By all intents and purposes Erin Wasson‘s show of “things to wear with jean cut-offs,” as she told me, was a major production—a beast nearly extinct in fashion. After a considerable delay, the curtain rose to reveal art-house collective Gang Gang Dance, who jammed for the duration. “They’re good friends of mine,” said Erin afterward, “and they’re ama-a-a-azing!”

Later, my own gang gang dance and I headed to the after-party at the Jane Hotel. Avoiding a guy who looked like the evil preacher from Poltergeist 2, I ran into Leo Fitzpatrick in line for the loo. “I didn’t know about the party!” he exclaimed, probably joking, “and I’m friends with Erin and the band!” We let a model cut in line because she was doing the pee dance, while I kept trying to nab Erin, forever making out with someone. I finally caught her, in a floor-length rasta dress and beanie, and asked about inspiration. Mulling it over, she replied, “Um…my dog. And maybe, like, the desert.”