand March? Lets get this function started.”

And with that, the ritual begins. Another Saturday night/Sunday morning of queer, black, house-ball fever.

This is the House of Escada Ball 2006…