One night while in Paris, I had dinner at Davé, an institution for fashion folks. On its cranberry painted walls, there are lo-fi photos of past regulars like Yves Saint Laurent, Anna Wintour snuggled up with Tom Ford, College Dropout-era Kanye dinning with Frontin’-era Pharrell, Kate Moss and Johnny Depp, Helmet Newton, skinny Karl Lagerfeld, not-so-skinny Karl Lagerfeld, and just about every other influential figure in fashion you could think of. They all look happy and at ease—like everyone has stopped by one big-ass after-party that has lasted several decades. The food isn’t high-anything—too bland to be bad; too forgettable to be good. Davé is wildly charming, though. And wildly inappropriate. He was our server, and talked more about sex than about food. And the sex he’s into, unlike the dumplings, is anything but basic. Threesome this. Penetration that. Etc. All while he flirted with every man at the table—except for John Elliott, who for some reason wasn’t really Davé’s flavor. (After building the most coveted new streetwear brand on the planet, I’m sure John’s ego wasn’t too bruised.) Davé’s antics are an HR nightmare but also the magic of his institution. I’m sure that’s what made all of those legends in the photos so relaxed. He said the same things to Karl Lagerfeld and Kanye West and they laughed it off, like we did, and had something to talk about other than crystal buttons the size of doorknobs. And, in a way, that’s powerful. There were no Kate Mosses, so to speak, at our table. No historic icons. But Davé gave us the same hospitable, entertainingly pervy experience he’s given some of the most ubiquitous names in the world—because at the end of the day we, too, belonged. And that’s been the biggest trend of Paris fashion week: inclusion. (Fur being a close second.) Read more at GQ.