PTBD: Post Traumatic Basel Disorder

It came, it went. Basel, the blur that causes one to go to more events in one week than most people go to in an entire year is finally behind us. Yes, there was art that spoke to my soul, and yes, there were events that were worthy of greeting the sun after, but for the most part it’s all just a mish mash that left us like pinballs ricochetting from one art fair tent and party to the next. And as a result, we are left with only our iPhone pics to put together what we saw, what we did, where we went. To keep things short and sweet, since (at three days out) the last thing you want to hear again is the actual word “Basel,” I’ve created a recap of how it all went down, complete with my Basel quotes of the night. And it goes little something like this:

Number of days Basel started before Basel even started: 3.

Number of hours slept total: 19.

Number of events RSVPed for: More than 105.

Number of events attended: 40? 50? 500?

Number of parties I crashed: 3

Number of bushes I climbed through to attend said crashed parties: 2.

Number of concerts I said I was going to: 5.

Number of actual concerts seen: Black Lips last song.

Number of times I danced the night away at Le Baron: 1.

Number of times I fell asleep at the Martha Stewart talk: 1 (don’t judge, it was the longest I sat still in days).

Number of meals consumed sitting down: 1 (at 3 a.m.). Any other eating was just drive-by cupcake cramming.

Number of Range Rover trunks ridden in because hey, Basel transportation is scarce: 1.

Average number of outfit changes per day: 3.

Number of actual art fairs attended: 5.

Number of times I took my shoes off because my feet were hurting so bad I wanted to cry: None. I muster through the pain.

Number of times I wanted to take my shoes off because my feet were hurting so bad I wanted to cry: Every moment of pretty much every day.

Number of times someone confused me for Anne Owen: 2.

Number of times my phone died at Basel: None. HOW FREAKING AMAZING IS THAT ONE?

Number of times I “played the Tinder video game” for Lanny: A lot. A lot, a lot.

Number of umbrellas lost due to the freak Basel rainstorm: 2.

Number of New York hipsters encountered: Infinity?

Number of hilarious Miami-made commentary about said New York hipsters: Ongoing.

Number of my “Basel quotes of the night” that wound up in the Huffington Post2

And here they are:

“The difference between Basel Wynwood and Basel on the beach is like heels vs flats …” -Me

“I feel like a pound puppy.” — Kevin, said in reference to riding in the trunk of said range rover to get from point r to point v of the night.

Me: “What is the point of this party?” / Lanny Grossman: “Something art.”

“I can’t think of more people I’d rather punch in the face than the people at art Basel.” — A maybe drunk Warren Zinn.

 “Those people are eating dinner with napkins on their heads. (Said in reference to people eating outside with literal napkins on their heads during Basel rain-a-thon 2013) —Lanny Grossman
“I’m standing in line for something I already got into?” — Random next to me
Lanny: “What comes on the burger?”/ Waiter: “Meat.”
“Anna Wintour? I’ve heard of her.” — Straight guy with absolutely no affiliation with the fashion world.
“Can we just get through a whole day without saying Kanye, please? — Me
“What day is this? No, seriously.” — Me
“Joining “yolo” “tastemaker” and “curated” on my please-for-the-love-of-god-dont-say-these-words list: ‘fomo.'”— Me
“Sleep vs. Le Baron …. Sleep never stood a chance.” — Me
Dressed in head-to-toe black, I head into the seamstress:/ Seamstress: “Oh honey, did you just come from a funeral?”/ Me: “No, Basel,” I say, picking up my four other black dresses for the week.
“Wait, are there supposed to be directions in my drink?” — Kevin
“Pretty sure I look like my feet feel.” — Me, the morning of the last day of Art Basel
And there you have it. I pinky promise not to say the “b” word again until next year.