The Flower Shop

First up, how did you guys meet?

R We actually met at high school, blur many years later we decided to partner up in the middle of a strange Miami Art Basel trip 3 years ago.

Why the name?

R In small towns, The Flower Shop is traditionally where you got all the gossip, the inside word around town. So we wanted to create the same thing, you make friends, share stories and that's a community built around it. Also, a lot of things designed in here are contributions and collaborations with friends, so we're trying to build a local community that will leave people with a good story at the end of the day.

You’ve only been open a few weeks but your basement has already developed a reputation for being “a man cave” despite your name being The Flower Shop. What's the story?

D We would like to think of it as a hangout spot, not a man cave!

R I'd like to think that the flower shop is a lot of things to a lot of people.

The interior screams “home comforts” and there is clearly a specific vision here. How did you design the space in a very specific way without it coming off as a novelty place?

D We were meticulous and frankly obsessed with the design and deco process but never cautious or worried about it feeling like too much of a novelty.

R Yeah, I agree. As we designed it we broke down the place section by section, running with a gut feeling. We wanted something homey and safe, a place that reminded you of your home. We like the idea of places that we grew up around in Australia like pubs, people's basements, house parties, grandma's house and we put that all together. Once we shared all our ideas for this space we always brought it back to "what would you do if it was in your home?". Every design element was laid out on the table as we went along and decisions were made based off of the idea of staying really true to the certain eras that we referenced, which was very much instinctual. A lot of it felt almost ugly but once it all came together it's charming. Luckily.

It feels “Old-school Americana” but you’re all Australian. Where did that idea come from?

D A lot of inspiration came from mid-western, 70s America. Our main buzzwords were nostalgia, comfort and cheeky when thinking of the design, I think all of those translate internationally.

R We were trying to create a place that is an escape from New York, something that didn't necessarily need to feel like you're in New York. A lot of these places are designed to be for New York but a lot of is living here are like orphans in this city but everyone can relate to their local pub etc. You would be surprised how many great old style pubs and bars still exists in Australia and any Aussie readers will realize that we took some inspiration from old RSL and Bowling clubs. Even my grandpa's best friend had a basement just like The Flower Shop!

I read that you want The Flower Shop to be a place people can go to if they don’t want to queue, be on a list, DJs, doormen etc - zero pretentious. Why does that work for some places and why do you think not having it will work here?

D We lean on our food, ambiance and our base crowd of friends and clients to help us ensure it's a great venue. Above all, we rely on ourselves/each other to make sure it's the best in every way. From a strategic perspective, we just want to create a timeless spot for the next ten years that people will just come - like The Spotted Pig.

R We share the idea of having our own version of "Cheers". Simply, this is a place for people to come and feel at home in. A local joint for everyone. We learned that while all of (the above) does work, it doesn't last long. It's a cool thing for a second (*inverted commas around cool) but we also know how it can work against you and so we just wanted to do something totally different. At the end of the day - and hopefully, this resonates in the press we do - it's a restaurant/bar. We're not trying to be a hotspot or anything like that. Unpretentiousness. Bring your kids, bring your grandma. The doors are open to everyone.

All three of you come from different hospitality backgrounds (Dylan = Ruby's), Ronnie (Never, Never / Up and Down). How did you come up with a concept that you could all agree on for the entire process?

D Firstly, we're all at the right age and time of our lives to agree that this is the sort of thing we want to do, the launching point for hopefully quite a few other things. We all agreed based on where we are in life and what we think the public wants. Also, it was clear to us what we felt was missing from the city's food/beverage scene and we asked ourselves: "what kind of venue do we personally want to go to?". We learned that being business partners is like being married, there will be disagreements along the way and you have to be sensitive to the other person's feelings, needs and be willing to compromise.

R Exactly. We made a list of what we personally would love to have in a venue. From the restaurant to good wine, to the fish tank, to the pool table and the fireplace. Some stuff didn't make the cut but we covered most of our list. We also created this place with all of our friends in mind.

You’re all Australian and part of this wave of Aussie-owned restaurants and coffee shops that cater to the “avocado on toast, smoothie bow” set yet The Flower Shop menu is different, helmed by Chef Michael Hamilton. Why did you decide to do that when surely it would make more sense to go with what people will definitely order?

D Food is a huge passion for all of us and the main inspiration behind our partnership. We're not trying to reinvent the wheel, it's about creative twists on classics and familiar food that best represents us and this space. Actually, the food program is more sophisticated that it appears. The beef and chicken is 100% natural and ethically raised our seafood is line caught in Long Island. All of our produce is from small farms in California or upstate New York.

R With our very talented Chef and partner Michael Hamilton, we had an opportunity to do things a little differently so we took it. Everyone knows where to get an avocado on toast, but not everyone has a secret ramen on the menu and a cheeseburger with black garlic mayo.

Most “bars” or nightlife spots don’t put a lot of effort into the food so it’s nice to see a marriage of good food, good night-spot. Do you think there is more a trend towards people eating first then going out?

D I have noticed in recent years that New Yorkers are keen to start the night early instead of waiting for the clubs to open. There seems to be a more sophisticated approach to going out.

R I think it's been happening forever in New York. Nearly every time you go for a dinner you ends up out somewhere, whether it's karaoke or a club and some of the bigger nightlife venues have embraced that whole dinner and a party thing. Our version is just much more laid back! Also, it goes back to the idea of the classic pub. Once you knock off work you can bring your girl for a meal or a bunch of the boys, have some food and start. We definitely want to encourage that early dinner crowd.

If The Flower Shops sits between a restaurant and a late-night spot, do you think this marks a new genre/new type of place to go to? Maybe a place where people don’t necessarily have to pick one or the other?

D This is the essence of the venue, a multifaceted place that is kind of a one-stop shop.

R In my opinion, this goes back to proper pubs. We can't forget that in places like U.K. or Australia the local pub is a place for people to meet up, eat, drink, take a date, celebrate a birthday or just have a beer at the bar and make a few friends along the way. The Flower Shop pays homage to those places.

You’ve said that you want a mixed crowd of people, does that reflect in your menu and drinks choice? How so?

D We're super aware of the menu having something for everyone so what we did was put everything we wanted on it then tailored it back based on what sold best. We have a little classic cocktail program and the usual drinks for everyone. Same with the food, something for the girls, something to share, something small if you just want a quick bite. But also you can sit there and have a 3-course meal where you can get into some serious food.

R We literally have everything from oysters to hot wings up to a $32 rib-eye steak. There is definitely something for everyone.

You’ve both been involved in some really interesting hotspots and each place has its own narrative. What do you hope people will say after experiencing The Flower Shop?

D That's a really good question. I guess, a place that people walked in, felt super comfortable, enjoyed themselves, received unpretentious service and vibes from fellow customers. A social place, a place where...I mean I've personally been really lucky to have introduced my best friend to his wife - through places like this - and they've now got 3 kids. It's Raya 2.0! We want people to make it their "local" more than anything.

R See you tomorrow..

Culture

Noomi Rapace and Johan Renck Navigate Colliding Constellations

April 20, 2024

Johan Renck, the director of the new hit Netflix sci-fi movie, Spaceman, believes that especially today, you can do whatever the fuck you want and nobody will give a shit. "There are no rules." Fellow Swede Noomi Rapace, who stars in the new Apple TV sci-fi series, Constellation, echoes a familiar sentiment. So what is the point of art? Typically an antagonism towards the machinaions of culture, the role of art today is especially to make us feel more than it is to make us think.

In light of their concurrent releases, office Editor-in-Chief Simon Rasmussen (who has more in common with Noomi and Johan than their Scandinavian heritage) called them up to discuss life, love, isolation, reality, gargantuan spiders, creativity, and the role of traditional storytelling and a slower pace in a present driven by hysterical consumption. In this conversation, there are no rules to break.

Introduction by Sarah Hersom
Interview by Simon Rasmussen
Polaroid courtesy of Noomi Rapace

Noomi Rapace — I'm so excited to do this. I've been such a big fan of your work ever since I saw Downloading Nancy on a plane. I was completely destroyed. I watched it again straight away.

Johan Renck — That's funny. I just got an email from one of the producers. They're planning a restored re-release in LA. But same, I'm a huge fan of yours. You’re one of those Swedes who gets it. Always moving and shaking it all over the place in all sorts of ways. Relentless energy. You're like a Svengali; you bring people together, find connections, you know everybody on this planet, and you are a formidable actress.

Simon Rasmussen — Noomi, thank you so much for always being curious and wanting more and never settling for less. That energy is what we need.

NR — Before this call, I was thinking about the three of us. It’s crazy: one Dane and two Swedes who broke out and started something else. Your magazine is one of my favorites. It really digs into all my favorite art fields. I feel like a lot of things today slide into something where that becomes either too pleasing or too vulgar.

JR — I so agree with that. I used to just devour various publications and magazines, always in the world of fashion, culture, and music. It's amazing that you hold that banner up. I fucking miss the days of magazines when you’d go out once a month, buy a bunch, and spend the whole weekend reading, getting inspired and discovering shit. There's been a "death of publications" in a way that has forced almost all of them to become so ridiculously polished and policing and polite. I'm not interested in that at all.

Thank you. Sometimes young people approach me like, oh, Simon, I want to start a magazine, and I'm like, don't. It's not worth it. It's messed up [laughs]. It's a weird time for media. I used to buy at least five or six magazines a month, and that was how I got inspiration and knew what was going on. Honesty, in a sense, we don't need that anymore. It's like this weird thing where, yes, we go to magazines for photography, fashion, and culture, but it's so accessible now. We're caught up in our own speed of entertainment and media.

JR — I get it. What a magazine does is curate cultural output and write about it in depth. My sense is that we don't need them as much because many of the things that are covered in these types of publications are slowly dying. Music is no longer as relevant a carrier of youth culture, same with fashion and so on. Music is bigger now than ever, but it doesn't have that kick that it used to. It's not like people are dressing like their idols or writing their lyrics on walls in the city or anything. The same with fashion. It's like expressing yourself is no longer about fashion to some extent, it's gone past that. There are no rules to break. You can wear whatever the fuck you want, nobody gives a shit.

NR — When you screened Spaceman for me in New York, I was running around doing all these bits and pieces. Then I finally got to sit for two hours in the screening room that you set up and I just got to be in your world for a solid chapter. Those moments when you sit down and read an article, dive into a book or watch a film, become diamonds in me today, more than ever. I've watched your film three times now because it's such a beautiful piece. It feels like it's rooted in a love for traditional cinematic filmmaking, but also is a flirtation with the now. It doesn't rest, it never gets boring. It's not slow cinema, but it kind of feels like slow cinema.

Print magazines remind me of movies. Slow although they might not always be. Not to be nostalgic, but there’s that depth to it that grounds you and you can't help but get emotionally involved.

JR — To me, you're a product of the time you're working in. Any kind of expression you do is always going to be a bit of a protest. I'm very much an antagonist. I don’t follow formulas. If everybody's doing that, I'm doing this. In these days of being overfed with very trite content, the film has gone down in quality so drastically over the past 10-15 years. If you watch a dumb comedy from 2001, you go, Fuck, this is a proper film. Then you watch a serious drama today and you go, What the fuck is this shit? Bad writing, bad directing, bad everything.

NR — Because it's rushed!

JR — It's rushed, but it's also done for the wrong reasons. To me, any art form is ultimately about making people feel things, not think things.

NR — And it's not about being liked either. When everything is done to get as many likes as possible and make the loudest noise, it's akin to shooting ourselves to death because there's just more and more noise and little room to hear. That's one of the strengths of your film; there's a simplicity to it.

JR — Even subconsciously as a creator, you tend to draw from things that are meaningful to you. It's funny that Spaceman and Constellation premiered on the same day. Both films deal with loneliness and fractured relationships. In Spaceman, somebody asked our guy, "Are you the loneliest guy in the universe?" And in Constellation, somebody says, "And right now, this woman is the loneliest person in the universe." You can't help thinking about the fact that there is this increased sense of loneliness in general terms; we're all becoming more and more lonely. The reason both Constellation and Spaceman happened is that there's an identification with these types of sentiments and feelings.

NR — Also, who are we today? Many people don't take the time to reflect and actually look at their lives. The movies are the perfect setup for introspection. Am I living my life?

JR — But in Constellation, there's this profound moment that was much bigger than it's perceived. There's a scene where you're talking to yourself, saying something like, "It's weird how much pleasure I find in hearing when I can't hear any other voices. I'm so happy to just hear my own fucking voice." Do you remember that line?

NR — Yes. Something like talking to myself gives me a sense of comfort, even if it's just my own voice. It's like, "My voice makes me human. It lets me know that I'm still here."

JR — But I wouldn't be surprised if someone did a global poll and found that people are talking to themselves more than they were 15 to 20 years ago. I find myself talking to myself when I'm roaming around.

When everything is done to get as many likes as possible and make the loudest noise. That, to me, is like shooting ourselves to death because everyone is just making more and more noise, and I can't hear anything at the end of the day.

NR — Simon, do you talk to yourself?

I talk to Siri!

NR — [Laughs] With life it's like, what is success? Like an astronaut that worked so hard for a mission, prepping for years to go up there, and then they're up there. Then it's like, now what? I'm here, and I'm not sharing it with anyone. You can be the most successful star in any kind of field and still find yourself lonely.

JR — You can't share it with anyone. Every time you're away shooting something and you come home, part of you is bubbling with so many new experiences and things you learned, but it's impossible to share that. You know what I mean?

I love that part of what you shared, Noomi. It's a human condition where we're searching for this thing. Being able to make art is beautiful, but it also comes from a place of searching for this thing already there. I don't have to reach the outer galaxies to find out that the one I love was always right next to me. It's the same thing when we're creating things, existentially, it’s not going to make a difference.

JR — I agree with that.

NR — Hanus [in Spaceman] is almost like a modern Yoda because he speaks with thousands of years of wisdom, but almost with a childish belief in something more. Like Alice, in Constellation. Alice and Hanus are the two truth-tellers in our two different projects, reflecting without judgment, being a sobering and innocent eye on something that has gone seriously wrong.

JR — I agree, but the fact is that we're all only here for one reason, and we’ve been programmed for it. To consume. We've been duped into believing that when we're having a great dinner with friends at a restaurant, we're having a meaningful meeting. But what we're really doing is overpaying for a bunch of fucking food — spending money. Over the last 200 years, we've slowly turned into nothing but consumers. There are millions of micro actions in daily life that, if you flip over, you'll see like, yeah, man, it's part of the consumer pattern. That's all it is.

Unfortunately I think it’s just going to get worse. We've only been around for about 50,000 years compared to the 4 billion years of Earth's existence. There's a high chance that we won't exist in 50 years based on our hysterical consumption, and ideological ideas of “progress” and “success”. I sound like some old boomer communist now, but it's just facts.

You don't believe in a second chance? Or a resurrection?

JR — Of humanity? No, I don't. I believe in nature, and we have turned our back on the idea of evolutionary thoughts and on being a species interacting with our environment. I mean, a second chance, we're already past that.

There's a high chance that we won't exist in 50 years based on our hysterical consumption, and ideas of 'progress' and 'success'. I sound like some old boomer, communist now, but it's just facts.

NR — But what is the second chance? I mean, I've gotten so many second chances in life.

JR — Yeah, as an individual, but not as a species.

NR — So if we look at ourselves and the beauty of art… when an artist I love drops an album, I'm like, Whoa, I'm going to stay in this universe. I listen on Spotify, read the lyrics, and I stay there. Sometimes I feel like I've had multiple life chapters, like I can have a second chance and a third. We had this conversation after Lamb in New York. When something is new, I look at myself with fresh eyes. The beauty of life is that it’s constantly changing. Even dark and horrible things can lead you to something.

JR — I don't disagree with any of that on a personal level. But it's about the fact that there's nothing in the bigger scheme that drives towards the betterment of humanity. There are financial interests only. Everybody just wants more, faster, cheaper. I'm sounding bitter, but it's just a stern and factual look on things. All we can do is keep on doing the best we can, find beauty where we can, and find love where we can.

I agree. I'm seeing, feeling, and hearing a shift amongst the generation born after 2000. A punk resistance almost. Now punk is being offline, not having an Instagram account, not giving a fuck about likes.

NR — Totally. I had a conversation with my son about that actually, who's 20. He hates Instagram and he's totally anti-celebrities. That is punk, as you say. There's a lot of hope in that.

JR — I mean, punk in all honor, I love. I grew up in the seventies. I had my own fucking punk band. I would still die on the hill for the Clash.

NR — What was the band called?

JR — I don't even fucking remember, I was 14. But punk unfortunately hasn't had a lasting impact beyond pop culture circles. The ‘70s punk scene didn't change the machinations of the bigger scheme. It didn't change governments, it didn't change laws. It's just a reaction or antithesis to cultural movements. But, punk will always exist in some way or another, and I love it.

I know for sure that a lot of kids have a completely different outlook on being online or offline, which is great. These kids are probably going to be smarter than others and they're probably going to grow up and become something good. But ultimately, it doesn't fucking matter because the bigger machine is going to quench all those kinds of things in order for everybody to get more and cheaper stuff.

The beauty of life is that it’s constantly changing. Even dark and horrible things can lead you to something.

NR — But all the responses to Spaceman and Constellation — the strong reactions and the love — suggests that these projects hit some kind of sweet spot in people because they question identity and reflect on life without cynicism. It's interesting because a lot of things are cynical today and still work really well.

Yet, there' are previous generations who have already gone through the circle of cynicism, dealing with mental health issues when it was taboo to say, 'I'm really fucking unhappy.” I feel like it's less taboo to say that now. And as you say Simon, there's this emerging subculture of youth that refuses to be online.

JR — I also see that in artistic expressions, we've built a lot of cynicism over the last couple of years. Even films like Barbie or Poor Things have a cynical aspect to them. I like that there's a movement against that because I'm not so interested in cynicism, and like you say, both Spaceman and Constellation are completely devoid of it.

NR — I feel that your films, whether Downloading Nancy or Chernobyl or Spaceman, have a love for humans that shines through, even in the darkest scenes or moments. I walk away from watching and engaging with your art feeling less lonely. The Chernobyl [disaster] is such a horrible event in human history, yet your masterpiece carries the simple message that we're just humans at the end of the day.

JR — Despite my somewhat gloomy view of the world, I wouldn’t say I’m cynical at all. I'm a humanist. I believe in love and beauty. As an artist, I'm just trying to express myself and be understood. It's a continuous process — sometimes people get it, sometimes they don't. But that's what we're all doing, trying to connect through our expressions. I believe in the human condition, in love, and for the most part, see the good in people.

But we have to remember how weirdly primitive we are. We're a very new species. If it takes an ant 200 million years to learn to live in a colony, just imagine. It's ridiculous. We're still bickering with neighbors, still trying to figure shit out. It's fascinating to think of how we're figuring it out as we go, rather than instinctively or the normal sort of means of any other species figuring things out in a balanced way.

To me, the beauty of life there, in exploring the unknown.

JR — Parenting is a prime example of that. You spend years in school learning about the Battle of Hastings and whatnot, and then suddenly you come home with a baby from the hospital, and it's like, “I don't know one fucking thing about what I'm supposed to do now.” The journey of learning how to deal with it is beautiful.

For me, it's finding out that everything is really simple. Like what Jakub finds out in Spaceman when he's like, “Fuck, it was there all along.” It's the same with parenting and anything else. We don't need all these things. Just be, and you'll be fine.

JR — There's something very simple and sort of pure with that outlook. It is what it is, just be in the now.

Culture

Alain Levitt’s Time Capsule of Early Aughts NYC (2000-2005)

Amanda Lepore, Alain Levitt

Beyond the exhibition, Alain’s book of the same name, available May 1st, acts as a time capsule, a snapshot of what he and his friends were getting into back then — figuring their lives out, meeting people, making memories and now, reminiscing on what was. Today, walking through Dimes Square where his and his wife’s restaurant, Bacaro, has become a premiere meeting hub for the neighborhood's youth, Alain recognizes that while “it’s such a different world,” youth is still the same.

“Young people are young people, man. It’s different being older and not really understanding what’s going on. I don’t fully feel like I’m part of it in the same way… but I love it and it seems the same, but one thing I see is it’s more colorful, it’s animated, and everything seems kind of to an extreme that I really love.”

When Bacaro first opened in 2007, there was no Dimes Square. He likens the emergence of the neighborhood to “the beginning of Williamsburg when that kind of popped off and all of a sudden, if you went down Bedford, it was just young people everywhere and everybody was dressing outrageous.” Back then, congregating in Bedford symbolized a communal rejection of Manhattan. What Levitt witnesses in Dimes, a neighborhood that’s become a bit polarizing amongst New Yorkers, is “more or less the same thing” — though the object of its rejection seems yet to be defined.

Perhaps it’s more of an acceptance — of indulgence, of being part of something, of embracing the past, keeping alive this idealized perception of NYC.

left to right - Ryan McGinley, Dan Colen, Kenji Ukigaya, Dash Snow

When Alain moved out here in the ‘90s, his older sister Danielle gave him a camera. At that time, he didn’t consider himself a photographer. He was just a younger brother emulating his older sister, who was shooting street photography and fashion parties for the Post. Alain recalls “showing up to Max Fish and being gently made fun of for his oversized paparazzi rig.” For his second job, Alain was working as a bar-back at The Cock and The Fat Cock (now known as The Hole), giving him “a front row seat to a wild NY that was quickly being choked out by Mayor Giuliani.”

On one of his first nights, he was assigned to the back room at The Cock, where patrons would do whatever drunk people do in the dark. As a kid “brand new to New York” flashing a light on people, he realized that suddenly, his life was completely different. And it was exciting. “I made more money than I could have ever imagined. I was working minimum wage jobs coming from LA, at movie theaters and all this other shit. In NY, I was able to live off two days a week which gave me room to do everything.”

Eventually, Alain started shooting for Nylon, PAPER, V Magazine, and other publications on his days off. Though they didn’t fully feel like a part of that world, he and his friends (skaters, graffiti artists, ravers, the trifecta of '90s subcultures) disrupted the fabric of the fashion scene. Reminiscing on some of those moments, he tells us, “Our group would show up at the fashion parties and make our presence known, even though they probably didn’t think we belonged there, that maybe we hadn’t earned it yet.”

left to right - Ryan McGinley, Chloë Sevigny

Then, Alain found his community on the Lower East Side, “Alife by day, Max Fish at night,” and “after starting a bi-weekly party, with Spencer Sweeny, at The Hole, planted his seed in the downtown scene.” The world that Levitt found himself navigating in his early years in New York City wasn’t new, it was itself a continuation of the pseudo-renaissance that emerged downtown in the ‘60s and again in the '70s and again in the subsequent decades. “It’s almost like a 10-year cycle and one good thing about New York is that it lets you be young a little longer. We were coming out here thinking about the CBGB’s era.”

And when looking through Alain’s photos, while humming with an inherent sense of nostalgia, it feels as if these images could’ve been taken yesterday. Skateboarding, bands playing one-off shows in dingy music venues, gallery openings that pour out onto the block, it’s all still here, just slightly different. While the internet has made us more connected, and distractions more frequent, much of what was, still is. And for Alain, there’s an innate resilience to this culture of “youth”, a culture somehow driven by a shared dysfunction. “Living in New York is so hard, rents are high, the weather is hard. It can be amazing but you have to put up with all this other bullshit to get the best out of it. You have to be willing to suffer. The people that I knew and the people that I connected to and was around — there was always a certain amount of fucked-up-ness we all shared.”

The people that I knew and the people that I connected to and was around — there was always a certain amount of fucked-up-ness we all shared.

left to right, Dash Snow, Kunle Martins (Earsnot)

Whether seeking self-discovery in New York City, escaping a toxic family, or generally curious to explore the city’s burgeoning underbelly, people here find their own, often forming surrogate families along the way. Levitt’s book, and the photographs on display at WHAAM! exemplify that family isn’t always clean-cut and you might bond with a person you’d least expect to: on the train, at a bar, laying on the grass at Seward Park, skating at Tompkins, or having a plate of squid ink pasta at Bacaro before heading to Le Dive for some overpriced house wine.

In the most ordinary moments, the greatest ideas and connections can spring to life and this was true even then. “I imagine creativity drives a lot of this,” Levitt says. “There’s a thread that we saw and maybe even idealized New York City to be.” It’s a thread that this generation hasn’t seemed to let go of: “I feel like my book shows our moment of coming into ourselves and now the kids today are doing it themselves. In 20 years, there’ll be a record of their time that the next group of kids will be looking at. It might not be the same, but the roots are.”

From Tim Barber, a former photo editor at Vice who edited the book, to Jesse Pearson, former EIC at Vice, Su Barber (Tim’s sister), Mike Piscitelli from Fucking Awesome and skateboarder Jason Dill, everyone involved in the book “from the editors down to the publisher was there in our circle, and pretty much all in the book too.” To Alain, everyone in the book was of equal significance, whether celebrity Chloe Sevigny or Marc Razo of Max Fish, who Alain recognizes as “a loving, wonderful person who’s been in the downtown scene forever.”

“Some of those people have definitely become legendary, which is awesome,” says Levitt. “But with them, it’s like me, I felt special to be there. I wanted to be with these people and we all had all of these lofty ideas of ourselves that were shattered over time. I think it’s good to break through those delusions of grandeur and get a real sense of what the world is. But at that moment, it was pure. We all thought we were special.” And maybe we still do.

NYC 2000-2005 is on view April 18 - May 25, 2024 at WHAAM! at 15 Elizabeth St # 113, New York, NY 10013.

Culture

At Planned Parenthood's Annual Gala, Megan Thee Stallion Shines Bright

April 18, 2024

Under one of the first truly warm evenings of New York’s spring season, guests, organizational supporters, and a grab-bag of celebrities (who saw Molly Ringwald?) gathered at Cipriani’s South Street outpost to ring in another year of action and advocacy.

In a regressive landscape that has recently seen the rollback of the right to protest in three states, as well as the upholding of arcane abortion legislation in Arizona, Planned Parenthood’s call to action is eerily more apt than ever.

At an interactive exhibit during the cocktail hour, Judy Chicago’s interactive work, produced in partnership with DMINTI, invited guests to share their voices during an urgent time in the fight for free bodies. Participants in the videos will become a permanent piece of the historic artwork as it travels worldwide on tour.

By Sam Falb
Photography by Nikki Burnett

After guests settled into their seats, the night’s honorees Patricia Arquette and Megan Thee Stallion lauded the organization’s work and the manifold ways it has affected their lives for the better. Overcome with emotion, Megan accepted the Catalyst for Change Award, in recognition of her choice to advocate for bodily freedom and sexual liberation through her platform, and inimitable tracks like Plan B.

“Planned Parenthood has been a leader while abortion rights are under attack. Y’all are the true heroes,” Megan shared in her acceptance speech. “I’ve always known that I have a bigger purpose than just being a musician, and to speak up when people need our help.”

The second of its kind, the gala celebrates the work of the organization while honoring particularly devoted advocates, hosting an auction to raise funds for annual operating costs, and rounding out with an afterparty featuring host Patia of Patia’s Fantasy World, and DJs including Boston Chery and river moon.

“They’ve been there for me and a lot of my friends, especially when I first came to this country and needed healthcare,” Moon said. When the lights went down and guests trickled out onto the street, the event’s urgent appeal was in clear and energizing focus, primed for a productive year ahead.