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Factory Girl: Ratchet Ball

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  • | 7:29 p.m. March 6, 2014
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Last Thursday, I had the ultimate pleasure of attending the exclusive "Ratchet Ball" at the controversially fabulous "Cream Thursday," at Ivory Lounge. Now, if you're a socially conservative heterosexual over the age of 35, you might be asking yourself, what in sweet lady Jane's name DOES "ratchet" mean? Is Factory Girl attempting to spell "Wretched" whilst under the influence? No, darling, Factory Girl is a product of elite Northeast Private Schooling and certainly knows how to spell properly, no matter how much champagne she's consumed. However, that's neither here nor there.

Ratchet is a modern term— impossible to define in but a single sentence. Ratchet is Miley Cyrus twerking in a leotard on national television. Ratchet is the entitled underage girl at the club sporting a fake Chanel bag and scuffed "patent" pumps from Wet Seal. Ratchet is wearing a wallet chain, or rocking last night's eye makeup and reeking of booze at a business meeting. It's a deep, husky truck-driver voice coming from a petite blonde who chain-smokes mentholated cigarettes and swigs Jack Daniels out of the bottle. Ratchet is over-plucked eyebrows, a mouth full of gum and a warrant out for your arrest. Getting the picture?

Now that you're up to speed, I think it's safe to say we've all experienced at least ONE ratchet moment in our lives. No matter how posh, well-heeled and ultra sophisticated we feel on the outside, I think we all feel a little ratchet inside (personally, I suffer from chronic ratchet thoughts), and sometimes it just feels good to let it run free!

The longer I go without an ounce of vulgarity, the deeper I'm filled with desire to pluck the hell out of my eyebrows, slug "sparkling wine," wear a crop-top and clip in long synthetic hair extensions (on sale from Sally's Beauty Supply).

Enter "The Ratchet Ball: A Celebration of All Things Hot Mess." I put on a disgusting black Skully (purchased in a ratchet meltdown a few weeks back) over my expensive Aveda blow-out, threw on a cut-out romper, smeared on Barbie pink lipstick and headed to Ivory (nightclub, or adult cabaret?) for the soiree to let it all hang out.


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