Ever wondered what it’d be like to party all the time like Paris? Constantly live it up like Lohan? Or be queen like Kim? Well this blog isn’t going to give you millions of dollars and issue a step-by-step guide of how to sell your soul to the media. But it is the next best thing…
Create A Clique
The gay scene is like high school – with it’s superficial hierarchy, bitching, gossiping, and an abundance of boy drama. So if American teen movies have taught us anything, it’s that you need to be part of a clique to survive. And any bitch with the slightest bit of intelligence will make herself the Queen B. It’s important to bring as many of your entourage wherever you go – and remember that these hoes are your family now. You gotta have their back… Unless, of course, you’re stabbing it with someone else in the group.
Also it’s imperative to remember that “Birds of a feather, flock together” – douchey DJs, fashion fags, Primark poofs, Clapham clowns and the like, run in similar circles. Your clique is a representation of you, so don’t even try getting near my inner circle, when you some toe-looking troll. Would you see Mary-Kate Olsen sitting next to Kerry Katona at Fashion Week? Don’t. Even.
Never Miss A Photo Opportunity
Listen babe, even if you looking like you’ve been face-fucked by Crystal Meph – there is still hope for you yet. Some of London’s biggest Scene Queens belong under a rock, (some a bus), but the trick is to persevere – because being a ‘socialite’ is what you were born to do, hunty! You were just unfortunate enough to be born into a poor family. But nobody gets twisted on a Tuesday night at G-A-Y Late like you!
Anyway… everybody knows that QX is the Vogue of Soho, and you wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be in the Bible now, would you? So make sure you get a picture every time the photographer is there – even when you’re mangled in the Later garden. So what if your eyes are rolling in the back of your head and you’re dribbling like Stephen Hawking? The “hot mess” look is so in. And no publicity is bad publicity!
What’s more – there’s a little thing called airbrushing! Get yourself to Room Service, girl. Their camera flash is like true love’s kiss; it turns frogs into Princes. They’ll take a photo of you and by the time you’re tagged in it, you’ll be like ‘who the fuck is that?’ Thinking they pulled that shit off Elite Models webpage and tagged you for fun. But it’s you! OK, it’s you after Photoshop has ejaculated all over your face, but all celebs use airbrushing. And we can’t all be oil paintings, can we?
Adopt A ‘Stage’ Name
Obviously the closest you’ll ever get to being on a stage is k-holing on the podium with Glendora at A:M, but that doesn’t mean you can’t sprinkle a bit of glitter on an otherwise forgetful name, like ‘Sylvia Murphy’. You don’t have to go to extreme lengths, as everyone knows that Facebook is better than dipole anyway. Add something snazzy like Rebel, Maximus or Devlish to your name and you’re instantly more glamorous. And even if people can’t stand you, at least they’ll remember your name!
Give Birth To A Drag Alter-Ego
And why stop at just one name? You definitely need an alter ego that comes out on Halloween, chill outs, or wherever there’s a few strands of synthetic ‘hair’ lying around. Rip off the name of a trashy celebrity, like Basic Miraj or Christina Draguleira, and you’re done. And ‘drag’ is accurate as they mostly look like they’ve been dragged through a swamp by a motor-boat.
So you’ve got your clique, a fierce new name and a trashy tranny that makes appearances when you get a bit too high for your own good. Now you need a signature look; the ultimate scene queen always has one. And when it comes to gay fashion – the more obscure the better… apparently. So make sure you sissy that walk when you’re strutting down Old Compton street in neon leggings and fluffy fascinator. Just remember you are a fierce indepedant Scene Queen – even if Jason Prince is saying “now that shit cray!”
Become A Drug Dealer
What better way to network than selling grams of Mephedrone cut with Imodium to clubbers off their face at Covert? Even though you sniff most of your profit you might as well earn a little extra money on the side – and who doesn’t love someone that sells bags of regret and terrible decisions for only £20? And if your gonna make money off anyone, it might as well be your ‘friends’. Although when it gets to 7am in Lightbox and the thirsty bitch is asking for it on tick, run like there’s an Ebola breakout.
Host A Club Night
Well done sugar, you’re almost there. You’re now recognised enough on the scene/have enough Facebook friends to be a promoter. In Soho terms, that’s basically Paris Hilton. Albeit she sniffs quality coke, and you bump grotty legal highs – but let’s not split hair extensions. You’ll notice that people begin to see you as somewhat of a guru for where’s good to go out, just because you bombard them every week with invitations to irrelevant club nights. Little do they know you’d go to the opening of Lewisham Poundsaver if there was a free glass of Cava.
An Air Of Superiority
Sure the meat-heads in Vauxhall can be a bit intimidating – especially when you’re sporting that Size 0 form sponsored by Mephedrone – but a Scene Queen trumps a random muscley one any time! So believe your own hype sister. Always refer to yourself in the third person, as if you’re too important to even say the word ‘I’. You’re undiscovered talent, and don’t let your meer 300 Twitter followers discourage that.
Believe that you’re the epitome of the clubbing scene, even if you’re just a part of the medic room furniture. Believe that all the bar staff love you, even though you’re a tight wench that never tips, and you better believe you can say whatever you want (especially in a bitchy-ass blog post) and no cunt will judge you. And being a Scene Queen has no age limit – even if you’re a 45-year old door whore – remember, she who holds the list, holds the power!
You’re now the Ultimate Scene Queen. Enjoy the dialysis you’ll need after years of bar hopping down Old Compton street. Enjoy countless naff nights out because you just can’t succumb to FOMO. And enjoy your name on that club night poster… that is your 15 minutes.