Last night new boy took me to an exhibition opening called "Crying Men" at Jay Jopling's White Cube in Hoxton Square. White Cube has, for four years, been THE uber-cool place for young trendy-somethings (like me!) to see and be seen. Yet sadly, until last night, I had never darkened it's doors.
Before we get onto the "art" can I first pay homage to "the suit"? To date I have only seen Jakester in T-shirts and jeans (and, granted, a bit less than that! Ha!) He's a bit of a Gap / Banana Republic boy. But last night he had come straight from work and well, it was a whole different story. Let me tell you - the suit definitely maketh the man! "Look at you! You look like a GQ model!" I exclaimed rather uncooly as we met at Old Street tube. Most of the male guests, like me, had opted for the Urban-Hoxton look (unwashed, unshaved, messy hair). But, apart from the fact that he's quite tall, Jake really stood out for all the right reasons. It amused me that the girls really trip over themselves for him - although I'm sure he is completely oblivious.
Ok...enough about my suit and Jake fetish. The art:
The opening was to showcase a new collection of celebrity portraits taken by Sam Taylor-Wood - celebrities like Robert Downey Jr, Paul Newman, Michael Madsen, Jude Law and Laurence Fishburn. The theme was related to the concept of "inverting masculine stereotypes" - all the portraits featured each of the actors crying. When Taylor-Wood wrote to the male celebs she omitted to mention that she intended to make them cry. It was only when she got them on the shoot that she told them of her plan. Apparently each of the actors was able to blub on command, with the exception of Clint Eastwood.
Jake and I work the room. Neither of us really know anyone there. Now I don't know if you have ever been to an exhibit opening before but there is this real pressure to be "arty" (more so when you're dating someone new.) By this I mean adopting a critical pose infront of art(doesn't hurt to wear a pair of black horn rimmed Alain Mikli's), spouting meaningless crap about technical composition and aesthetics. Think Camille Paglia ("I am now devoid of adjectives"). So for a while Jake and I dance around each other, offering up meaningless comments on each of the portraits, each trying to appear to the other "artistically enlightened".
After a couple of minutes it becomes apparent that neither of us really knows what we're talking about. Jake cuts straight through the bullshit by leaning in and whispering to me, "So shall I buy something? Shall I ask what the prices are?"
I fold my arms and give him a mock-disapproving stare (inside I'm deeply impressed - any kind of wealth does that to me. I was definitely a gold-digger in a former life). "You're just showing off now."
"No!" he replies wide-eyed, "I'm serious! They must be for sale."
I think "fuck it" and I ask him the really inappropriate question. "Exactly how much DO you earn?"
No, I'm not going to tell you what the answer was, but I will tell you this - I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing in PR when I could be working in financial law! And you know what pisses me off? He's only a few months older than me!!! How does that happen?? Apart from being, er, born a few months before me.
Anyway - he didn't have to buy anything because, like naughty girls on a school trip, we each stole an exhibition poster from the shop! Isn't it amazing how a few glasses of champagne can bring out the kleptomaniac in you?
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