I’ve never been to a Christie’s or Sotheby’s auction because I have no real reason – or the finances – to do so. I have, however, now attended an auction where CK Swett, an auctioneer who has worked at Christie’s, sold Ottessa Moshfegh’s toothbrush for $110. Last night, on April 1, Substack hosted ‘How bad do you want it?’ with Moshfegh and Eddie Huang at The Golden Unicorn – possibly the silliest private auction in New York history. When I arrived at the fifth floor of the iconic Chinatown restaurant, Moshfegh was sitting at one of the round tables, enjoying the chicken lo mein, green beans, soup dumplings and drinks with a group of friends. “I’m slightly concerned that no one has looked at the stuff yet,” she said. So, I told her I’d check out the auction items. There, on a long table, lay a single toothbrush (used a few times by Moshfegh, sporadically), a piece of vintage costume jewelry, ten VHS tapes, a signed bottle of laxatives, Knicks City boxer briefs, a fake Birkin and a signed bottle of gluten-free tamari sauce (those last three were Huang’s).
Before the auction, Moshfegh shared a confession: she almost auctioned off a sleepover or pajama party. “I told my partner, and he was like ‘That’s insane,’” she said, laughing. “I’m glad I second-guessed it with him because I liked it as an idea, but there are so many ways that it could be a disaster.” Instead, she listed two in-person auction items, a lunch at The Russian Tea Room and Martinis at Hotel Chelsea. She also offered two hours of writing therapy over Zoom (with a short story submitted in advance). Moshfegh is famously not on social media, but she is on Substack. “I’ve been working on really long-term projects for the last several years, so sharing my thoughts and practices with people that are actually interested makes me feel like maybe I exist,” she says. “I feel like I’m actually connecting with people in a way that they find valuable.”
Substack’s writer relations producer, Matt Star, started the evening with a reminder. “This is a real auction,” he said. “Has anyone been to an auction?” To that, the room full of young New York City kids shook their heads. Then, a fire alarm went off. We were told everything was fine: the auction would go on, but first, people needed to make sure they had Venmo or Zelle ready for on-the-spot payments. Moshfegh and Huang walked onto the makeshift auction stage, and Huang let out a dry “woo”. “This is a wonderful function,” he said. The two shared stories about their auction items. Moshfegh recounted a prank phone call from a strange man asking her what colour her underwear was at age 7. Huang spoke about using his leash “frequently in the bedroom” and told everyone his bag for sale was “authentically Chinese but fake Birkin”. Moshfegh asked Huang, “What is codeine?” before telling a story about how she came up with the fictional potion “infermiterol” in My Year of Rest and Relaxation. As it turns out, she finished the book after doing ayahuasca.
If the auction items weren’t enough of a clue that it was about to be a chaotic evening, Moshfegh and Huang’s ten minute poo conversation before the bidding started was a dead giveaway. I won’t subject you to a full breakdown, so I’ll summarise: Huang needs gluten-free tamari sauce because he has IBS and Moshfegh says she’s jealous of diarrhea because, in her words, she “can not shit” to save her life (hense the laxatives for sale). When someone from the crowd asked where the money goes, Moshfegh said, “In our pockets”. Then, CK Swett came on stage with an art handler named Jack. He was wearing white gloves (to protect the goods, of course) and started by holding out a toothbrush in a plastic bag. The toothbrush sold for $100, and Moshfegh let out a shocked “Oh my god”. The tamari sauce sold for $60. The signed copy of My Year of Rest and Relaxation went for $180, and Huang’s offer of “30 minutes of unlicensed therapy” sold for $315.
About halfway through the auction is where things really started to feel chaotic. Jack was seriously serving while simultaneously holding up every strange item in a very professional manner. People around me were whispering about Jack being attractive, and then about Swett being their potential future husband. “Art handler Jack is killing it!” said Swett. “And I love the jingle jangle of the chandeliers – it’s a whole vibe in here.” There were some microphone issues, and the chandelier above the stage was, in fact, jangling. More items sold: a prank phone call from Moshfegh for $330, Huang’s fake Birkin for $200, lunch with Moshfegh for $450. At this point, Swett yelled, “Live, laugh, love.” Then, at 9.30 pm, someone fell out of their seat and the auction paused. “I feel like I’m losing my mind up here,” said Swett. The entire crowd also seemed to be delirious from the intense bidding.
Moshfegh herself is somewhat of an accidental collector. “I remember once I went by myself to the auction of an estate of some very fancy lady in Rhode Island, and I got there late,” she says. “I ended up buying this huge lot of clothes, like winter formal wear.” While she was in graduate school, Moshfegh says she’d sell vintage every weekend at the Brooklyn flea market. She sold one of the estate sale to a woman who was looking for a dress to wear at her wedding. “It was a nice moment where I had impulsively decided to buy something that ended up being very meaningful for someone else,” she says. There were pieces in the Substack auction that would also fit into this category: vintage lingerie that she’s collected but never worn, her personal leather jacket and her old painting she recovered from a basement in Bed Stuy – which was highly sought-after at the auction and sold for $2,800.
My first auction felt like somewhat of a fever dream. Sure, there were some serious winning bids (like $2,600 for writing therapy), but the entire evening was also fundamentally absurd. You could tell that for almost everyone in the room, this was their first auction. Moshfegh’s signed bottle of laxatives had a starting bid of $20. A girl seated in my row mouthed to me, “I want that”. Then, the price reached the hundreds, and she stopped bidding, feeling deflated. “Now I can’t bid because I’m poor,” she said. The bottle sold for $500 and the night wrapped up. I snuck out right before the end with two girls in the elevator who were disappointed that they were outbid on the prank call. As I left The Golden Unicorn, I heard one turn to the other and say, “Well, at least we know exactly where Ottessa’s going to be for lunch tomorrow.”
