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
