Last night at Crash Mansion: Laces' one-year anniversary

Categories: events


Getting downstairs was like licking a Tootsie Pop and discovering tuna inside -- a whole lot of work for a prize that makes you want to puke.

Yes, All City is run by a girl. Now get over it.

This is only momentarily relevant because we're about to tell you how bored we were at the first-year anniversary of the female-sneaker boutique Laces last night. Granted, we were so miserable that we ditched at 10:30 -- and perhaps the Crash Mansion event turned into some amazingly off-the-chain throwdown that we totally missed. (All signs screamed no.) But our annoyance with the Tuesday-evening event had nothing to do with gender. We like Laces. We like sneakers. We like ladies and sneakers. And if the party had been even tangentially about women and sneakers, we would've found something good to say about it. But, ah, nope.

According to the online flier in yesterday's post, there was an RSVP for the Laces event. Turned out that RSVP list was purely fictional. Instead, it was a line of 100 people asking each other if this was the line for the RSVP list. Yes, suckers! People just kept getting annoyed and left.

Forty-five minutes later, we finally got into the door around 9:30. Then we got searched, felt, patted down by club security. Fine, whatever, we ain't got no guns. But then there was a mandatory coat check -- mandatory, as in a bouncer actually forces you to check your coat before entering the event. And checking your coat at this free RSVP-only event costs $4. Whatever. If there'd been a banging pawty happening downstairs, we would've forgotten the hassle and chalked it up to crappy club rules. But getting downstairs was like licking a Tootsie Pop and discovering tuna inside -- a whole lot of work for a payoff that makes you want to puke.

Downstairs was basically a roomful of 200 dudes strutting around in their brightly colored hoodie-sneaker get-ups, like angry peacocks. Then there was a scally-capped DJ. His best jam: JJ Fad's "Supersonic." (Otherwise, boring.) There were people pressed up against an empty bouncer-manned runway, a walkway that was allegedly supposed to hold a 9:30pm-scheduled lady-kicks fashion show. There was a wall sheet of logos hung as a photo backdrop by the exit, like this was the MTV Music Awards -- and on the way out, we should take turns posing in front of the sponsor list. The runway was still empty at 10:30. Looking impatient throughout the crowd was a smattering of pretty ladies. Mostly in pumps. What was the point of this again?


Smile, you've won nothing!

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