The world is better off when I’m in love. It’s not that I choose to be the light in a villainous situation, or that only your worst nightmares turn me on; rather I am sensitive to the hostile visions of the world, the ones that are too mean for you. Here is what I mean:
At the Metropolitan Republican Club the masses flow the way rocky rivers do, surrounded by Antifa. What bullshit amount of attention to give old white ladies dressed in Lord & Taylor, but then I heard the protesters had a name mixed into their chants: Gavin McInnes. He was the reason we were there as well, so they recorded us as we walked in which I enjoyed, wearing Helmut Lang from head to toe. They tried to make us feel ashamed but obviously they read Vice too—
The four of us sat in the front row of a mezzanine that looks out on the audience. The room was relatively small, while Gabby and I were big. You have to understand the massive pedestal we were on: two tall peanut-colored 22 year olds sitting on the raised thrones of Bohemia, the sibling royals of Egypt refusing to clap or laugh over a sea of Greek frat bros. Oh! It’s wonderful to drink white wine and disagree with everyone. We were actually so entertained. Every despicable thing McInnes said was a new thought none of our friends could have, Gabby fantasized about him doing something that could shock her, I squeezed my boyfriend’s hand after every joke so he knew I didn’t laugh because I understood.
Even with a correspondent’s hand over my leg McInnes felt his act was threatened if he didn’t pay respects to his mixed-race monarchs.
“I don’t think I’m very amusing to these two.” The world is bitter, “What are you guys, the wonder-twin Antifa spies?”
Close, except we were too stoic for that. Everyone had already been laughing and looking at us anyway, so we held our chins where they had been, above everyone, and said nothing. She and I know how to deal with mean. My boyfriend’s hand let go of mine which turned me on.
Two men below us wore those red MAGA hats you hate, well many of them did, but these two had to egg it on with fucking Antifa and a predator stare. One of them had prisoner face tattoos, the other one was a 2009 guido. As if we shared one brain we finally put our chins down to taunt them with our big black eyes-- our superpower, not moving a cell.
The hour ended on a high note, the grandmaster Hipster blessing everyone as they prepared to belly the wind, his hand pointing to the door like a groomed Moses parting the sea, leading his Israelites into the mass of protesting screams. You could tell that for the whole time we were there they never stopped, it was us that they were feening to eat. And what of it? My logic was that of Rihanna dismissing her paparazzi. It felt good, but then halfway down the block my boyfriend turned around ready to engage.
No one said anything to him, but I could tell he believed someone had. There’s such little depth in being a public figure, your mind starts to hallucinate this person you put out as real, as decisive. Most times it’s exciting but this time I just wanted to go to the afterparty and do K--
“The train isn’t that way.” The world is cruel, “and nobody cares about you.”
The way down from E 83rd street was strange, some of the Antifa protesters were also on the same car with us, two brown us are more to see than two white them. They didn’t hear us either, we even said McInnes a little; could we really be so safe?
But then the next day we heard the news. 9 Proud Boys had been charged with assault and rioting for beating the absolute shit out of a group of Antifa. Pictures were released of the two who started the fight, their mean eyes unchanged but still weaker than Gabby and I’s. The world is good, oh man! I gave my boyfriend a big kiss on the cheek, because I was more powerful. Then a week later The Guardian: Proud Boys Founder Gavin McInnes Quits Extremist Far-Right Group. And so it was, the world was better off.
12/3/19 8:00PM