For the first hour, attendees, most in their mid-20s and many dressed in untucked oxford shirts and off-brand jeans, mingled around a rickety table packed with half-empty Jim Beam bottles.

Despite the fact that everyone was young and attractive, no one seemed to flirt or network. Instead, they traded heady banter about the Situationists and reveled in an atmosphere of warmhearted mutual support; it felt like an oral dissertation mixed with a ’70s encounter group.

— Bah, everyone is always trying to fuck everyone all the time. Don’t let a dog eared copy of Debord and a MA convince you otherwise. 

Post Notes

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