"Strictly Game" by Harlem Shakes plays over various spooky New York things, like witches and scarecrows and Stephen King's Entertainment Weekly column, as Gossip Girl explains to us that All Hallows' Eve is an American tradition where people dress up as other things. FYI. Like, for example, Rufus Humphrey's KISS-makeup pumpkins, complete with a necktie-long tongue: "There are costumes to make men feel like boys again..."
"Or turn little girls into Queens..." Over a landscape of shopping bags from Bergdorf and all the other places Jenny used to salivate over, before she found her gift, we light on Lily tugging a hundred of Jenny's homemade crinolines and babydolls: "Jenny, please let me go through this closet. There's no room for your new things!" She crosses her ankles like a stewardess, holding up one black original, neon pink peeking out at the hem: "Does this even fit you anymore?" Jenny snatches it away from her in protest, rolling her eyes -- "All of it does!" -- while Lily stands there crosslegged like a music-box ballerina, framed in a full-length mirror, watching Jenny try to hold onto everything at once.
I'm serious about Lily's Barbie pose, it's like something out of yoga nightmares. Her heels are about three feet apart, legs crossed practically at the thigh, while she stands straight up, so her feet are pointing the opposite of normal. Like the Scarecrow, but legwise? It makes her look like a Dufflepud, or a mermaid. I go into a similar pose whenever anybody points a camera at me and I don't even remember why -- probably some modeling tip I picked up from Sally Jesse when I was like six and still believed -- but if it looks this crazy to other people, I'm going to have to curb myself.
This will be a better year
Make a little money, take a lot of shit
Feel real bad, then get over it
This will be a better year...
Also trying on a new grownup wardrobe -- metaphorically, of course, considering he probably started dressing like a venture capitalist when he was old enough to reach the Black Card -- is Chuck, who's impatiently pedeconferencing past the lounge of his new acquisition, the appropriately named Empire Hotel. "We're #183 on Travelocity. Right behind the Holiday Inn LaGuardia!" Blair's with him, of course, trolling the grounds of their empire; neither of them is wearing lavender this week: just white-trimmed black.
"Who needs travel sites, with their huddled masses searching the internet, late-night trolling for deals?" Um, Chuck does. "That's why you should open the club!" Blair screams maniacally. "Once that's the place to be seen, you'll be so booked you can turn away the tasteless tourists in fanny packs." She turns to face him, that scary gleam in her eyes: "Now, I was thinking an '80s theme. Although shoulder pads can be overwhelming on my delicate frame," she notes adorably. "This is a business, not a high school party," he hisses, as the song ends and her face falls.