My Untold Basel Adventure

{Me at the Moncler party.}

I realize Art Basel has come and gone. Gone for some time now. But I’ve been swamped with holiday deadlines, a hubby in the middle of law school finals, getting kiddo here, there and everywhere, putting holiday presents in the mail … I know, I know. Bad blogger, no shoes for me. So, here in my glorious down time, I’m going to get it all out. My favorite night of Basel. The names of the innocent have not been changed. In fact, it’s hubby’s childhood friend Lanny, who resides in New York. Hubby was unable to fulfill plus-one obligations, as he was taking exams, some of which lasted eight hours. I admire that man.

And so the story begins: After getting rejected at the Terrywood party at The Standard (neither of us are that cool), we started off at The Gale for the StyleCaster party. If you couldn’t get in, you missed every New Yorker on the planet crammed onto the roof. Canvases lined the back of the party, and artists were given a challenge to drawn a woman. The drinks were horrible. The place was packed. The music was decent. And that’s when we decided to leave for the next adventure.

{Obligatory art image from Pulse. Because I actually did see a host of art during Basel. And Pulse is my favorite show, which I thought needed a mention.}

We’re total schmucks, I know. Who leaves a good party? Me (with Lanny in tow) because I got invited to the Moncler 60th anniversary party atop the 1111 Lincoln Road parking contraption. I was literally the only person I know who got an invite. I had to see what the fuss was all about. Plus, I heard they were going to make it snow at the party. There were rumors of free puffy coats. And the whole glowing beacon of light shining over Lincoln Road had the kind of allure you just had to check out. On the way there (we walked straight down Lincoln), I noticed Forever 21 opened. Without so much as a whisper. Weird, right? Focus, Ginger, focus.

{Behold: Moncler.}

Hollywood-esque lights, smoke machines, zillions of Italian-looking models. A party riding Basel’s coattails on an entirely different level. Beautiful, stunning, sophisticated. All of those things. Dinner had apparently just ended and the entire party was clad in puffy white Moncler coats. The rumors were true. Immediately, Lanny and I began to plot. If only we’d had base-jumping suit so we coud grab a coat and plunge off the side of the garage. But, alas, those didn’t quite fit into my clutch for the evening. Jealously raged through us. We needed a coat. But wait, what was this? Moncler jacket-wearing geese statues on the table. Hoards of them. And people were snatching them up left and right. Lanny and I, feeling slighted for not being part of the coat cult, sidled up to a table and nabbed two geese, which we named Remo and Ruffini (after the co’s president), like some klepto grandma at a wedding reception. #Embarrassing.

{Remo and Ruffini before the heist.}

Mind you Remo and Ruffini weighed a good 10 pounds each. Obsessed with them, we committed to spend the entire night schlepping them around Basel. As we were walking out the door Paris Hilton and her sister Nicky made their way in. Cue our exit. Apparently, there were a slew of other celebs (did I just call Paris a celeb? For shame.) at the party (I did see Pharrell in his cameo tux), but I was far too busy plotting a coat-nabbing to notice the rest of the who’s who.

{Thank God I was wearing my evil eye to deflect the hate.}

Next stop: Shake Shack, where I spotted Pharrell eating a burger with his entourage. And his entourage spotted me taking a pic of him. Check out that fry-chewing side eye. That girl has daggers for me. She’s his fiancee. I’m pretty sure they have a kid named Rocket together. Rocket was in the same music class as Milly. I know this because we had to go around the room and sing each kid’s name. And well, Rocket isn’t exactly a Jim, John, Joe kind of name. Presto: Pharrell’s kid. But I digress.

Upon arriving at Soho House, I coat-checked Remo at the front desk. Seriously, that shiz is heavy. Lanny, however, decided to keep his near and dear to his heart. And here’s what I learned about that: If you carry a goose statue around at a Basel party, people will stop you in your tracks and ask you what in the world it is and then insist on taking it away from you and dancing with it. Something to keep in mind for next year.

{Lanny and Ruffini: A love story.}

After a few tunes from Elew (my motivation for visiting the tent) and a lot of people watching, we decided to call it a night. A very random night. We caught a cab, strapped Remo and Ruffini in and headed to our home bases. Remo and I were tuckered out. And when I got home hubby said, “What is that?” Cue this story all over again.

{Elew doing his thing.}

{Remo and Ruffini in all their glory. Yes, even the geese got coats. But not us. No, not us.}

{Me and my partner in crime the following night at Rico Love’s party at the SLS—a whole different post for a different day.}