I am on my way to Addison Rae’s surprise super secret, live Spotify performance for her elite fans (did I mention it’s secret?) the night before her debut album drops. It’s 88 degrees in New York City. I’ve already showered five times. I’m asking myself the essential, eternal question: Can deodorant marks on a tank top ever be sexy? It’s at The Box, a downtown NYC club known for its raunchy and often taboo performances. I’ve never been to The Box. When I was growing up in the Chelsea Hotel several of my neighbors performed at The Box, doing a variety of impressive things like reverse stripping or *redacted* in a cup. Anyway, I’m wearing a teeny crop top, a teenier skirt, and Repetto Camilles. Chic, I think. Tasteful actually. The line wraps the block.
The Box is a tiny, gorgeous venue with two levels; a great choice for the first live performance of a generation-defining popstar. Inside The Box a beautiful woman winks at me from the ceiling where she is suspended in a metal circle. Various hot girls lounge seriously in French maid outfits. One holds a small tray where you can dip Q-tips into a gelatinous vat of Vaseline and then sprinkle glitter on top of it. I’ll just do a little glitter, I think, a tasteful amount. When at the Addison Rae Spotify The Box concert, a little glitter can’t hurt.
Here’s the thing about glitter: there’s no tasteful amount of glitter. Furthermore once you’ve indulged in glitter, of any amount, it’s impossible to get it off. Suddenly I lose myself in the glitter, drenching, and pressing sticker jewels onto every bit of exposed skin with no thought to art direction. I try to give myself a regrettable tramp stamp with an “Addison” temporary tattoo using a handful of spit and willpower. I get my aura read at the aura portal and apparently my aura is “Aquamarine: solid nature, high awareness, strong boundary, role model, inner purity, justice, fair” which I am happy with until I see that everybody else who had their aura read also got Aquamarine.
Pre-show I haughtily tell someone that I’m not the kind of woman who typically takes videos at a concert—a waste of storage, it’s not like I’m ever going to watch them. The thick velvet curtains part at 9:45 to reveal Addison tied upright on a bed with satin sheets. There’s something messianic about the scene: She’s Jesus by way of Britney. I was wrong. I will eat crow, and I also will watch these videos again.
Her performance, which she did most of in a nude bra and underwear set, was exhilarating. There’s been a lot of grudge holding and media gripping about her days as a TikTok ingénue. She’s too pretty, too earnest and too honest about her intent to be famous. Sure, she’s got a couple great songs but can she sing? The cynics ask, can she perform? She is a mesmerizing performer, obviously. She always has been, that’s why she was a TikTok star. Watching her move her hips feels like opening your eyes in a bowl of ice water. She stuck mostly to previously released songs: for ‘Headphones On’ jumping around in jorts with her girl group of dancers, “High Fashion” a Fosse-esque Jazz feast, “Diet Pepsi”crooning into a Maribou boa covered mic. Lexee Smith, hair streaming behind her, came out mid-set to read a diary entry like an incantation of best friendship. The performance was capped with a sweet new release, “Has To Be” which happens to be my favorite song on the album.
The video I end up taking is unusable because somebody is screaming the entire time like a wounded dog. Shocked, I realize that the person screaming is me! After her performance I eat four chocolate covered strawberries to recuperate, and walk home looking like a kid at a sleepover who found a pack of Crayolas.
At home I reflect, the performance may have only been one night… but the glitter in my bed is forever.
