We awoke a bit foggy from last night’s Ferrari Bashbut soldiered on. The press credentialing process was a major hassle where the veracity of online media was questioned by clueless folks at the registration desk. We finally justified our existence and hit the floor of the mammoth Miami Convention Center where contemporary art was being sold by the pound.
We spied photographer Patrick McMullan brown nosing rich socialite/collectors and turned the tables by photographing the consummate suck up. Nobody does it better than Paddy smarming his way through the art hungry rich folk. There was blood in the water as art sharks like David Koch vied for the prime pieces.
The first party was at the Bass Museum where the bubbly ran out too quickly. We caught the end of the Bally Shoe Fete at the W Hotel. Then it was onto Soho House where we were welcomed at the Flavorpill bash. The Louis Vuitton party thrown by Wendi Murdoch was not so welcoming with a phalanx of goons barring the door. Then it was back to the Shelbourne Hotel for Suzanne Bartsch‘s extravaganza featuring the usual chicks with dicks decked out in Fabu regailia. Our night ended at the Raleigh pool where Mocca Gagosian Gallery staged a multi-media presentation that recalled acid trips we barely remember. Then everything went blank as the ruffies that were slipped into my Perrier kicked in.