Eurotrash invades LA

Growing up in London, I learned all my values from a TV show called Eurotrash.
Hosted by Jean Paul Gaultier and the deadpan Antoine de Caunes, it dragged its viewers through the silliest, most bizarro European subcultures imagineable—against a high fashion backdrop, bien sur.
The first season, which aired in 1993, featured appearances by fashion industry icons Ellen Von Unwerth, Helena Christensen, Pierre et Gilles, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Giorgio Armani, punctuated by segments about pubic hairdressing, Alpine Hells Angels, S&M restaurants and nude golf.
I ran into Eurotrash's host, Antoine de Caunes (pictured), last week at a party at the Houdini Mansion in L.A., where around 200 guests were celebrating the birthday of flame-haired L.A. scenester and professional fag hag Lenora Claire. (pictured)
De Caunes was being followed around by a production crew from French network Canal Plus, which is filming a five-part series about American contemporary culture, scheduled to air around election time. The bodacious Lenora Claire and her friends were deemed just the right kind of sexy for the French, and she was selected to be L.A.'s representative for the night. The suited De Caunes was completely re-styled for the camera by Lenora's friend, fashionista and writer Clint Catalyst, so he could fit in with the exotic birds around him. De Caunes ended up looking like a cross between Boy George and a Thomspon Twin, with an assymetrical curly wig, airbrushed makeup and embroidered Jared Gold suit jacket.
"I miss Lolo," lamented de Caunes, when I ran in to him in the bathroom, getting his lipgloss touched up. He was referring to the late French porn star Lolo Ferrari, who had the largest breasts in the world (71 inches), and was a Eurotrash regular. "She was very, very sweet."
Also hanging around were James St. James (former Michael "Party Monster" Alig co-hort), Heatherette designer Richie Rich and impresario Kim Fowley (pictured, in yellow, who formed The Runaways with Joan Jett and Sandy West). Fowley, who looked like a cross between John Waters and Frankenstein's monster, wasted no time in getting to know me—upon being introduced to me, his first question was "tell me about the inside of your c**t. Do you f*** girls or boys? Are you a top or a bottom?" Goodness!
I told him all he neded to know, naturally...