Ms Matisse Beach Club

It’s the hottest place to be on a Sunday and aspiring supermodel Chloe is up at 5:30am getting ready for her session. Her look is finely crafted: a floral bikini, a tight white dress, cute heels and enough fake tan on to sort out the entire cast of the Jersey Shore on a 6 month trip to Siberia.

She applies a layer of lip-gloss while meticulously examining her skin for imperfections. She heard that some AFL boys will be in attendance today so shit has got to be on point.

A greasy ball of Cocaine picks her up from her Scarborough apartment in his WRX. He pumps deep house while chewing gum and sleazily side-glancing the beautiful Chloe. “Want a line, beautiful?” Stupid question Gino, of course, she does, do you think her hip bones stick out on account of just a good diet?

The pair racks up prison-grade Cocaine that has been cut so many times you’d think it was a Fallout Boy fan. Truth be told, the powder only gives them a slight buzz, but that offends the golden rule of the Perth coke crowd: you MUST act like you’ve snorted some Colombian shit off the rack of a supermodel. Gino pounds on his steering wheel, “wooooo, that some bomb shit!!!” It’s not.

Chloe walks into Matisse’s while scoping out the scene. Just as expected: it looks like the aftermath of a fake-tan and Corona bomb that left no survivors. Groups of fake-smiling woman pose for photos being taken by men with designer jeans and leather wristbands, “looking goood darrrrrling”.

Some drunken semi-Bikie yahoo is drunk and wailing around in the pool. Chloe turns to one of her friends who face has been frozen in a Botox timewarp, “um, he is literally ruining all our photos, what’s the point of a pool setting if bogans are swimming in it?”

Chloe may just have a point. She signals to a bouncer to remove the idiot from Perth’s most expensive fashion shoot prop.

Chloe sips Vodka, Lime & Soda through a straw while scouring for a celeb-ladder to social climb on. It appears she has been deceived no one even remotely ramous is in the club. Not even Hotdogs from Big Brother.

She tracks down Gino who is trying to give his business card to some girls and demands more coke. Coked up and 4 Vodka’s down, Chloe lets loose on the dancefloor. Dancing to the tunes of some tat-sleeved DJ that would push his own mother down the stairs to get a set at an Ibiza club.

She eventually goes home with someone who promises her a shout out on a Perf girl’s modelling Instagram page. It may not be an ex-Eagles’ squad member but it’ll do.

Chloe spends her Monday morning in bed constantly refreshing the Matisse Facebook and Instagram page, waiting for the photos to be uploaded. The results of the photos will dictate whether she can even or not.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?