Live Your Life Leave Your Mark

By: Saint Twenty
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Jean-Michel Basquiat painting at five in the morning. The figure rocking the hat is Maripol (read Serving Looks, Serving Maripol). She remains the style compliment I hold most dear, a huge statement as Anna Wintour herself approved of me (read The Elusive Anna Wintour). I never thought I’d be one degree of separation from Basquiat through multiple people, let alone meet either of the aforementioned women, but here I am living my wildest dreams. All because I did it my way, taking the road less travelled, guided by faith. Just like Jean-Michel. Something as simple as working in different restaurants, over job security keeping me at Blue Smoke for literal years changed everything. Ask yourself is the life you’re living a book worth reading (I live by this)? Are you wasting precious time on autopilot? What mark do you want to leave? Take baby steps to shake shit up. Photographer: Edo Bertoglio/Pop Art Trio

Meeting Tremaine Emory

By: Saint Twenty
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Serge Becker introduced me to a lot of people personally, including the iconic Maripol (read: Serving Looks, Serving Maripol) and Supreme’s creative director Tremaine Emory (then they’d sit in my section for me to serve them). Tremaine, Serge, and someone I can’t remember, came for dinner. When Serge introduced him I had NO idea who he was, or what he did. Tremaine was polite, jovial and instantly took a liking to me, complimenting my look. Perceptual, it was my style and swagger that made him guess I’m a native New Yorker.
“You from here aren’t you?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I could just tell. I’m a native too.”
“Ahhh that’s rare nowadays,” I replied.
“Yeah it is. Where’d you grow up?”
“The Upper East Side.”
“Oh wow. I’m from Jamaica Queens. You’ve been there before?”
“Yeah, to go to the airport.”
“Never to hang out?,” he asked.
“No, I mean…what would I really be doing over there, if I’m not going to the airport? It’s mad far and there’s not much to do…” I trailed off. Looking back I see why Serge wore a nervous expression, I kind of dissed where Tremaine came from. However my tone and candor sent Tremaine roaring with laughter.
“You right,” he said genuinely doubled over, laughing from his gut. Taking his cue the rest of them followed suit, myself included. Real talk there’s nothing going on in Jamaica Queens, for me to travel hours to hang out in a known ghetto. Like what…

Throughout the night he carried on conversation. He spoke to me as if I known him. I think he, like Serge, was happy that the greatness of New York’s old school, art, socialite, rock n’ roll, hip hop, cool kids, didn’t go extinct due to gentrification. The luminaries, the visionaries, that make this place great, are still being churned out, passing on the culture.
I found out Tremaine is major af during the pandemic, upon seeing him appear in photos with all these people. He left a great tip (unlike some), and I’m honored to have met him. Thank you for calling Kanye the coon out. He is gone, no longer a black leader, or idol, but a soulless vessel. He sold his to the devil, after joining that racist coven (Kardashian Jenner’s, Kekel Kardashian was real). He’s a completely different person now. May we mourn what was, while I destroy what is. Via: Eyes Mag

Who Is Serge Becker?

By: Saint Twenty
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Serge Becker is an integral figure in Manhattan nightlife. In the 80’s he started as a DJ with eclectic taste, being involved in both the punk and hip hop scene. Then he became the art director of legendary nightclub AREA, a major celebrity hotspot which filled the void of Studio 54’s closure. It’s just so crazy, growing up I admired AREA for it’s artistry in invitations and themes, so to work for the person behind it was surreal.
Joe’s Pub, La Esquina, The Box, Miss Lily’s, he’s directed videos for Nine Inch Nails and is now the creative director at the Museum Of Sex.
Personally, I think of him as an interactive artist, since I’ve seen the impact his designs at Miss Lily’s has on people; the way it affects their person, awakens, stirs, loosens something within. No one enters those spaces and leaves unchanged. Soho is easily my favorite: the record tables, record covers as wallpaper, smut plastered on the wall behind the service station, the difference between the front and back of the restaurant. This is why I was his favorite, don’t get me wrong he had a few, but I was most like him. That artsy, erudite, socialite, party, old school glamorous, scandalous, rock n’ roll, about the b.s, cool Manhattanite. A reminder to him that the splendor of New York hasn’t utterly vanished.

Serge is the one thing I miss most about Miss Lily’s. He saw me as a person, not a caricature. While he would ignore most people, literally not saying hi, he adored me. We talked about art, drugs, the social scene. One Christmas he literally brought his prime rib down just for me, completely ignoring Simi the bartenders attempts at conversation.
He didn’t assume anything about me, he asked.

On my birthday he sent shots, champagne and dessert to my party of 15. Probably one of my best birthdays yet, everyone had the best time, no one remembers it. All of us felt we were in a fever dream, probably because the bill was $750 and I kid you not, on GOD, there was $100 TOPS, TOPS, spent on food (not including endless free shots). I kept trying to order a meal, it just didn’t happen. My co-workers were stunned by our ability to drink like fish. We were wasted beyond belief. I got a text the next day from some Italian guy I met on the bathroom line, no recollection. He started off with an inside joke too…awkward af, I didn’t know what he was talking about.
Serge made sure to send me a list of his favorite movies on my birthday, since I was a film minor at one point and we loved movies. We loved art in general, but film was our thing.

Anna Wintour on the other hand abhors him. She’s the reason Miss Lily’s Soho doesn’t have a liquor license, selling soju and sake as substitutes. As head of the community board, her objection was due to Serge Becker’s involvement in establishments like The Box.

I opine something went down between Anna & Serge, crossing paths on the 80’s art scene. No one can convince me otherwise. Anna Wintour as an enemy is major though. Again this is where I met Mick Jagger, our regulars were celebrities. This place was the Studio 54 of restaurants. I saw Anna twice outside Lily’s, three times total in my life.

When I exited on terrible terms, my co-workers reported Serge was crestfallen. Thanks to the complicated nature of things I won’t go into, I had to leave him behind. But, I know he’s watching knowing he was right all along, I’m extraordinary. I’ll never forget our David Bowie moment (read Serving Looks,Serving Maripol), they were friends.

I’m fortunate to be woven into the tapestry of people I grew up revering. It was an honor working for Serge, even when he was playing mind games. Even when he was insanely OCD, like the time he came into Graceland complaining everything was a mess before an event. No one agreed.
“What’s this?”
“What?” Melody, another server and I say in unison.
He then proceeds to pull an entire iron out of nowhere, staring at us. It’s my belief that he planted it behind the couch as a test. Serge always knew I was a star, no one knew I’d be an icon though (as in I conned those hoes into incriminating themselves and emptying their pockets). There you have it the Serge Becker I’m constantly talking about. Via: Aleim Magazine & Gawker

Serving Looks, Serving Maripol

By: Saint Twenty
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Best fashion compliment of my life? Maripol, who I was stunned to meet in Graceland (a room covered wall to wall, top to bottom with photographs of Grace Jones, most taken by the aforementioned party) when Serge Becker introduced her. “You were just in The New York Times,” I blurted out leaving them astonished.

“Yeah,” she smiled slightly. We all went back to glum.

I continued setting up before making my way to the back dining room next door, turns out I was her server. For those not up to speed she created Madonna’s iconic Boy Toy look and styled Grace Jones. A legendary renaissance woman apart of a golden age of art from the 70’s-80’s, running in the most coveted social circles on the scene. Needless to say her standards were tip top bitch. And here I was fifteen minutes late in the first place, deciding to wear my Halloween costume for David Bowie who passed that day. Rocking a silk lavender jumpsuit, switching the scarf out for a black floral one, instead of the orange birds I originally donned. Tying it into a voluminous bow, that burst like a bouquet. “That’s a serious jumpsuit,” Serge commented earlier that evening, freaked out “I just dropped off flowers that exact color to Iman.” He stared incredulous by the coincidence, because coincidences don’t really exist, only synchronicity. Now, under Maripol’s appraising eye the pressure was on in more ways than one and no matter how hard I tried to please her service wise, she was unimpressed. Never enough water, never enough ice, the drinks were slow. Testing me, I knew.

I just kept going, complaining at the service bar that she might actually hate me. After a grueling effort the night ended. “Nice outfit,” Maripol said, leaving a generous tip.
“Thank you, it’s my homage to Bowie.”
“It’s beautiful.”

After being hawked and her whispering to the blonde next to her, I swore she hated everything about me. But it was option two, she was giving me shit because she liked me too much. This is a moment I will savior forever, fortunate enough just to meet her. What was the best fashion compliment you’ve ever received? Via: Documenting Fashion & Strip Project