There you were, wearing your tightest Jordache jeans and a flammable Huckapoo shirt, and still you were on line praying the doorman would open the velvet ropes like he did as Halston walked past the bridge and tunnel crowd without breaking step. It was the age of disco and Studio 54 was queen, filled with the beautiful and famous, and not you.
And that was why you tried so very hard to get in. That was why you wanted to get in. Because it was a club that wouldn’t have you. Continue reading
