• Locked up and therefore unusable
  
• occupying valuable parking spaces that might otherwise be used by actual bicyclists
  
• and/or chained illegally to trees
  
• shamelessly/tastelessly aping the "Ghost Bike" phenomenon whereby bicyclists killed in the line of carbon footprint reduction are memorialized with decorative bikes chained near the intersections at which they died.

The reader writes:

well when i cut the lock at prince and west broadway this old lady looked incredibly frightened. she sort of froze and her jaw was hanging open. i think she thought i was going to mug her. then i headed over to prince and broadway to free the bike in front of dean and deluca. while i was setting up the bolt cutters an old couple walked by. it was saturday afternoon and they were out shopping. the man said: I hope that's your bike. i said: it's not mine, it's donna karen's. and i'm not taking it. i'm just taking off the lock. at this point they looked perplexed. i said, it's like graffiti, trash. they leave this stuff all over the city. and expect somebody else to come clean it up! well, that's what i'm doing. and the woman said: 'ah, yes.' the couple nodded with understanding and approval. by this point 20 seconds had passed and i was still struggling with the bolt cutters and the chain the woman said: i think we'd better get out of here.

Happy fash week, Donna!

It's A Bike! It's A Message! No, It's An Ad [Portfolio]
The Orange Bike DKNY.com Marketing Scheme Thwarted In East Village [Flickr]
Five Things We Liked Tuesday [New York Mag]
DKNY Orange Bike In Trash [NYC Bike Polo]

(Click on any image below to begin gallery)

Jimenez was backstage when we arrived, predictably frazzled —"Right now I know I'm just saying 'Sure, sure, sure, sure' to everything, but I really have no idea what anyone's saying" — and surrounded by a group of performers (most of them friends) getting into "character." One performer's nipples were being carefully painted with green and red body paint; nearby, a woman named Mizuo described her flowy dress with a crepe snake bursting forth from the chest as a "Labia Dream Doll" but was quickly corrected by Jimenez' grade-school daughter Calliope ("No, you're a Lamia Dream Doll"). "I'm the Fallen Star," offered a woman named Soo-Hyuan. "I don't know what my character really is — so many of these characters are Elisa's characters. I've never fallen, even, so I don't even know what that feels like."

Back in the center of the room, Jimenez was trying to rally the troops: "I just want everyone to feel good, happy, and powerful!" She tore at one woman's dress with her teeth in an effort to alter the neckline. "If you're going to have a wound, this is a very pretty wound," she murmured to another ("The Wounded Angel"), splashing red wine onto a white dress and mashing gold leaf into exposed flesh.

Outside in the performance space the seats were arranged in concentric circles, playing cards were strewn on the floor, and latex gloves had been inflated with the words "bliss" and "bless" written on them. The crowd, mainly friends of the designer, nibbled on breakfast pastries and sipped OJ and coffee. Before the show began, Jimenez appeared on the upper level of the space, microphone in hand, explaining that she would be narrating the show with help from a friend, a high soprano, who would be singing "improvisational Puccini" by way of a score. The word "polymorphic" was used.

And the show itself? The 25-minute, 15-look presentation was comprised of models/performers, interpretive dance, and accompanying puppeteers dressed in black. Many of the designs on display were playful and presented with self-aware humor, particularly the woman who came out with her skirt over her head, her cherry patterned underwear exposed. At the show's finale, a smiling Jimenez joined the performers onstage, offering up embraces and sincere thanks. (The word "polymorphic" may have been used again.) The Hunger World was definitely a crazy place, but those on stage, at least, all seemed happy in it.