Issue link: http://papercitymagazine.uberflip.com/i/996854
80 HE'S BILLY FONG THE BOMB B Y C H R I S T I N A G E Y E R I will never forget the fi rst time I heard the name Billy Fong. I was the assistant editor at PaperCity, and then-co-editor Brooke Hortenstine was giddy because she had received an e-mail from her dear friend, Billy. She read it out loud. The fl owery note told tales of nights out and compared Brooke to the most elegant social swans. "He needs a column!" she declared. A couple of months later, "Billy Fong Sez" was born. Since then, Billy's voice has been present in PaperCity. The women of Dallas adore the Bomb.com story he pens each month, celebrating the ladies he loves and admires not just for their style, but for remarkable lives they lead. I am thus thrilled to dedicate this Bomb.com to Billy — who has come on board full-time, bringing his broad depth of knowledge to our editorial team as the Dallas culture/style editor. Billy is trading an accomplished tenure in the museum world for life in glossy magazines. He has worked at the Dallas Museum of Art and Seattle's Museum of Glass, and was most recently the executive director of the Texas Association of Museums. He will report on myriad topics for us, from pop culture to art, fashion, design, society, and, of course, style. I have been fortunate to be added to the list of friends to whom Billy drops notes. Anyone who's been the recipient of one knows it's like fi nding a treasure in your inbox. He can wax poetic on everything from grunge rock to fi ne art, '90s club culture to high fashion, the latest indie fi lm to guilty-pleasure TV. Billy takes an interest in everyone he meets, and when he writes to friends his effervescent voice and insatiable curiosity shine. Currently Billy and I are discussing looks for an upcoming '80s-prom themed 50th birthday bash, for which he suggests I pair a pink tulle skirt with a vintage Patrick Nagel T-shirt. When recently asking my plans for a quiet Saturday, Billy sent along the iconic Slim Aarons photo of two women lounging in Palm Springs. "I wonder what these two were drinking poolside," his text read. "The chick on the left in the white lace crop-top — whore! — that would be me. You are the woman in yellow to coordinate with the fl owers, and I secretly hate you for it, but I am so tipsy I barely know where I am." This hilariously witty storytelling defi nes Billy Fong. He is imagination personifi ed. Billy is famous for his preppy uniform of shorts, knee-high socks, Hunter wellies, thick-rimmed glasses, and blazer adorned with a creative lapel pin, usually a Chanel camellia. He always carries a monogrammed tote bag, usually L.L. Bean, stitched with something tongue-in-cheek like "vodka" or "fag." Most recently, for the opening of Takashi Murakami's retrospective at the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth, he wore fl oral-print trousers that were a mirror image of the ones Murakami wore. "I like your pants," Murakami told Billy through his translator. Still, Billy is far more than a fashion devotee and lover of all things creatively inspired. Billy is a beautiful soul who cherishes his close circle of female friends as if they were family. He is a dual-natured Gemini: equal parts intellectual, youthful spirit, and a true aesthete. If you haven't met him yet, you will — and you will quickly consider yourself quite lucky to have made the acquaintance of one of our city's most compelling characters. Approximate date of this photo. Early 1990s. I was fi nishing up my senior year in college in Tampa. The occasion. My birthday. My posse was primarily a group of girls who worked at a chic café named Ovo and were art or art history students with me. What you were wearing. The polo was some skater/rave brand. I was going to lots of nightclubs and warehouse parties, listening to early electronic dance, acid jazz, and trip-hop music. (Perish the thought of dancing in public nowadays.) I shopped at a hipster store in Ybor City that a friend of mine owned, the Blue Funk. The shoes were my favorites of those years: I had numerous Doc Martens, but these were John Fluevogs with a swirly design. I can't believe I'm wearing a white undershirt! I chastise so many guys now for pulling that move. What price fashion. My fashion vice came early. I grew up in a small town in North Florida. I started buying Interview magazine in eighth grade and discovered designers like Armani and Calvin Klein as I dreamed of wearing them to chic spots like The Odeon and the Cat Club in NYC. I remember my fi rst expensive item I purchased: A blue silk Ralph Lauren button-up shirt, somewhat akin to the one Tom Ford created for his iconic fi rst collection as creative director of Gucci. (Remember the outfi t Madonna wore to the MTV VMA's in 1995?) I had to get a store credit card and pay- off over time to afford it. Why this is a Bomb.com picture of you. Any day is a Bomb Day for me as long as I am surrounded by people I love. This was one of those occasions — and usually I feel pretty "bomb-ish" on my birthday. Approximate date of this photo. Early 1990s. I was fi nishing up my senior year in college in Tampa. The occasion. My birthday. My posse was primarily a group of girls who worked at a chic café named Ovo and were art or art history students with me. What you were wearing. The polo was some skater/rave brand. I was going to lots of nightclubs and warehouse parties, listening to early electronic dance, acid jazz, and trip-hop music. (Perish the thought of dancing in public nowadays.) I shopped at a hipster store in Ybor City that a friend of mine owned, the Blue Funk. The shoes were my favorites of those years: I had numerous Doc Martens, but these were John Fluevogs with a swirly design. I can't believe I'm wearing a white undershirt! I chastise so many guys Billy Fong, 1990s