Dear Jason Preston: Photographers Are Not Your Friends…

… even if the camera quite likes you. Last night at the Serge Strosberg party, Marc Jacobs’s guy (maybe? maybe not? maybe?) Jason Preston spent most of the night on the fire escape with a prominent New York nightlife photographer. As she smiled and laughed, she was silently waiting for the perfect moment to flutter her aperture. (Do apertures flutter?) As he sounded off about threesomes and porn stars, she took note, egging him into photo-ops that included nuzzling up against a friend of ours. “This might work,” he said, in reference to her attempts to make Jacobs jealous. “I should totally fuck Tom Ford! Now, that would really get him.”

He’s kidding of course, but she isn’t. She starts in about sending the images to Perez Hilton, asking what kind of imagined occupation Preston’s new paramour should have. “Let’s say he’s a Dartmouth student,” she says, laughing but serious. “What about a Hogwart’s graduate?” our friend asks. No one laughs.