I was at Opus last night, where I met Amanda Lepore before her performance at Five Sixty. She came out of the elevator and down the lobby toward the party like a caricature of beauty. She's otherworldly. You can't help but be entranced by her pale complexion, which glows as if she's some sort of divine. And she is! Amanda Lepore is her own god. She created herself, and her every breath, step, pose, pucker of her fabled lips, wiggle of her silicone hips and bat of her opulent eyelashes is pure performance art.
For more on my night with Amanda, and a Real Housewife of Vancouver (my cheeks felt so inferior), check out Blitz & Shitz in the next issue of Xtra.