Last Wednesday, I opted not to go to the illustrious Art Fair Vernissage. That’s French for “varnishing,” a term used for the preview of an art affair before the formal opening. It’s not like I don’t appreciate fine art—it’s because I DO appreciate art that I decided not to go to the vernissage. My reason for not going this year is because I know full well that people are completely smashed by 6pm, either from champagne at the Lee Wolter thing or vodka at the Absolut Lounge. Somehow, varnishing just brings out the CLASSY (stress that vowel and those final double consonants) side of Hong Kong’s crème de la crème.

Imagine going to an art museum, but instead of an atmosphere of peace and quiet for one to contemplate on the cultural significance or sociopolitical connotations of an acrylic painting or a sculpture of mixed media that struck your fancy, you get gallingly, infuriatingly LOUD drunkards coming up to you every nine seconds going: “Heeeeeyyyyy how’s it going~~?!?! Haven’t seen you for so long~~~! What have you been up to and whatdoyouthinkaboutthispieceHUH?!?! HaveyouBOUGHTanythingyet?!?”

Perhaps it’s just because I’m such a social moth and I know too many people. Maybe now I’ll know fewer.

How many times do I have to hear some asinine white girl comment on how “abstract” a piece of art is (D’UH. It’s MODERN and POST-MODERN ART—everything IS abstract) or a forlorn Chinese guy go: “I don’t get it…” SORRY, your laughable Hong Kong education trained you to value numbers instead of deciphering aesthetic combinations of colors and patterns, so you’ll never be able to enjoy beautiful things for the rest of your life. And arrogant d-bags going: “I can totally paint this.” BPSTFU. Um, no, reality check: YOU CAN’T. Not even when you’re pissed on cheap Chardonnay at a painting party.

I feel like I’ve been repeating myself for three whole freaking years. Google “Nightlife Installs Himself at the Art Fair” from 2010 and “Art and Acupuncture” from 2011.

Over on Kowloon side, the Alexander Wang opening party at his new 1,600-square-foot store in Harbour City was a much more gentle and enriching event that evening. Do I really need to tell you who Alexander Wang is? If you don’t know who he is, I don’t really need to talk to you. Fine, I’ll resume my editorial responsibility—Wang is an American Chinese fashion designer known for his simple, minimalist, androgynous womenswear.

Mr. Wang flew in himself, was friendly, über-generous with the photo ops (all hugs and smiles) and looking very… hmm, I don’t really have an English adjective for him. He was very “xiuli” (handsome/elegant/debonair/refined/urbane). The North American translation would just be “effeminate.” To offset the whole androgynous fashiony xiuli-ness, DJ Wordy—flown in from Beijing—was spinning 90s hip-hop shit all night, probably making all these Hypebeast people happy. WORD. And the scallops and the chicken satays made all the freeloaders happy. TRUTH. Quite an awesome party on Canton Road.

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