The experience of attending Richie Rich’s epic clusterfuck of a show on Thursday night may have destroyed us. Arrival to departure, it was a three-hour odyssey — an epic poem full of rage, drag queens, nudity, figure skaters, and, inexplicably, the attendance of a 4-year old child. Our notes from the show read like nonsense sentences people make from novelty fridge magnets: “Tinsley. Penis! Sequined panties. Penis redux. Pretzel?” We feel unable to remember what life was like in a gentler age, before this show was inflicted upon us. It is day one of Fashion Week, and already, we have met our Waterloo. Richie Rich has broken us.
